Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (32 page)
GOD, HOW I want her to be mine. Forever.
After spending a week with her in the mountains, talking to her over the last month, seeing her on stage, and hearing her tell her story . . . I'm in complete awe of her, and I’m amazed at how she lives her life, despite everything that happened to her. In fact, all those things that have made her imperfect, have made her the perfect imperfection to me.
“Come to the show tonight.” I look at her across the couch.
“What show?” She sits up a little straighter, giving me her full attention.
After lunch, we found ourselves on the couch flipping through the channels, as well as watching the comments about us pop up on Twitter.
“It’s a last-minute gig that will be announced at three. The venue isn’t large; it’ll sell out pretty quickly. According to the label, album sales have dropped, and they think I need to make an appearance. So, I agreed to do this show under duress, but with two conditions. One, it’s a small show, and two, we do more songs as a throwback tribute to Blue Horizons. They agreed.” I wouldn’t do the show otherwise. Some of our current songs I don’t ever want to do again.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else” she says, smiling wickedly at me. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you perform.”
“That’s right—you’re an original groupie.” I grin at her, nudging her foot that’s closest to me.
She huffs and looks over to the wall with the awards and albums. She grows quiet as she looks at each one.
“How did you come up with the name Blue Horizons?”
It’s funny—very few people have ever asked me that question. It’s always, “How did you get started?” or “When did you get your big break?” Never much about the meaning of the name. On the opposite wall, there’s a large framed photograph of the Smokey Mountains. The image is very similar to the one my grandfather had on the wall. It grounds me when I see it and almost always makes me miss the lake.
“Living a life in the Appalachians isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Towns are generally small, the economy tends to drift toward the lower income side, and it can limit your options and make you feel trapped. The mountains are looming giants, and while magnificent, can become stifling. They are all-consuming and inescapable. Even from the highest peak, there’s only the rise and fall of the mountains, surrounded by blue horizons, as far as the eye can see. Clay and I used to talk incessantly about what we thought life was like beyond the blue horizons—that was our dream—and naming the band after it just reminded us daily of what we were aiming for.” In a way, just talking about it reignites that dream. The dream to create amazing music for the world to hear.
“I think it’s a great name.” She’s watching me and it feels like she’s touching me, even though she isn’t, which is probably a good thing. Just the thought of last night with her hands on me, and her skin against mine has me adjusting my pants, and I’m not sure if I have the willpower to walk away again. Especially when I don’t want to.
“We should probably get dressed. I’ve got to be at the venue in a little bit,” I say dragging my eyes off of her very tempting body and back to her flushed face. Damn, she read my mind.
“Sounds good to me; lead the way.”
There’s a promise in the suggestive way she speaks those words. A promise that I fully intend to have her keep later tonight.
Walking onstage for the sound check, the entire crew goes silent. Some of them I’ve met with over the last three weeks to personally apologize. After their years of dedication, I felt they deserved a more personal explanation than the one I’m going to give today. As for the rest, I hope I’ll be able to smooth things over today.
I’m not necessarily ashamed of what I did, but I do feel guilty. For a lot of my team, this is their livelihood, and I’m sure I left them all wondering what was going on, and what was going to happen to them.
“Hey, guys, before we get started, I wanna take ten with you.” I walk to the middle of the stage, and gradually, everyone comes out from behind the set and from backstage.
Taking a deep breath, it’s time to man up. Clay moves to stand behind me in support. The theater is so silent, a pin drop would echo off the walls.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re still here, and we’re going to give them one hell of a show. But know that things are going to change—change for the better. I appreciate all of you sticking by us, sticking by me. I truly do believe that what we do on this stage is fucking awesome, and I am super pumped to be back up here tonight.” Chuckling rings through the air, and as I smile, they smile. It feels so good.
“Are we all good?” I ask. Murmurs of approval come back at me. “All right! You’ve seen the new set list, if you have questions, ask. Otherwise, let’s do this!”
Whoops and hollers fill the air as everyone moves into place. Pulling my grandfather’s guitar from my back to my front, I pop out the pick, and rip off the first chord. My eyes close, shutting everything and everyone out, everything but the sound.
Sparks ignite in my blood and race, chasing after the sound. The sound bounces off the ground around me and reflects off the ceiling and the walls. The sound is warm, the sound is comforting, the sound is
mine
.
Keeping my eyes closed, I strum another one, and a different current runs through my fingers and shocks my heart. Damn, I’ve missed this feeling.
People who aren’t musicians will never understand. I focus on the tonality and how the vibrations feel against my skin. Yes, the sound comes from the instrument, but it also comes from me. It comes from a place so deep in me, I feel it with every fiber of my being. Music is my passion; it’s my reality and my escape. I love how intense and free it is at the same time, and I love the places it takes me.
The tinkering of sounds from the crew as they make technical adjustments to the front of the house sound system filters into my auditory periphery, and blends with the chords from my guitar. The many changes in volumes, rhythm, and tone push the acoustics of the venue. To most it would sound like complete cacophony, but to me, it sounds beautiful. I love this sound.
Two hours pass as we run through the changes of the set and rehearse the throwback songs. With each one, the energy of the crew grows, and I know without a doubt that tonight’s show will be magical.
I’VE WATCHED A lot of performances over the years, and I’ve been to more concerts than I could ever remember, but seeing him onstage makes me feel like I’m at my very first one. The excitement and energy of the crowd, listening to him sing, it’s all mesmerizing, and not once am I able to stand still. Wow, just wow.
When Ash and Clay walk out onto the stage, the volume of the screaming is so loud, I’m surprised the walls don’t crack. Ash doesn’t miss a beat though, further charming them with one of his dazzling smiles, and I feel everyone in the venue swoon.
With the band behind him and Clay next to him, I watch in awe as he approaches the mic, leans his mouth against it, and closes his eyes. The lights dim and the music stalls, silencing the instruments. With the only sound being the fade of the echo in the air, it’s during this heavy paused moment that everyone knows tonight’s show is going to be something else.
Being who he is and doing what he does, it takes a lot out of a person, and the only emotion I could single out through the multitude swirling through me is pride. I am so proud of him.
Clay’s guitar rips off the first chord and the vibrations strike every person in the room. A collective gasp sucks the oxygen out of the air, and a rush of adrenaline shoots so fast through me, I feel faint. No, I’m exhilarated.
Back up instrumentals stagger in to accompany Clay, and slowly the lights come back on. The beat, the tone, the draw . . . it’s intoxicating.
Hours click by as he sings and performs, and I allow myself to get completely sucked into the energy of the crowd and the allure of the show. I can’t tear my eyes away from him; I don’t want to miss one single thing. He isn’t just a part of the performance, he
is
the performance, and everyone around him is a continuation of him.
Back and forth, he moves across the stage, and the crowd leans with him. At the mic, his right foot taps with the beat, his hips sway between lyrics, and he never puts down the guitar. I know he loves that guitar, but it’s as if it’s an extension of him. The way he holds it against his chest, the way he moves it from front to back, and how he handles it. More than once, I’ve found my eyes traveling to his hands. Those same hands that have picked me up, taken care of me, and protected me.
Tonight, Ash is in all black. Black boots, black jeans, a black t-shirt, and his signature black cowboy hat. Standing off to the side, I get a full view of him, front and back. He’s already tall, and in these jeans, he’s even taller, the strength of his thighs evident, and the perfect shape of his backside too. Under the lights, it’s also easy to see how much he is sweating. His skin is glistening and the back of his t-shirt is soaked through. As I watch him, thoughts of what might happen later drift through my mind, and my heart starts racing in anticipation.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to slow things down a bit. As most of y’all know, I recently took a little vacation, a much needed vacation. It takes a lot to get a man to break, and boy, was I almost there. So, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and I’m sure glad I did. While I was taking a little time off, a few unexpected things happened.” His eyes travel over the crowd and past Clay, until they find mine just hidden backstage. He winks at me, gives me a lopsided grin, and then turns his attention back to his fans in front. “For starters, I wrote a few new songs, and Clay, the band, and I would love to debut one of them for you now.”