Page 98 of Rock Out Together
Eager for the finale to start, the crowd hollered with impatience.
As bass player, Lizzy relied on Eric’s beat. If he was off, the music would suffer. Each of them was playing a new role tonight, and it sent a fresh set of nerves coursing through her body. They could look like absolute fools. Or they could make history.
She was still stationed at her usual spot, cradling her bass in her hands, and Dillon was still at the center mic. He put the mic back in its stand, picked up one of Zach’s guitars and positioned himself in front of the left mic. He turned to Lizzy and gave her an encouraging nod.
Her heart pounded and echoed inside her head as she took the longest walk of her life, ten feet across the stage to the center mic. Time slowed to a crawl. She watched the screaming fans, pumping their fists in the air. She looked down at the front row, and up at the dark silhouettes that occupied the balcony, all chanting her name.
Dillon’s voice was in her ear. “Say something. Don’t freeze up.”
She broke into a smile that her cheeks could barelycontain. This was a moment twelve years in the making. She leaned into the microphone and screamed, “VEGAS, I’M GONNA ROCK YOUR FUCKIN’ BALLS OFF!”
The fans hollered, whistled, and stomped their feet.
“You’re gonna remember this night for the rest of your life as the best fuckin’ concert you ever went to! It’s gonna be the Holy Grail of finales! We’re going out with guns blazing and horns in the air, so get those hands up!”
The crowd was riled into mass hysteria. She never felt such a rush of adrenaline as she stood there, ready to sing for the first time as the frontwoman for Blind Fury. She signaled to Eric, and he clacked off four beats on the drumsticks. There was no rehearsal. This was strictly on the fly and her one chance to knock this audience on their asses and show them that she can rock the fuck out of a hardcore heavy metal song. She took a deep breath and spat out the lyrics to “Blindside” with more power and attitude than Sid had done on his best night.
Fire erupted from the corners of the stage in spurts that pulsed in tune to the bass drum. The heat was intense. It was sweltering. Lizzy’s hair stuck to her forehead, and the strap of her bass was glued to her back. Without a free hand, she was stuck in place, unable to bring the mic with her to a cooler spot on the stage.
The fire finally died down and brought a fraction of relief, but the air was off at the center stage. Damn Sid and his rule about not having the fan blow on him. She waited for a break in the lyrics and bolted to join Dillon at his mic and take advantage of the fan near him. The breeze immediatelycooled her, but his microphone was set for background vocals, not lead, so she needed to project her voice more to make up for the difference. It was an aggressive display of vocals, and she needed to remain on key without straining her voice. If she ruptured a vocal cord, her singing career could be over before it started.
Dillon stood next to Lizzy, with only a few inches between them. She saw the pride in his face and the small smile tucked in the corner of his mouth as he watched her. As she returned his gaze, the fan blew her wild red hair in his direction. It mingled with the long strands of his black wavy locks creating a colorful twist, and she imagined it as the fans viewed them from the audience.
With no shirt, muscles and tattoos fully on display, and his dark smoldering good looks, Dillon was sex personified. In a leather vest and jeans covered in grommets and thigh high boots, she was the definition of a rock chick. They made a very attractive pair.
They stood side by side as they shared the same mic, shoulders touching, and the heat returned to her body. He leaned in to sing a backup lyric, and their mouths were inches apart. She was fixated on his full lips, and she had the urge to engulf his mouth in a kiss, but refrained.
Someone from the stage crew finally brought her a hands-free mic and clipped it to her ear and waistband so she was free to move around the stage. As she stepped away from Dillon’s mic, she glanced back at him, and he winked at her.
She paused to lock eyes with him, unsure if the euphoriasurging through every part of her body was from the high of singing or because of sharing this profound moment with Dillon, but a curtain of pyrotechnics went off behind the drums in a loud explosion of color and shocked her back to reality. She and Dillon both jumped at the surprise burst of noise and light, and it broke the moment.
She moved to the center stage and leaned forward to project the lyrics to the front row, and they reached for her with a dazzling array of cheers. This moment was everything to her, and she soaked it up like a sponge.
Dillon approached and stood next to her. His tattooed, naked shoulder leaned into her bare arm, and she felt the round hard muscle beneath his skin. He circled her with the guitar, stopped behind her and pressed his back against hers. They were butt cheek to butt cheek, and it sent a flash of heat through her that set her crotch on fire. She told herself it was the excitement of the stage, the high of performing, but she knew it was just Dillon Rivers. She reminded herself to back off and keep her distance, but she wasn’t moving. She wanted the physical contact. The playful body rub wasn’t a game. It was the sexual energy that had been building between them finally getting the opportunity to release itself. It was the temptation that she’d been fighting all day, possibly longer on a subconscious level.
Playing bass and singing at the same time took more concentration than she thought, but she was on target with the vocals. The replacement drummer was spot on with the beat, and Dillon took to the guitar like he’d been playing ithis entire life. The three of them were pulling off the best finale any band had ever played.
The fans were on fire. Crowd surfers were making their way to the front of the stage in a succession of tumbling arms and legs. Panties were thrown on stage, along with roses and teddy bears. Several blown up beach balls were being bounced around the audience. Fans united as one and banged their heads to the beat of the music. It was a mass of faceless heads covered by flying hair and horns raised high.
She turned toward Dillon. It was hard to keep her eyes off him. This entire experience was offered to her because of him. If it weren’t for his quick thinking, she wouldn’t be here right now, absorbing the glory of the center spotlight. The audience recognized her talent as a lead singer, and they embraced it and cheered her on. Their encouragement and acceptance were mind blowing.
They were three-quarters of the way through the encore now. Each song, each note, echoed the impending dissolution of Blind Fury. It was so bittersweet that Lizzy had a hard time grasping onto the array of emotions that stirred inside her. She stayed focused on her performance, on the fans, and on the banter between songs that she needed to ad lib.
“Are you enjoying the show?” she yelled into the mic. Shouts of “HELL YEAH!” and “YOU ROCK!” were louder than she expected, and she threw her head back and laughed toward the ceiling. “Good! Because I’m having a fucking blast! I think you’re gonna love this next song! Get ready, because the dead will rise!”
“The Dead Will Rise” was a full-on theatrical production reserved especially for tonight’s performance. Professional special effects makeup artists transformed actors into state-of-the-art zombies. As soon as the music started, they flooded the stage. They were covered in gore and blood, complete with rotting flesh. It was disturbing and gruesome and totally fucking awesome, and the fans went wild and shouted with surprise.
The zombies walked the stage, their outstretched arms and decomposing corpses growing closer. As one of them inched closer to Lizzy’s face with its menacing dead eyes, she cringed, but she didn’t run away and never wavered from delivering the powerful lyrics. Another zombie approached from the opposite side and two from behind, so she couldn’t escape. The closer they got to her, the louder the fans yelled. She knew the reanimated dead were actors, and this part of the show was rehearsed, but it was Sid that they were supposed to be cornering—not her. She was starting to freak out and wanted them to leave her alone, but she was trapped, and the fans were inciting the zombies.
Dillon came to her rescue and pushed them out of the way one by one with the head of his guitar. Two fell to the stage and crawled in the opposite direction, and the others shuffled away. Relieved, she gave him an exaggerated bow in thanks, and the fans roared.
Three songs later, the night was drawing to a close. It would end with Dillon’s revered drum solo, so Eric relinquished his seat, stepped down from the drum riser, and handed Dillon his sticks. Obviously, Dillon didn’t need touse the same sticks as Eric, but the passing-of-the-torch gesture made a nice effect, and Lizzy had to give Eric credit for quick thinking.
Dillon applauded Eric’s performance. Lizzy clapped, and yelled into the mic, “Let’s hear it for Eric Wade for saving the night! He was fucking awesome!” The crowd cheered and shouted their approval, and Lizzy was sure this opened a door for Eric in the music industry.
When Dillon jumped onto the drum riser, the fans exploded into a deafening roar. They surged forward and pushed against the railing, moving it several inches. A chant rose through the air calling, “DILLON! DILLON!”
Lizzy watched him as he took his seat like a king reclaiming his throne. He was full of confidence, but not cocky. For once. He toyed with the double bass, sending twin deep beats throughout the stadium. A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for one of Dillon’s legendary drum solos. He picked up with a steady shimmer on the cymbals, then ran his sticks across the toms and snare. A momentary roar erupted from the crowd as Dillon’s slow rhythm on the drums escalated. He was done teasing the crowd and let loose with a thunderous assault on the skins. His arms were a flash of color as they thumped from left to right and back again. His hair flew around his face in rich, dark waves as he rocked his head like a maniac.
