Page 39 of Game Winner
By the end of “Make You Mine”, my biceps, triceps, and forearms are spent. I grab one of the strawberry sports drinks Soren gifted to me for the set and down half the bottle.
Off the side of the stage to my right, Soren is wrapped around Tyler. I point a drumstick at them, and the smiles on their faces light me up in the best way. Tyler told me the other day that Soren’s yoga playlist includes “Make You Mine”, and I know I’ll think of that every time we play that song.
“We’re all friends here, right?” Mic in hand, Layne walks from one side of the stage to the other. The crowd cheers. “Okay good. So, friends, do you want to hear a song that no one else has heard yet? We just finished it.”
The cheers get louder.
The song Layne’s mystery person inspired is next on our set list. I wish he would’ve told me who he saw. “Someone unexpected” couldn’t be someone from one of the bands, because the lineup hasn’t changed in weeks. Maybe it was a fan, a member of the event staff, or someone attached to a band in another way.
Layne swaggers to center stage. His grip on the mic is so tight his knuckles are white and the rigid hold of his shoulders flexes every muscle in his back.
He’s not been himself since returning to the dressing room. I know how personal the song is to him and I’m afraid that singingit will be too much for him considering the frame of mind he’s in. I lean over the drums. “Layne.”
He startles and turns toward me, one hand covering the mic. “What?”
“We can play “Shades of Dreams.” The song isn’t new, but if we switch to it, he can spin a reason that’ll charm the crowd.
Biting his lip, he shakes his head then flashes me a smile so fake I’m not surprised when it falls off his face. My stubborn friend faces the crowd. “This is ‘Lost.’”
Everett plays the opening chord. Gavin is ready with his violin. And Layne is about to break everyone’s heart.
As with every time he sings this song, goosebumps break out on my skin. Layne’s voice holds a quiver, and the pain laced into the words tears at something deep inside me. All I can do is play well to support him.
The roar of the crowd overwhelms Layne’s voice as it fades away with the last note. We knew this song was special, and the crowd agrees.
Layne sags against the mic stand. He doesn’t say anything or introduce the next song. Everett heads toward him, a bottle of water in hand, the perfect excuse to give him a moment to recover.
I stand up, holding my sticks high, twirling them to get the crowd’s attention on me and off him. Smiles, cheers, and a few “Let’s go Metros!” ring out as more people spy the logo on my chest.
The cheers increase from the Metros and Slash teammates in the wings and scattered through the crowd. On the side of the stage, Tyler grins, then hides his smile against Soren’s shoulder.
Layne gives me a nod. I hit the hi-hat four times and then drop onto my seat and kick in the driving beat of the next song.
The guitars join in. Layne races around the stage, growling out the lyrics of “Waking Nightmare.” He joins Everett for a bit,then Gavin, then dances to me. This song is an older favorite. A good way to reset the pace after the ballad.
Pointing his microphone to the crowd, Layne encourages them to sing one of the verses. Then he sets the mic in its stand. We’re only halfway through the song. Embers of warning flare in my chest as I watch him stride to the stage’s edge.
Layne dives into the throng. With a roar, the crowd supports him, and he bobs along, grabbing hands as he passes people, singing along with them and smiling.
Thrashing away, I keep one eye on him. My fuming fuels my playing. He fucking knows I hate when he does that. I promised I wouldn’t do anything careless or dangerous and thought he was in agreement.
He’s turned around and heading toward the stage, supported by the crowd passing him overhead. His arms stretch out to touch more hands. In a split second his happy expression transforms to horror and he plummets, disappearing from my view. A collective gasp rises from the people around him. Some stop moving. Too many still dance.
Ice steals through my core. My drumsticks fall from numb fingers. A beat behind me, Gavin and Everett stop playing. The crowd falls silent.
Worry and panic roll over me, tidal waves that crash into each other and drag me under. I jump up. With all the amps and cords running everywhere, the fastest way to get to him is to jump over the damn kit like I promised I wouldn’t do.
My heart pounding, I vault over it. The stage smacks into my boots, the impact vibrating through my legs. The place where Layne disappeared widens to a larger hole in the crowd.
Fear has my voice in a chokehold. Things happen in simultaneously fast and slow motion—event security moving toward that section, Everett and Gavin racing from oppositesides of the stage, people holding their phones up to record the scene.
I reach the edge of the stage, trying to find a place where I can jump off, but Gavin grabs the back of my shirt, holding me in place.
“Wait. Look.” He points to the opening in the crowd.
Layne pops up, supported on the shoulders of two security guards the size of linebackers. He waves to the crowd, and they roar for him, cheering and chanting his name.
Relief slams me back a few staggered steps. My gaze is glued to him, pumping his fist in the air as the guards carry him toward the stage. “Thank fuck he’s okay.”
