Seattle, WA
World Tour Opening Night
BRODY
I stare back in the mirror and realize it has been a while since I’ve seen a glimpse of my former self up close. Sky has given me full use of her costume designer and wardrobe team. When they suggested a classic Savage Saban style, I rejected it immediately. Although I’m performing again, the last thing I need is a reminder of those days, drunken and doped-up chaos. I was so fucked up then that I didn’t even care what our label branded us with. Leather and metal made up our performance. Mine usually involved leather pants with metal chains and a leather vest to show of my bare chest and tattoos.
That’s when Sky suggested a mashup of my old look for fans and something new so I didn’t feel smothered by my old life.
“It needs to be sophisticated rocker,” Sky had said.
I grinned. “You mean old rocker?”
“You say old. I say seasoned and fucking hot.”
As I stare at my reflection, the leather pants remain, but the vest has been replaced by a dark denim jacket over a cream-colored top with a deep V-neck. The shirt feels very Prince-like with a ruffled collar, but at least the designer didn’t make me look like a clown wannabe. It’s like becoming Savage Saban but an updated version of the man so many saw as a rock god. The feel of the clothes is both comfortable and unnerving at the same time.
I hear the audience cheering backstage after one song ends. They are so loud it rumbles the floor and walls around me. That energy is hard to resist.
Sky moves on to her latest release as someone knocks on my door.
This was a time when a drink would be good, but I made sure everyone knew to keep alcohol out of my assigned dressing rooms. Old habits die hard when you’re an addict.
“Come in,” I say, adjusting the collar of my shirt. In the large mirror I see Molly, the stage manager open it.
“You’re on in five,” she says.
I nod, finally feeling the nerves make a bigger knot in my stomach.
“I’m ready,” I say and follow her out. I grab my specially crafted Gibson guitar and ease the strap over my shoulder. Even the weight of it in my hands sends a rush through me.
This is the special Les Paul edition that Kim bought me in the heyday of The Savages. Before the drinking and drugs filled our off hours. I hadn’t picked it up since I played the last song for Kim after I realized she wasn’t going to show me those gorgeous blue eyes of hers anymore.
Her ghost doesn’t follow the piece like I thought it would. I let out a sigh of relief since it’s my favorite. There’s something about hearing the strings of a Gibson that makes you rock harder, that makes the world fade away until there’s nothing left but the music.
A stage hand fixes a microphone on my head and sets it into place. The nerves come back some as she adjusts it.
When she’s done, I watch Sky from stage left as she belts out her number, a mid-tempo beat to tease the audience before my entrance ups the rock beat for them.
Even while performing, she’s dedicated to her fans, holding the hands of a few who reach out for her and kneeling so she’s closer. Malik isn’t too fond of that interaction since it makes her safety vulnerable, but Sky is headstrong when it comes to her listeners.
“They pay for my tickets,” she always defends. “I’ll be damned if I don’t give them the show they deserve.”
Her dedication is inspiring as I wait for my entrance. She turns her head in my direction until she spots me. Sky smiles as she finishes her song. Ours is meant to be the last number of the night to close out the show.
Sky walks closer to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce a special guest?”
The crowd screams and shouts their agreement as I adjust the guitar strap around my neck.
“Give it up for Savage Saban!” Sky shouts. The audience screams just as I play my way onto the stage. Bright lights blind me when I step out, so I focus my attention on Sky as I play her song, “Masquerade.” The last time audiences heard that song, it had been performed by Pit Viper using my unique spin on the riff. I’ve changed it since then. I don’t want there to be any question who strums the notes on this version.
My left hand moves up and down the neck of the guitar with ease as the other strums the strings.
Sky’s soft vocals drift in with the lyrics and the crowd screams. The energy in the stadium is addictive, and I can’t help but play my heart out.
I glance up briefly when the lights move to Sky. She’s nothing less than a pop goddess as she sings. Our eyes meet, and it’s as if I’m compelled to gravitate closer to her at center stage.
She smiles as I circle her. I can hear the audience go wild as we play off each other. My vocals finally join in on the chorus, and I can barely hear myself sing as the cheering picks up a notch.
The audience erupts into applause as I strum the last keys of the song. My skin tingles with the vibrations they make.
It isn’t until then that I notice many people dressed in metal and leather with some signature looks of The Savages. A few wear my old leather choker around their necks and some have even died their hair neon colors like our former drummer, Dylan Castle, in the punk-rock way he used to wear his spiked locks.
It’s surreal seeing rock fans among Skylar’s dedicated pop audience. I take it all in as the cheers begin.
“Encore! Encore!”
“Saban! Saban!”
“Encore! Encore!”
“Skylar! Skylar!”
Their chant has words I’m not expecting. Hearing my name in the crowd throws me off, and now they want more. I turn to Sky for guidance.
You don’t have to, she mouths to me. I know she means it.
I should leave, since we agreed on one song. She’s even giving me a way out, but I can’t leave her on that stage alone.
The Savages have crazy fans. They can fall out of love with you just as easily as they fell in love with you. Many of them were the most dedicated people I ever knew, and realizing that some of Sky’s audience remembers me pushes me forward. I want to give them more.
Follow my lead, I mouth to Sky. Her curious look disappears as I strum the opening to “Hardcore Love,” a classic song from the band’s old lineup.
My fingers remember each key as if they never forgot them.
“This is one of the first songs The Savages released,” I say to the audience. “If you know it, sing along.”
Baby your love fills me up all night long
Like the thrumming beat of a rock song
It’s a thinning line living on the edge
And I never want to come off that ledge
There’s nothing like hardcore love
To keep my world spinning right
I need all of your hardcore love
To make my darkness turn to light
When the pain gets too strong
And angels stop singing up above
Don’t you ever stop giving me
Every bit of your hardcore love
Sky joins in the chorus like we’ve been rehearsing the duet all our lives. Soon the audience joins in, too, and the music becomes a force all on its own. The next verse and bridge seem to come out naturally. I sing and play with a passion I long forgot.
It’s surreal as the music takes over. I’m not even sure it’s me playing anymore as I absorb the familiar sensation that kept me going for so long before I left it all behind.
When I finish, there’s a moment of silence. No one speaks or moves until the audience cheers their approval.
Sky smiles at me and takes my hand. I swivel the guitar on my back and pull her into a kiss as the crowd screams louder. It’s a rush, and I hate to pull away but know I have to.
“Thank you, Seattle,” Sky says’ gripping my hand tight. “We love you!”
It’s not until then that I notice one girl standing in the pit. I blink twice before staring at her again, and my skin goes cold. Kimberly stares back at me with a smile on her face and claps with the people around her. Everything about her is as I remember, before addiction hollowed her out and made her frail. A healthy version of her with the short blonde hair, heavy blue eyeliner, and a few strands dyed pink and blue makes a halo around her.
What the fuck? I think. She’s dead. Kim is dead. I say it over and over in my head until I close my eyes once more. I got to get my shit together before I embarrass the hell out of Sky.
This time when I open my eyes, strobe lights fall on the audience and lights up Kim’s face, but it’s not her. Another woman stands in the place where Kim’s ghost stood. She wears her hair and clothes in the same style, but she’s a stranger. Not the woman from my past.
Sky and I wave to the audience, but I can’t release her hand. I pull her off stage with a purpose.
I yank my headpiece off and toss it to the nearest stage hand. Someone grabs Sky’s microphone and audio pack, and I lead her back stage.
“Brody,” she says, “where are you going?”
I can’t answer her. My head is muddled and my body still hums from performing. We get looks as we rush past Sky’s people and the venue workers, but there must be a determined look on my face that keeps them from stopping us.
I don’t stop until I reach Sky’s dressing room.
“What’s wrong?” Sky asks as I pull her inside and lock the door.
My only answer is to kiss her until she melts into me. Taking her is the only thing that gives me focus.
It’s a blurry rush as we undress with our clothes still partly on, but Sky doesn’t question my eagerness. I need her like she’s the sustenance that’ll keep me alive. My cock strains against my pants. I need to be inside her.
I push her back on the dark red couch that lines one side of her dressing room. I get frustrated when I realize I don’t have protection.
She must realize the same thing, because she says, “In my cosmetic case. Side pocket.”
I find the foil wrapper and waste no time to go back to her. I turn her over so she’s on her knees and bent over the arm of the couch. My fingers find her opening, making sure she’s prepared for me. With my pulse beating wild, I can’t do slow. She stares back at me with a look mixed with longing and anticipation.
One push forward and I’m inside her. Sky grips the arm of the couch and bends over. Her hair is in a long ponytail, and I pull her by it until she’s against my chest. Her moans increase at my force as I hold her tight.
I nibble at her neck and bite down until she shakes under me. She grips me tight, even from this position, and I struggle to hold it off. I explore more of her from this angle. My fingers find her taut nipples. All it takes is a roll and a pinch of those points and she comes around me. I’m right behind her as I pick up speed. The pressure builds until I explode inside of her, the walls of her tightness pulling out everything I have left.
Even after our intense lovemaking, I’m still riding a high of energy mixed with confusion. Confusion at the thrill, the familiarity, and seeing a glimpse of Kim.
We’re spent on the couch in her dressing room. My head rests on her bare breasts as she strokes my hair in a calming motion.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
“Nothing to talk about,” I say. “Just the adrenaline rush.”
She doesn’t pressure me for more, and I’m thankful for that because I don’t even know how to explain it all to myself.