Aria by Jennifer Hartmann

17Chapter Seventeen

The following week had passed by in a whirlwind with reporters, lawyers, detectives, photographers, media, and security. Chelsie Combs had become an instant celebrity – she was a victim to some, a role model to others, and a liability to the higher-ups in the industry. She hadn’t left the condo without her sunglasses and oversized sweaters for as much anonymity as possible. It was exhausting.

Chelsie and Devon had fallen into a new routine. Things were different between them. There were no late nights on the couch with popcorn and Netflix binges. There hadn’t been any stolen glances or romantic gestures or passionate lovemaking.

They weren’t quarreling either. No arguing or heated words. Their arrangement was… stale. Boring. Exactly that – an arrangement. Chelsie hadn’t seen Devon much that week due to his band schedule. They had two shows and three separate practices to prepare for the Grammy’s. To say Chelsie had been on edge was an understatement. Ian was still out there unaccounted for. She kept her phone attached to her, just in case she received that call – the call that assured her Ian was off the streets and could no longer hurt her.

Devon had installed a high-tech security system and added more locks and deadbolts to the door. A security guard was on site of the complex 24/7. It was a relief to have the added protection. Yet, nothing seemed to erase the constant paranoia. To Chelsie, Ian was always there, peeking in her windows and whispering in her ear. He lived in the tiny hairs on her arms that rose to attention when she heard an unfamiliar sound. Perhaps, he would always live there.

Then there was Noah. Things had not been the same between them either. How could they? Chelsie had only seen him once that week at one of the shows they had played in New Jersey. The whole band seemed disjointed and distant from one another. Devon barely spoke, which set the tone for the rest of the members. Their performance had been muddy and amateur. There was little communication. Chelsie stood behind stage with Lisa and couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that it was all her fault.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, Chelsie,” Lisa had told her, linking her fingers in with hers, and giving her hand a friendly squeeze. “You’re not responsible for having a psycho ex. You didn’t make Devon do drugs. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I just can’t shake this feeling that if I wasn’t in the picture, everything would be okay.”

Lisa had shaken her head, her red curls bouncing with earnestness. “Nothing would be okay because that’s life. Nothing is ever okay. There is always some kind of battle.”

Chelsie had tried to take Lisa’s words to heart, but they didn’t quite resonate.

“Chelsie…” Lisa had said later that night. “Why are you still with Devon?”

The question had thrown her. Chelsie had never doubted her decision to stay with Devon. She was loyal, despite her drunken indiscretion.

“Because I have to keep hoping things will get better,” she had replied. “I need to believe the Devon Sawyer I met at The Pit Stop is still in there somewhere.”

Lisa had shaken her head in a way that had made Chelsie’s skin bristle. “Chels… hope and denial are two different things. Devon isn’t the same guy he was when you started dating. You’re reverting into old patterns. You couldn’t fix Ian and you can’t fix Devon.”

Chelsie had stiffened against the wall, her eyes inspecting the tips of her fingernails. Lisa had rubbed her back, as if to offer a silent apology for her truth. Chelsie hadn’t thought about it in that way before. She was a nurturer – a hopeful optimist. A lifelong helper. She chose to see the good in people and felt determined to fix their fractured bits when they fell apart. Ian had been a lost cause. There was still hope for Devon.

Noah had exited the stage after the show, his features etched with disappointment.

“You did good out there,” Chelsie had told him.

It was the first contact between them since she’d left his house that fateful morning. There had been no texting, no phone calls, and no offers to babysit Sam. Nothing.

Regardless, she had wanted him to know that he had done good out there. He always did. It never mattered what demons he was grappling with or what the band was or wasn’t doing – Noah was steadfast in his craft. He plucked away at his guitar strings with accomplished finesse. He rarely faltered, but even when he did, his mistakes still felt like art. And tonight, while the men on stage stumbled and faked their way through the set for their fans, Noah shined. She really wanted him to know that.

“It was a mess,” Noah had said, pulling his guitar strap over his head. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, and his hair had matted against his forehead. He never quite looked at her that night. Never did his eyes truly see her. Chelsie tried not to let it bother her, but three days had passed by since their brief interaction, and she still carried that weight. She felt like she had lost her best friend.

Chelsie wanted to shake him. She wanted to pummel her fists against his chest until he saw her. She wanted to scream that what they had was still there – it was just buried beneath the layers of baggage, and dirt, and piss poor decisions. She felt like she was six feet under, and if she just kept digging and clawing, a ray of light would penetrate through the heavy soil. Noah would be waiting for her. Things would go back to the way they used to be, and Chelsie would have her friend back. She would be home.

Chelsie did not do any of those things. “It wasn’t that bad,” she had replied. It had been a weak response. It didn’t allude to any of the things she was feeling, or to the novel of words on the tip of her tongue. She had bitten down hard on that tongue, as if to punish it for its failure.

Noah had continued to fiddle with his guitar as the rest of the guys muddled around the small back room. “Well, thanks.”

That was it. That had been their only correspondence. Devon could not wait to get out of there, so he had guided her out the back door and to his car.

Chelsie chewed on her fingernail and made a mental note that she needed to get a manicure before the Grammy’s that weekend. She was walking through their local downtown as the brisk January air bit at her nose. She tightened the scarf around her neck while looking in through the storefront windows. Chelsie wanted to clear her head. She had kept herself locked up for the past week because of Ian’s unknown whereabouts, and she was making herself crazy. Even though the air outside was a frigid twenty-two degrees, it was exactly what she needed. Refreshing air. She inhaled big gulps of it as she walked along the sidewalk, dodging small patches of ice along the way.

Chelsie stopped in her tracks when she came upon a quaint looking hair salon. She peered in through the foggy glass and debated whether she should go inside. Chelsie had been considering a new look for herself – a change. Change was always good.

Change had saved her life.

“It’s rude to stare. C’mon inside!”

Chelsie stumbled back when the door opened, and a middle-aged lady poked her head out. The woman gestured enthusiastically with her arm.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m still thinking,” Chelsie explained, stuffing her glove-covered hands inside her coat pockets.

“Well, you’re not getting any warmer thinking on that side of the glass,” the woman said. “Take a break from the cold and have a cup of coffee!”

Chelsie smiled in appreciation and nodded her head. “Okay. Thanks.”

The salon smelled of warm, blow-dried hair and orange honeysuckles. Chelsie breathed in the aroma and began to remove her coat.

“Here, let me. I’m Lilah.” The dark-haired woman in stylish black suspenders pulled the jacket from her hands and hung it on a nearby hook. “I’ll get you some coffee. Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, please. Thank you,” Chelsie replied. She looked around the small room. There were two washing stations, two dryers, and four salon chairs – two on each side of the room. Another woman was already tending to a client, chit-chatting about her holiday break. The large sign above the check-in desk read “Bliss Bar”.

Lilah returned a few moments later with a hot mug of coffee in her hands. It wasn’t one of those disposable cups she had been expecting. “Careful, it’s pipin’ hot,” she warned. “It’s a dark roast. Hope that’s all right.”

“It’s perfect,” Chelsie said with an appreciate gaze. “You have a cute place here. I’ve never noticed it.”

“We just opened last month,” Lilah answered, leaning over the waiting area’s coffee table and shuffling through the assortment of magazines. She picked one up and flipped through it, licking her thumb as she plucked over the pages. “This!” Lilah folded the magazine in half and handed it to Chelsie.

Chelsie glanced over the model with a medium-length angled bob and bangs. It was a bold cut. Chelsie had rarely done anything with her hair. It was remarkably long, ending just before her hip bone. It was all one length with no dimension. The extent of her hair routine was letting it air-dry or pulling it up into a messy bun.

This haircut looked fierce and sexy. It looked like she wanted to stand out instead of hide.

“I kind of like it,” Chelsie confessed, the corners of her mouth turning upward. “It’s… different. I think I need different.”

Lilah gave her a knowing smile. “You’re that girl on the news, huh?”

Chelsie blinked a few times as she registered the question. “Um, yes. I mean, probably.”

“You’re dating that musician, right? Imagine Dragons or somethin’?”

“Freeze Frame,” she corrected with a chuckle.  “And yes, that’s right.”

Lilah clicked her tongue as she removed the magazine from Chelsie’s hands and plopped it down on the table. “I heard about your attack. How are you holdin’ up?”

Chelsie swallowed and moved her hand to her throat, where a burgundy scarf hid her fading bruises. “It’s been a tough week,” she said.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Lilah said, placing her hands on her hips. She tilted her head to the side, eyeing Chelsie up and down. “This one is on the house. Tell your friends to come see me and we’ll call it even. You deserve a little pampering.”

Chelsie’s eyes widened at the offer. “I couldn’t accept that,” she insisted. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Nonsense. Now, go sit your pretty butt down.”

Chelsie was not well-versed in accepting favors or handouts. It was as if this woman somehow knew that, though, and took her by the crook of the arm and guided her to the first chair on the left.

“You have such a pretty face to be hidin’ behind all this hair.”

Chelsie watched in the mirror as Lilah ran her chocolate brown fingernails through her long, drab locks. She removed her scarf and set it on the small tabletop in front of her. The bruises beneath it stared back at them, boasting their purple and green composition.

Lilah only glanced at them for a moment. She rested her hands on Chelsie’s shoulders. “Are you ready for a new you?”

Chelsie couldn’t help the smile that adorned her face. “I’m ready.”

***

It was the night before the Grammy’s and Noah was tuning his Gibson guitar while the guys chain-smoked in between songs. Sean was pacing the room, finalizing details for their very public performance the following evening.

“You keep fucking up that note,” Devon scolded Miles, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He took a swig from his flask and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When I sing ‘believe in you’, you’re supposed to play an E.”

Miles scoffed at him. “I got it.”

Noah ignored the bickering. He couldn’t wait for the Grammy’s to be over so he could announce his break from the band.

It had been a daunting decision, but Noah needed to take a step back. He needed a goddamn soul cleanse. The music had been his life, but it wasn’t speaking to him the way it used to. His muse had been bogged down with politics and bitter grudges. Tad and Devon were getting loaded almost every night and the entire band’s integrity was slipping. It was eating at him. Besides, he wanted to spend more quality time with his son. Noah had enough money saved up to take a few months off. They could travel the world together. Maybe a few months was all he needed to find his muse again.

Then there was Chelsie.

He had been avoiding her since she’d left his house that morning. He needed to. She had broken his damn heart and she didn’t even know it.

Noah had been nothing more than a shoulder to cry on – a warm body to escape to. He was stupid to think they would wake up the next morning and their new life would begin. They would be a happy, little family. Noah, Chelsie, and Sam.

Ridiculous. Chelsie Combs had softened his once cold heart to the point of believing in fairytales. It made him sick.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Noah reached in to grab it.

“Tell Sam I said hi.”

Noah blinked at the message. It was from Chelsie. He held the phone in his hand for a long time, wondering if he should call her. He wanted to. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to tell her how much Sam had missed her – how much he had missed her.

But they were different now.

Noah sent her a brief text instead: “Okay.”

His response was stony, but it had to be. He couldn’t let himself go back to that place of feeling – he would break all over again. He would be carried away to the night she was his – when he fell asleep counting her breaths with the taste of her vanilla chapstick on his lips.

He couldn’t do that.

“I gotta go.”

Noah’s head shot up when he heard Devon’s voice. Devon was staring at his phone, furiously texting something as he put out his cigarette.

“What the hell, man, this is our last practice,” Miles said.

Devon threw on his coat. “I have to take care of something.”

“Shit,” Tad muttered under his breath.

“I guess that’s a wrap for tonight,” Sean lamented. “Let’s try to squeeze in an early morning practice. I’m still not feeling confident.”

Noah packed up his guitar. “Sounds good. See you assholes tomorrow.”

He wasn’t much for conversation these days. He wanted to do his job and get out. He hated that his music had become a job.

That’s how Noah knew it was time to step away.

***

Chelsie had woken up that morning with a bounce in her step.

She was going to the Grammy’s.

The only thing that would make the day better is if she received that phone call telling her Ian was in custody. Until then, his shadow loomed over her like an ominous rain cloud.

Devon had been up first that morning. Chelsie wondered if he had slept at all that night. She recalled his pacing feet around their bed and the glow of his cell phone brightening the room at all hours. He was fidgety and restless. She wondered if it was nerves or drugs. Probably both.

She had tried to initiate intimacy for the first time that week, but he claimed he wasn’t in the mood. Chelsie had felt relieved. She wasn’t either, but she’d felt an obligation to try. Maybe after the stress of the Grammy’s passed, they would be able to talk and repair the damage in their relationship. He left early – as soon as the sun came up. She’d given him a quick peck on the lips before he’d disappeared out the door. Devon had a lot to take care of before the big show, and Chelsie had a date with Lisa.

The two girls sat in their salon chairs, while Lilah and another employee primped their hair and applied their makeup.

“This is such a cute place,” Lisa exclaimed, as the curling iron wrapped around her thick curls.

“The people are even better,” Lilah said with a wink.

Chelsie had been deeply grateful for Lilah’s hospitality at her last visit. Her haircut had turned out perfect – so perfect that Chelsie didn’t want it styled too much for the awards. She just wanted it blow-dried straight with a little teasing on top. The bangs framed her face nicely and brought attention to her jade-colored eyes.

Chelsie was excited to bring her friend to the salon for their award makeovers. After their appointment, they were picking up their dresses and heading over to meet the guys for the pre-party. The Grammy Awards were taking place at Madison Square Garden this year, which made their travel arrangements convenient.

“I can’t wait to watch you guys tonight!” Lilah gushed. She applied a rosy blush to Chelsie’s cheeks. “I’ve never had a famous person in my chair before.”

Chelsie chuckled at the assessment. “I’m only famous by association,” she told her.

“You’re one hundred percent famous,” Lisa argued. “You’re sitting by Taylor Swift tonight.”

The nerves began to bubble in her belly. She had always chosen to stay out of the spotlight. She didn’t mingle with the A-listers or attend socialite parties. Chelsie would much rather stay at home with her cat in her pajamas. She took a deep breath.

A few hours later, the girls stopped by the dress shop to collect their gowns for the evening.

“I feel like a princess!” Lisa exclaimed when she spotted her dress. “Pinch me, please. This cannot be real.”

Chelsie and Lisa were fitted into their dresses at the high-end boutique. Chelsie studied herself in the mirror, her jaw dropping to the floor. She had chosen a deep turquoise, strapless dress. The top portion had a sweetheart neckline bodice and it hugged her curves in all the right places. A ruffled, floor-length organza skirt adorned the bottom half of the gown. She twirled her hips back and forth, watching as the layers of chiffon splayed around her feet. Rhinestones twinkled under the glow of the boutique lights above her head.

Lisa exited the dressing stall, clapping her hands with enthusiasm. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Lisa was wearing a form fitting red gown with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. “You look sensational,” Chelsie said. “A classic beauty.”

The girls met Devon and Miles at the studio to catch their limo. When Devon spotted Chelsie in her gown, he smiled for the first time in over a week.

“Goddamn,” Devon said. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple.

Chelsie allowed herself to pretend for a moment that everything was okay between them. They were blissfully in love in a utopian world. She imagined it was just like it used to be when they had first started dating – tender, exciting, and full of possibility. He let her go, and the moment ended. She regarded the dark circles under his eyes and his lifeless expression. Nothing was okay.

But tonight, they would lie.

The drive to the award ceremony was long and painfully quiet. Devon was on his phone the entire time. Chelsie let her gaze fall on the man she had fallen in love with over the past year. He was no longer that man, and it ate her up inside. Her rock star boyfriend was still a star, but he was not her rock.

What if Chelsie just needed to try harder to bring him back to life? What if there was still hope for him? For them?

“You excited?”

Chelsie was startled by the sound of his voice. He broke through her thoughts like a jagged thorn. He did not look up from his phone when he addressed her. “Very excited,” she answered. “Nervous?”

Devon was typing away on his digital keypad. Chelsie wondered if he’d even heard her until he finally shrugged. “Nah.”

Miles shifted in his seat across from them. “Don’t know about you, bro, but I’m about ready to shit myself.”

Lisa laughed. “I’m excited and nervous. I’ve had this recurring dream that I’m going to trip on my chunky heels and face-plant on the red carpet in front of Brendon Urie.”

“Stop… I’ve been having that exact same dream,” Chelsie joked.

“I won’t let you fall, babe,” Miles said to Lisa as he reached his arm over her shoulders.

Chelsie wondered if he said that to all his women.

She never did tell Lisa about her curious encounter with the bass player. The Grammy’s had been so close, and she didn’t want to take that experience away from her friend. Chelsie didn’t want to be the messenger that broke Lisa’s heart.

She would always have your back, though. The nagging thought flooded her with guilt as she watched how unaware Lisa looked in the arms of her lover. Lisa would never let Chelsie get played like that.

Chelsie sighed and slunk back against her seat. She would tell Lisa after the Grammy’s.

“Check it out!” Lisa pointed out the window as they ventured through Midtown Manhattan. The iconic building came into view, bustling with reporters and important people.

Their limo pulled up behind a sea of black, luxury vehicles and SUVs, all with tinted windows. It was a mystery who may be inside: Katy Perry, Bono, Jennifer Lopez. Chelsie felt small amongst the quintessential stars.

As their transport came to a stop, Devon finally put his phone away and slipped his Tom Ford sunglasses over his weary eyes. He held his hand out to her. “Ready?”

Chelsie nodded with a gulp. The driver came around to open the side door and they were instantly greeted with security guards and flashing camera lights. She stepped onto the concrete, holding up the heavy fabric of her designer gown. Devon’s hand was firmly linked with hers as she stood and looked up at the crowd.

A newscaster stood behind the rope, his back to them as he introduced their arrival.

“Devon Sawyer of Freeze Frame and infamous girlfriend, Chelsie Combs, make their way out of the next vehicle. Freeze Frame is performing tonight, and they are up for two separate awards…”

Infamous.

Chelsie plastered a dazzling smile across her face as she followed Devon onto the red carpet. Her heart was racing. She glanced behind her shoulder and spotted Lisa waving madly to the masses. Chelsie’s smile broadened. As they entered the venue, swarms of media with microphones in hand were waiting to get an interview. Chelsie and Devon posed for photos and shook hands with millionaires.

One of the reporters pulled her away from Devon as a camera followed her. “Miss Combs, a word?”

Chelsie smiled and hoped her nerves wouldn’t get the best of her.

“Miss Combs, your name has been in a lot of people’s mouths lately. How does it feel to go from a struggling waitress to a household name?” the woman asked.

“I count my blessings every day,” Chelsie answered simply.

“You don’t do many interviews, so you’re kind of a mystery to Freeze Frame fans. Is there anything we should know about you?”

Chelsie froze as her mind scuttled with hundreds of fun facts about herself. She was an only child. She hated flying. She could curl her tongue. She was a hula-hoop champion. She liked mushrooms. She wanted to visit Ireland someday. But she hated flying…

“I’m honestly not that interesting,” Chelsie concluded. “I’m probably no different than you. I’m obsessed with my cat. I spend most of my time reading or watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. And I can rock a messy bun like nobody’s business.”

The reporter laughed. Chelsie relaxed, suspecting she hadn’t completely flopped.

“Well, we’re rooting for Devon tonight. Thanks for stopping by to chat.”

Chelsie gave an appreciative nod of her chin and continued walking.

“Love your new hair, Chelsie!” someone shouted from behind the ropes.

She smiled and waved.

Where did Devon go? Chelsie wasn’t good at this celebrity thing. She needed someone to, quite literally, hold her hand.

As she surveyed her surroundings looking for a familiar face, she saw him.

Noah.

He was chatting with one of the reporters with Beth by his side.

He had taken Beth to the Grammy’s?

Chelsie’s stiletto heels felt stuck to the carpet as her eyes examined him. He was wearing a slate, gray suit with a baby blue bowtie. His hair was still grown out, though styled and tamed with gel. A week or two worth of stubble adorned his handsome face. Beth stood next to him looking like a deer in headlights. Her hand was clamped around his upper arm, her dark purple dress swaying lightly as she fidgeted from one foot to the other. Her sunny blonde hair was pulled back tightly into an elegant bun.

Noah was mid-sentence when his eyes broke away and fell in her direction. Chelsie’s heartbeat thundered beneath her ribcage when their gaze locked. It felt like a forest fire had been lit underneath her skin.

She had never seen him look at her quite like that before.

***

Noah was good at faking things.

Smiles for the press. His eye exam on his driver’s license test. His love for Rosa’s pineapple upside down cake. His interest in Candyland.

But Noah couldn’t fake the feeling that came over him when he saw her standing there. He was dumbstruck. Chelsie was staring back at him, her eyes burning hot like embers. Noah didn’t hear the reporters speaking to him. He didn’t hear Beth repeating his name. The voices were a quarry of gibberish in the back of his mind. All he could see was her. All he could hear was the rush of heat surging through his veins.

She picked up the skirt of her dress and began to approach him. Their eyes were still connected by an invisible wire. Chelsie stopped a foot away from him and licked her lips. She dropped the dress, pressing her palms against the bustle of fabric. “Hey.”

Hey. It was easy enough to say. One syllable. A commonly used word in his vocabulary. An appropriate response. “You have bangs.”

He watched as she raised a hand to fiddle with her hair, ducking her head with a semblance of modesty. “Yeah… I’m still getting used to it,” she said.

Beth coughed beside him. “I think it looks great.”

Noah awakened to his surroundings and felt Beth’s hand give his arm an effective squeeze.

“Chelsie… you remember Beth,” he said, redirecting the conversation to his date for the evening.

Chelsie gave a thin-lipped smile, her eyes only briefly leaving his. “You look beautiful, Beth. I’m sure you’ll have a great time tonight.”

“Thank you,” Beth replied.

Chelsie fixated her sights back on Noah. “Is Sam with Rosa?”

“Yeah,” Noah nodded. “He misses you.”

I miss you. He watched as flecks of teal and aqua sparkled in her eyes, reflecting the brilliant colors of her dress.

“I miss him, too.”

A photographer appeared in front of them, breaking the tension that had developed between them. “Noah Hayes! Can I get a picture of you and Chelsie?”

Noah had forgotten where they were. There were cameras, and reporters, and A-list musicians surrounding him. And here he was making moon eyes at a woman who very publicly belonged to someone else.

“Uh, sure,” he said.

Beth pursed her lips together and took a step out of frame. Noah gave her hand a light kiss before letting it go. Chelsie moved closer to him.

“Closer, please!” the photographer ordered.

Noah wrapped his arm around Chelsie’s lower waist and pulled her in until their bodies were touching. He could feel her heart beating through their layers of clothing. He could smell the lavender and lilacs in her hair.

“Thank you!”

The photographer snapped the photo and moved along to his next subjects. Noah dropped his arm and stepped back, missing her proximity.

“I should go find Devon,” she said, holding her white clutch between her hands. The tips of her fingers were painted a deep berry. “You’re going to do great tonight.”

“Thanks.”

She paused and Noah wondered what she had wanted to say. He could see the words climbing up her throat and stopping just before they touched her glossy lips. He wondered if those words echoed his own.

Chelsie said nothing. She gave him one fleeting glance before she turned away into the myriad of flashing lights.

Beth was leaning back against the wall, taking in the scene. “You like her,” she said.

Noah frowned as he removed his gaze from Chelsie’s retreating form. Beth had her arms crossed over her chest, but she didn’t look angry. She looked objective. “I like you,” Noah replied.

“Not the way you like her.” There were no jealous undertones or bitter inflections. Just facts. “It’s okay, Noah.”

Noah ran his hand over his face and let out a sigh of resignation. He was going to protest, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He did like Beth. She was refreshing, and funny, and exactly what he needed in his life. Her only flaw was that she wasn’t her.

“Walk me to my seat?” Beth held out her arm with a faint smile.

Noah nodded. He did not address her statements. He didn’t try to justify or deny anything. He let it be. There was nothing he could say.

The band parted ways with their women and made their way backstage. They were about to play.

“Break a leg, boys!”

Noah glanced up to see Steven Tyler giving them a friendly wave. He nodded his thanks.

“Hey, where’s Devon?” Tad asked as they tweaked their gear.

Noah noticed the lead singer was no longer trailing behind them. “Bathroom break?”

“Cuttin’ it close,” Miles scoffed.

“Just had to take a piss. Shit.” Devon hobbled over from the bathroom looking jittery and strung out. “Let’s fucking rock this.”

“Dude, did you just get high?” Noah accused, stepping closer to the front man. “Right before the show?”

Devon was sweating and wiping his nose. “I’m good, man. Let’s do this.”

“Fuck you.” Noah got right in Devon’s face, his anger spiraling to the surface. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Devon pushed defensively at Noah’s shoulders. “Back the fuck up, Hayes.”

Noah pushed back.

“Jesus Christ,” Miles shouted, jumping in between them. “You seriously think this is the time for this shit?”

“A little professionalism would be excellent,” Sean said, appearing from behind the stage with a headset on. “You’re almost up.”

Noah regained control and adjusted his bow tie. He ground his teeth together. Any doubts he may have had about leaving the band were officially put to rest. He couldn’t do this anymore. Devon had chosen his path and now it was time for Noah to choose his. The music had brought them together, but it wasn’t enough to keep them together. Devon had allowed himself to be sucked into the blinding lights of stardom – he’d gotten swept away in the cheap thrills. As much as it killed Noah to watch his old friend make a swift descent towards rock bottom, Noah couldn’t stick around to watch him crash and burn. Devon needed to pull himself out on his own.

“Five minutes!” one of the producers shouted.

Noah picked up his guitar. He needed to re-focus and remove the mindless clutter from his thoughts. There was no Devon, no band drama, no Chelsie. None of that existed. It was just him and his guitar – like old times. He grazed his thumb against the strings, basking in their reassuring chords that reverberated through him. He played the first few notes of ‘Hometown Girl’.

“You’re up!”

Noah listened to the announcer introduce them as they got into position. This was it. This was the moment every musician dreamed about: The Grammy’s. Performing in front of hundreds of acclaimed performers and celebrities. They were amongst so much talent. They were the talent. Noah had envisioned this since he was a small child when he would sneak into his father’s closet and play songs by The Beatles on his rust-colored acoustic guitar. He’d fantasized about being on a stage like this with smoke, and strobes, and colorful lights. His heart rumbled in his chest as the curtains were pulled, revealing the most high-profile audience he had ever performed for.

No pressure.

He strummed over the first note, the chords vibrating through the expectant auditorium. Noah closed his eyes. Here we go.

Tad jumped in with a ‘one, two, three’ on his drums and the song took off. Noah had played this song so many times, he could do it in his sleep. He glanced over at Devon who was already dancing around and head-banging on stage. Noah couldn’t help but smile. The energy on stage was contagious. If he was going out, he wanted it to be like this. It was almost like old times again as he watched his friends bounce around with a vitality he hadn’t witnessed in months. Noah’s eyes narrowed through the smoke and he looked out at the sea of artists he had admired since he knew what music was.

Devon’s raspy voice echoed through the music hall and recoiled through him like an old friend. There were no fumbles. They didn’t miss a note or a beat. They were young, bright-eyed musicians again running on pure adrenaline and a genuine love for performing. They were not jaded. There were no vices.

There was only music.

They ended the song with passion and efficiency. The crowd went wild with whistles and applause. They received a standing ovation. Noah let the emotions wash over him like a warm hug. He threw his arms up, raising his guitar in the air like a well-deserved trophy.

He shared a triumphant look with Devon, and for just a moment, everything was perfect.