Page 22 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I turn around and find Randall staring off into space, squeezing a stress ball like his life depends on it, before he looks back at me.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

CHAPTER 7

Hit the Lights

DAVE

“The place is packed, can you believe this?” James says, coming back into the greenroom at the back of Legendary, the bar Al got us into for the night.

While we haven’t been playingemptygigs, a crowd chanting our name like they bought tickets to Madison Square Garden is definitely something new. And I’ll be the first to admit that lately I’ve been questioning whether things were ever going to pick up. That maybe Al is wrong and we’ll simply be like hundreds of other hopeful bands who fade away into nothingness. But tonight, things are different.

I tuck my hand in my pocket and grasp my new keychain. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help feeling a connection to the little plastic token. Like the sudden change is because of its presence.

“What do you think happened?” asks Joel, tuning his bass guitar.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” James says, still with a smear of pink lip gloss on his cheek from where Becks gave him a kiss earlier. “Obviously Isabella’s article is pulling people in. Most of the crowd are students. In fact, I saw two people with Stoneman College sweaters on, so they must be here because of thearticle.”

I haven’t seen or spoken to Isabella since she called and let me know about her article. And while exposure is what we wanted, I didn’t think it would work this quickly or be so effective. I guess these students are hard up for decent music. And Izzy, well, other than being friendly, there isn’t much I can do about her. She’s off-limits but fuck, that doesn’t mean I stopped imagining her in that white leather miniskirt, those thick tanned thighs bare and that skirt riding up just a little higher than is decent as she walks.

“Dave?”

Looking around, I find the guys staring at me. “Huh?”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “You okay, man?”

I shake my head. “Yeah, sorry, just kind of zoned out for a minute.”

“Well, are we ready to give these people the most metal night of their lives?” Key asks, his smirk roguish.

“Fuck yes.”

It’s wild how much a crowd can influence a performance. I don’t think any of us have ever had more fun, except maybe that first gig back in Iowa. The first time we played together on a stage for an audience—the night we met Al—and changed all of our lives. But tonight is a different kind of atmosphere. It almost makes me feel like we’re actual rockstars. Sure, it’s not the Garden or some big fancy sold-out arena, but the energy is sizzling and all of that pent-up aggression pours out of us onto the stage.

The only thing that would make it better is if Isabella were here.

Who am I kidding? She doesn’t even like metal music, she told me so herself. And it’s not like I invited her. I don’t even know her number. I briefly wonder if she’s at some disco club. If she’s dancing in a pair of go-go boots, shorts, and a halter top. Fuck, she’d look downright edible in a getup like that. She’s gotthat old-Hollywood pinup body too—curvy like a country road. Guys would be all over her; they’d have to be crazy not to be. Jealousy creeps up my spine like ice. It’s awful and I hate it.

I attempt to look through the crowd for a new distraction but the lights from the stage are too bright. So I’m doomed to spend the rest of our set fantasizing about a girl I can’t have. When the final chord is struck and the last cymbal crashes, the crowd erupts into an enormous roar, and by now I’ve sweat through my shirt and pants, my long hair sticking to my neck and shoulders.

I should be happy, and I am, but there’s also something I haven’t thought about in a long time. Guilt. And it’s festering, rotten . . . Curdling in my stomach. And while I can normally contain it, right now it gurgles up quickly—like I couldn’t stop it even if I knew how. Maybe I don’t want to. That guilt reminds me of what’s come before. That James telling me to stay away from Isabella was for the best because I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself. There’s too much to lose now.

After we change, the four of us head out into the bar. The crowd is still buzzing, and soon enough I’m pulled into a seemingly endless circle of praise and admiration that makes me feel on top of the world—my guilt temporarily forgotten. Then I see a mop of pretty dark brown hair and a curvy figure and I stop in my tracks. Maybe she came after all. Did Becks invite her? The woman turns though, and while she’s beautiful, she’s not who I thought. She smiles at me anyway and waves, and I lift my beer to her, smirking as if I’m on autopilot.

She accepts my quiet invitation and heads toward me through the crowd until she stands a foot away, the smell of her perfume making my head dizzy.

“Hi,” she shouts over the bumping music. “You were great up there.” She hikes her thumb over her shoulder.

“Thanks.”

She smiles. “I’m so glad I came tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“I was sure that photo in the paper was fake, that there was no way you were that hot in real life. Imagine my surprise to find out that picture doesn’t even do you justice.” She bites her lip and that familiar aching, throbbing sensation pools in my groin, waiting to be satiated. She reaches forward and grasps my forearm. “I’m Libby, by the way,” she says, stepping closer.

The heat of her is pleasant, and I can’t stop myself from enjoying the way her body leans into mine, the soft touch of her skin and how those eyes gaze up at me, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

---