J. Salsbury - Fighting to Forgive

We’ve heard three bands so far, and they’re getting better and better as the night progresses. Of course, that may have something to do with the Fireballs.

The music stops, and the crowd blares an ear-piercing roar of applause. I shove my fingers into my mouth to whistle, but end up blowing out a silent spray of cinnamon-scented drool. I’m giggling to myself when I notice Raven whispering something to Eve from the corner of my eye. It doesn’t take a sober person to guess what she’s saying.

Yes, I’m drunk.

No, I don’t care.

And yes, it’s because I’m fucking heartsick.

I don’t have the energy to defend myself, so I continue to rock out in my own little world of self-pity and booze. Woo-hoo.

The Blackout is packed. Even if Blake did make an appearance, he’d be hard to find in this crowd. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see him everywhere I look. His memory hangs all over this place. From the table I was sitting at when we argued over Metallica, to the wall where he pinned a girl and kissed her so passionately that I felt it from across the room. My chest convulses. Nope, still not numb.

“Mac. One more, please. Er… make it two.” I leave my two fingers up and point with my other hand to my empty glass.

Eve shoves a huge glass filled with clear liquid and ice cubes, into my hand. “Here, drink this.”

I hold it up to my nose and sniff. “What is it?”

“Water. Drink it.”

Eww. I grimace and hand it back, making water slosh over the lip. Oops. “No thanks.”

“You’re going to barf, or pass out, or both. Just drink it.” Eve’s tone is parental and bossy.

I don’t like it.

I turn toward her, wobbling on my leopard-print high heels that do wonders for my legs and booty but nothing for my balance. “Stop telling me what to do.” My finger digs into my chest. “ I am a grown woman.” I stomp my foot.

“Eve’s just worried about you. We both are,” Raven says.

I glare at the girls. “I don’t need your worry. I can take care of my—”

My ankle twists, and Eve catches my fall.

“All right, all right. Get off your feet there, grown woman .” Eve sets me back on a stool.

Shoot, maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I grab the water and drink a few sips but make sure to give Eve a dirty look so she knows she didn’t win. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Not because someone says I should, or tells me— ugh. Whatever.

“Stop smiling. You didn’t win,” I say, finishing the last of the glass.

“I know, tough girl.” Eve’s still smiling.

I take another shot to prove I’m the boss of me but worry that Eve might be right. If I don’t stop, I’m in for a night of toilet worshiping and tile sleeping.

“Put your hands together, Las Vegas.” The MC’s voice comes through the speakers, turning everyone’s attention toward the stage. “Please welcome Ataxia.” The shouts of the crowd mix with the sound of a single electric guitar.

We have perfect seats, close enough to see the stage but off to the side to avoid the mosh pit. The sound of electric guitar strums continues in the dark, each chord growing louder and louder as it rings through the room. The energy is contagious, and the three of us cheer and scream like die-hard groupies.

“What’s up, Battle of the Bands?” Rex’s deep, raspy voice booms through the speakers, and although we still can’t see the band, we know it’s coming from the stage. “Thanks for coming out to support the local music scene.” The guitarist continues to strum a complex and melodic tune. Chills race across my skin, and anticipation has my heart pounding. “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” The crowd screams louder. “Nice to hear you’re excited.” Rex chuckles. The crowd gets even louder. “Before we play our set, we’ve got a special guest who has something to say.”

Eve and Raven look at me, their expressions mirroring my confusion. Special guest?

The guitar solo switches to the opening of a song I’ve heard a million times and know by heart. My cheeks stretch into a wide grin, and I bounce in my seat. “Oh my gosh. Bon Jovi! I fucking love this song.” I’m stoked and excited to sing along. I throw my hands in the air and scream, giving in to my inner fan-girl.

The lights on stage are still dark when Rex starts to sing. I blurt the words I’ve sung a million times, doing a decent backup to— wait a minute.

That doesn’t sound like Rex.

The lyrics that roll from the speakers are sung in a gravelly voice that soothes my soul and sets my blood on fire. Seven words into the first line, and the stage lights blast on in a bright, blinding light.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and —holy shit!

Blake’s standing frontman. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the table to keep upright. I try to blink to clear what has to be a drunken hallucination, but my eyelids don’t cooperate. It’s really him. His guitar hangs low from its shoulder strap while his fingers dance over the strings. And that voice, all grit and silk, pours through the mic and pierces my heart.

Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You” has never sounded so good.

My heart shoots into my throat, and I try to swallow back the cluster of emotions choking me. Blake belts out the lyrics like a rock-god in all his glory, igniting the crowd in applause. His arms command the instrument with all the grace of a classically trained musician and all the sexy magnetism of a heavy metal extraordinaire.

Pride swells in my chest, easing my racing heart. He did it. Being on stage in front of all these people is his public declaration. He’s burying his past and exposing his gift. The one thing he has left. Sadness knocks on the door of my pride, but I tell it to fuck off. I lose myself in the music.

The song swirls in the air, Rex’s back-up vocals the perfect accompaniment as he sidles up next to Blake. My mind recites the lyrics that the audience sings out loud. And then, as if calling to him with my thoughts, his eyes find me in the crowd. My hand moves on its own and clutches at my throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

His body shifts slightly until he’s facing me head on. With his eyes boring into mine, he sings two simple lines, two dozen words written over twenty years ago that speak directly to my heart.

And just like that, I know. More certain than if he came down off stage and told me himself. This is for me. He’s here, singing this song, exposing his one secret, for me.

Tears fall from my eyes, fast and hot. I push up on my barstool to my knees. He’s still looking right at me like we’re the only two people in the world. My skin tingles all over, and for the first time, I wish one of my favorite songs would end already. My legs burn to run to him, and my arms tense with the desire to hold him.

And finally, the song slows. I jump off my stool and push my way through the crowd. Even in my heels, I’m still too short to see over the towering heads to the stage, but I continue forward. The song ends and the crowd cheers. What if he goes backstage and I miss him?

I’m using my hands and my elbows, driving people out of my way. The closer I get to the stage, the rowdier the crowd gets. Moshers throw forearms and knock each other around. One guy crashes into my side and sends me flying into another guy. I careen, the combination of nervousness and booze throwing me off center.

“Hey, if one more person knocks into my woman, you’ll answer to me,” Blake says into his mic with a snarl. The crowd parts, taking a step back to open a path.

His woman…

Righting myself, I trail through the crowd to the stage. And then, he’s there. Black Sabbath t-shirt stretched over the wide expanse of his chest, a kick-ass pair of dark jeans, and his guitar hanging loose at his side. I fist my hands, trying to satisfy the urge to run my palms up his chest and into his hair. He jumps down from the stage and takes two steps toward me, then freezes.