one thing, but knowing she was there... I'd called out to her. I'd placed my forehead on the cool plaster, imagined touching her, grinding the wall down and holding her close.
Crushing my head in my hands, I hung it between my knees and laughed again. I kicked Johnny out of the band so he wouldn't drag us all down. I brought Lola on to save us. Now, I'll be dragged into hell by her instead.
Lola had wrecked me. There was no coming back from this. The only way to get some control was to sate this damn need I had for her. I knew that if I couldn't taste her—hold her... Fuck her... I'd go insane. I couldn't take being so close to her all the time. How could my band survive if I was busy losing my mind?
"Drez!" Brenda shouted, both before and after she kicked the patio door open. "There you are! I knew you'd be out here getting a smoke. Come on, the show is about to start!" When she looked at my face, she stopped. "Are you okay?"
Nope, I thought dryly. Filling my chest, I climbed to my feet. "I'm ready. Let's do this."
I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready for Lola.
But she was about to debut in front of the entire world.
I wouldn't miss being part of that for anything.
****
The crowd was screaming for blood.
Luckily, I was ready to empty my veins.
Everyone in the Fillmore was at peak levels. They'd been waiting for us: Four and a Half Headstones. We walked onto the stage one by one, and each time, the screams grew wilder.
Looking out over the ocean of blurry faces, I glimpsed signs toting our names... even Lola's. Some of the giant pieces of cardboard demanded we bring back Johnny. Our fans were ready to judge our decision. To judge her.
A flicker of worry stalled my heart.
If Lola played poorly they would not be kind. She stood to the side, purple Stratocaster at the ready. It was her armor. Lola looked at me, a silent cry for help or strength or maybe that I just wake her up from this dream.
All I could do was smile and hope it inspired confidence in her.
I wanted us to please our fans. I also didn't want to lose Lola to them. It was a conflicting knot of emotions. I grabbed the microphone, throttled it like it was my wandering brain. “Hey there, Denver.” My voice was sugar and velvet. As I expected, the crowd exploded in a roar. It was unadulterated energy, a drug that ruled me.
I needed more.
“You know,” I said, walking across the wide stage. “This is our first time playing at the Fillmore.” More noise, I waited for them to calm down. “But it isn't the first time I've been here.” Curiosity and excitement rolled over the sea of people.
It was exactly what I wanted.
Turning, I found Lola watching me. I'd never seen her eyes so big. “I came when I was a kid. And you know, back then? All I could think about was that someday, maybe I'd make it here.” My stare wandered over the arena. “Maybe I'd get to play.” One, two, let them breathe. The strained patience was overwhelming, but this wasn't my first rodeo.
Timing was everything.
I shook my head and said, “Well. Here I am. Guess it's time to do what I wished to back then...” With a giant smile that flashed all my teeth, I winked. “Bring this place to its fucking knees.”
That was it. The crowd was done.
In the canvas of the stage—my stage—clean drum taps signaled the beginning of our set. Colt primed the air for our art, silencing the audience to a low rumble. My mouth tasted like adrenaline mixed with cotton candy; everything tingled.
This was my first love: music. Lola stood at the ready, stroking her strings. This. This will replace the void she's created.
She smiled at me, and I knew that wasn't true.
Into the mic, I roared as only a man falling to pieces could. I was held together by determination; fragile and ghastly at the same time. Caught in my blast, the world would be destroyed. I'd revel and dance in the hot ashes.
Singing the words of Tuesday Left Behind, I showed the crowd who we were. Four and a Half Headstones had changed when we lost Johnny Muse. But not in a bad way. We sounded better than we had in months.