Rock My Heart (Luminescent Juliet #4) (17 page)

Chapter 25

~April~

The Whiskey a Go
Go
is
old, musty, dirty, and quite awesome. Everything is dark, except for the red
vinyl on the booths, and the black and white photos on the walls. The place
drips with rock history. Among others, The Doors, Guns N Roses, and Led
Zepplin
have played here. I should have come early to
wander around and check out all the memorabilia hanging on the walls. But I
almost didn’t come, contemplating making up some lame excuse.

The last few days, visiting with my dad, walking along the
beach, staring at the ocean, even releasing the paper lantern, have given me
too much time to think. Everything goes by in a whirlwind at home. Here time
almost stands still for me. All I’ve been able to think about is the tangled
mess between Gabe and me. He cares about me. Obviously, since he set up that
ridiculous lunch. We’re attracted to one another—if only booty call was an
option for us. But that one night has thrown us several steps back and we can’t
seem to find a way back to being friends. And whenever I’m with him, I’m stuck
in a state of confusion.

Yet here I am.

Mostly because most Saturday nights at my father’s house turn
into an impromptu jam session. He cooks a huge dinner in the outside kitchen by
the pool, and everyone in his circle is always welcome. A variety of musicians
with an assortment of instruments and styles show up. I loved Saturday nights
at my dad’s since the age of eight when I first experienced it, and even joined
in around the age of twelve, then loved it more while participating with my
guitar. Now, it would be pure torture to sit there among such talent and not
play. Thus I picked the lesser of two evils. Or I’m hoping I picked the lesser
of two evils.

Right now, the band is waiting to go on stage. Romeo met me
out front and after we did a quick tour of the place through a packed house, so
it wasn’t much of a tour. Then we met the rest of the band in the back room.
Unexpectedly, Justin and Sam appeared happy to see me. Guess a familiar face in
a strange place is always good. Gabe just gave me a nod.

 
Standing on the side
of the stage, the guys are reviewing the set and talking over the change ups.
I’m excited for them to go on, especially since one of the new songs is in the
set. I hang back and listen while they argue about a transition from song to
song.

Having been to many of their shows before they went on the
summer tour, I’m a bit surprised to see that Romeo isn’t making all of the
decisions. He always did in the past. But it’s evident that the band is making
decisions as a whole, instead of letting Romeo lead them. The realization has
me more excited to hear their new song. I’m expecting it to be a mix of all of
them.

The music beyond the stage lowers and someone announces, “We
have a bonus band tonight!” A murmur, a few yells, and a slight ripple of
applause follows.

The guys stop talking and all seem to take a deep breath.
Gabe suddenly appears pale.

The announcer continues, “An up and coming band who toured with
Brookfield this last summer. Luminescent Juliet!”

Justin leads the way while a few more shouts and another flat
ripple of applause sounds.

Gabe is the last to leave the dark hallway. He takes a deep
breath and rolls his shoulders, then glances back at me.

I smile. “Go blow their minds.”

He studies me for a long second, his gaze almost wistful
before his lips form a quick grin and he goes out on the stage.

I step closer to the small stage, close enough to see half of
the skeptical crowd out in front. Once Gabe sits and is situated behind his
drum kit, Romeo breaks into a loud riff.

The first song is
“Midnight.” I’ve heard it countless times and could probably grab a guitar and
strum the melody out, even though I haven’t played the instrument in years.
 
Luckily, I know this song. If it were
the new one, I wouldn’t have paid much attention.

Because as they play,
I’m only aware of only Gabe.
 

I’ve seen Luminescent
Juliet play lots of times, but being fearful of wanting to play music, I never
zone in on them individually playing instruments. As I stand on the side of the
stage, Gabe is too close for me to ignore.

My hands curl around
the edge of the wall as I watch him.

He moves around the
kit, hair flying in his face, brows low, lips twisted in absorption.

It’s obvious when he plays he is in his own world, delivering
every ounce of his energy and focus. On one hand, I’m jealous, knowing how it
feels to be caught in the music. On the other hand, the concentration on his
face, the intensity of his expression, adds to his allure.

He is
sexy and powerful
and graceful
all at once.
My insides
warm and melt
and vibrate to the beat he sets.

They practically roll right into “Gone Baby” next.

My want for him increases exponentially as I watch Gabe pound
out the rhythm. I swallow tightly. If I had observed him this close last year,
I would have been infatuated with him since he joined the band. The universal
picture for musical elegance tends to be either a violin on a shoulder or a
person gracefully reaching for the strings on a harp. But Gabe pounding from
drum to cymbal—his hair swaying, his jaw hard, his elbows raised—so fast the
picture is almost gone before you can see it, becomes
my
image for musical elegance.

 
The song ends and
seconds later Gabe sets the beat with his sticks and they roll into “Blood on
Snow,” a faster song, edging on the line of punk. I know this one too. Not only
is it good, but it heavily features the drums. My nails dig into the wooden
edge of the wall as Gabe transitions into a spastic drum fill.

I draw in several long breaths, trying to control the want,
both physical and emotional, rolling through me. I need to get a grip. Like
now. I look over the other band members then the crowd, who seemed bored at the
start but now press closer to the stage, watching with a rapt attention while
head bobbing.

Shutting my longing down, I focus on the crowd’s
attentiveness. I’m guessing most of them are seasoned rockers who can spot
talent when they see it, and from the look on their faces, opened mouth awe,
they are seeing it. Even I, who swore music off, can’t stay far from
Luminescent Juliet. I’ve always known
they
had enough talent to make it big. Yet there are so many factors to the business
end of this industry. Things have to line up to make it, and they look to be
lining up perfectly for the band.

At the end of the song, the crowd goes nuts, whistling,
clapping, shouting, and raising drinks.

Justin grins widely, then he shouts out a, “Thank you!
This next one is going to be on our new album. We
hope you like it.”

A rush of excitement
hits me as Justin steps back and Gabe hits his sticks together. Romeo, Justin,
and Gabe break into the music hard and fast.… Da-ta-ta-
dum
follows a hard riff three times over,
then
the heavy
drums fade into a pulsing beat and Justin steps up to the microphone.
 

“And so it starts
again...”

The song is a definite
mix of all four band members. I can hear Romeo in the melody. Sam’s influence
in the bluesy under beat. Justin in the wide-open chorus of the vocals. And
Gabe’s influence with the almost thrash metal sounding drums at each
transition. It’s good. It’s eclectic. It’s different in a twisted way, and from
the look of the crowd, it’s going to be a big hit.

They finish the song
and the crowd goes absolutely nuts.
They end
the short set with “Inked My Heart.” It’s their most popular song thus far. A
few people in the crowd wear expressions of surprise, probably recognizing the
song.

I lean on the wall and try to keep my eyes—and longing—from
Gabe. It’s a huge challenge.

After the set, amid
huge shouts and thunderous applause, Sam lifts his base over his head. Romeo
gives a big wave. Justin fist bumps or shakes hands with people in the front of
the crowd. Gabe pushes his sticks in his back pocket and walks of the stage.
 

I shuffle back as he
comes toward me. His face is still tense, his body rigid. He stops feet from me
and I blurt, “You guys were awesome. You played awesome. It was the best I’ve
seen you play.”

He stares at me with an
intensity that is similar to the look he had as he played. The expression has
me nearly melting into the wall. Gaze becoming more intense, he comes closer
and air bubbles inside my chest from the want he always inspires.
 

The rest of the guys
come off the stage, piling behind him.
 

Gabe’s mouth tightens
to a thin line. He murmurs a “Thanks,” and moves past me.
 

Romeo bumps shoulders
with me. “You going to come celebrate with us?”

“
Sure,” I
squeak as we proceed down the hall toward the tiny room we waited in before
their short set.
 

Fist bumps, high-fives,
and the plethora of excited cussing fills the room from their exhilaration at
how the crowd reacted. A bucket filled with ice-cold beer waits and
they’re soon passing bottles around. Justin tries to hand me one, but I shake
my head at the brown bottle. As the stagehands pack their instruments and load
them into a rented van, Romeo calls Riley, Justin calls Allie, and Sam calls
Peyton.

Gabe and I are left
smirking at one another.

“Sure you don’t want a
beer?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Something else?”

“Nope, I’m driving.”
 

He nods as if
understanding, but takes a sip of beer and glances away.

We stand there in
uncomfortable silence, listening to the half conversations around us as stage hands
trudge through the room with the band’s gear. Once the van is loaded behind the
venue, Justin waves their Town car off, telling the driver they will call when
they’re ready for a ride.
Exiting across a hotel parking lot, we walk down a couple blocks, then
cross the street to the Viper Room. The band’s new manager, an older bald man,
waits up front so that the bouncers let us in. Instead of going to the main
floor, he leads us into the basement bar and a table in the back corner. He’s
all congratulations and back slaps until the waitress brings amber colored
shots of what looks like whiskey.
 

The manager raises his
glass. “Expensive stuff, probably should be sipped, not shot, but I’ve learned
there is a time for everything.” He downs the amber liquid. Following suit, the
guys drain their glasses too.

Luckily, old
Baldy—managers leave a bad taste in my mouth after all of the stories from my
dad and his friends—didn’t get me one. Another round of drinks is ordered. I
order a ginger ale.
 

There is lots of talk
of the upcoming album, how it is over half finished, and possible bands
they could tour with come spring. I sip my ginger ale and mostly listen—next to
each other Romeo and I talk about the performance in intervals between
everything else—while I try not to let Gabe draw my attention. But he does,
even in my peripheral vision, which leaves me feeling desperate and morose.
I can’t handle my father playing
piano or looking at my guitar case or being real with people. Dealing with
whatever—lust? friendship? something more?—is between Gabe and I is way beyond
what I can manage. And at this moment, I’m more aware of it than ever.

After about an hour of
listening, I turn to Romeo and softly tell him, “I think I should get going.
Don’t want to worry my father.” My father trusts my judgment, but it sounds
like a good excuse.

Romeo nods
thoughtfully. “I can walk you out.”

We stand and Mr.
Manager looks at us with surprise. “Where are you two off to?”

“Be back in a few,”
Romeo says in a tone that says,
screw
you, you don’t get to ask me where I’m going.

All eyes are on us.
Gabe’s are narrowed to slits.
 

Baldy puts a palm up. “Didn’t mean to
offend. It’s just that
Lennings
should be stopping by
any second
. It was a surprise, man. I knew you
wanted to meet him.”

I almost laugh. I know
Lennings
. He is one of my dad’s pals and a renowned—at
least to people who pay attention to that kind of music—jazz and blues
guitarist. I smile at the new manager, then Romeo. “It’s okay. You don’t have
to walk me out. My car isn’t that far from here.” Since all the parking lots
were full by the time I got here, I parked on a street about two blocks over
and one block back from the Whiskey, and paid the ridiculous meter fee.