Deep down, I almost believed Dee had forgotten to pick me up.

Deep down, I hoped he had.

I was draped over my couch, hands over my eyes, silently praying to be left alone. I couldn’t handle this singing thing. I couldn’t handle the thought of standing anywhere else other than in the audience, and we hadn’t even started yet. My guitar sat in its case against the wall, and I swore it was agreeing with me.

Suddenly, there was thumping on my front door, and Dee was calling out, “Zoe! Rise and shine, baby cakes! I know you’re in there. No use hiding.”

I flung open the door, and he was standing there with his car keys in his hand.

“We’re going to Frank’s,” he said, pushing his way inside and grabbing my guitar case before I could argue.

I had no choice but to follow him out to the car if I wanted my beloved Epiphone back. Truth was I think I was more afraid of the unknown than actually doing this band thing. I didn’t know how to write music, and I wasn’t sure how it all worked together with other instruments. Epic cluelessness.

Jumping in the car with a second to spare, Dee pulled out into traffic and we headed across town. The sun was shining, and summer was all but over, but the days were still mild. As we drove through suburb after suburb, I couldn’t help playing with the hem of my shirt. Dee glanced over and caught me fidgeting.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, patting my leg. “We’re all mates, and the only person we’re gonna laugh at is Frank, and he’s used to it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” I reassured him. “It’s just the bit after.”

He knew I meant the whole getting up on stage thing. Melbourne was a big place but small at the same time. Word got around.

“You’re going to be great,” he said quietly as we started to climb the West Gate Bridge that linked the west of the city to the CBD. “You shouldn’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

“It’s not that easy, Dee.”

“I know it’s been tough the last two years, but it’s time to get out, Zo. I love you. You know that. I hate to see you like this.”

I felt tears prickle in my eyes, and I was thankful I was wearing my aviator sunnies with the mirrored fronts. “I know,” I whispered.

“I’m doing this for you. I’m shit scared as well, but there’s a time and a place, you know.”

That stopped me in my tracks. Dee admitting he was nervous? I couldn’t remember ever hearing him say anything like that before, and the fact he was putting himself out there for me warmed my insides. All this time I thought the world had abandoned me, and I’d had Dee all along. Bloody hell, I was selfish.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Stop it, Zo. If you wanna make it up to me, then just be in my band.”

“Oh, so now it’s your band?”

He let out a laugh and turned up the radio. Spiderbait’s cover version of ‘Black Betty’ was playing, which was a fast and heavy rock song perfect for driving.

When the vocals kicked in, we sang in unison all the way to Frank’s, and I felt my uncertainty slipping away. Funny thing about music was it could make you feel better almost always. I found myself hoping deep down that this band would finally see the start of better things.

Frank lived in a dilapidated miner’s cottage in Footscray. It backed up to the train line, so every thirty minutes we were overwhelmed with a shaking floor and the sound of a suburban train whooshing by. He was excited to see us when he opened the door and helped bring our gear through the house to a room out back that had been taped up haphazardly with soundproofing. At one end, he had a nice looking drum kit set up. At the other end, there were two old couches where Chris was already sitting, his bass and portable amp leaning against the wall.

“Hey, Zoe,” he said. “Frank’s been telling me how great you are.” He nodded at my guitar case.

“Oh?” I asked, giving Frank my best annoyed side-eye glare.

“So I hear,” he said with a wink, and I knew Dee had been talking me up like I was Da Vinci.

“Let’s hear, then,” Chris chipped in.

I opened my case and pulled out my guitar while Frank plugged me into an amp.

“Sweet guitar.” Chris was in love.

“I’m so jealous,” Dee declared. “You should see her effects pedals.”

“That sounds like a dirty pickup line,” Frank declared, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Before I could chicken out, I played the opening bars to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s ‘Ain’t No Easy Way,’ and Chris whistled. “You’re tight, Zoe.”

“That’s what all the boys say.” I winked, and he blushed.

“How long you been playin’?”

“About two years give or take.” I shrugged, putting the guitar down.

“Yeah, she’s like a prodigy or something.” Dee was up to his old tricks.

“Just had a lot of time on my hands, and I got into it.” It was the truth.

“That’s a tough song.” Frank handed me a cider. “I dunno anyone who’d be able to play that after two years.”

“That’s because you only know people in punk bands, and they only know three chords,” Dee shot at him with a laugh.

“Let’s look at your songs,” I said to Dee. I’d heard some of his stuff before when he played it on the street, so I knew he could do it.

He handed me a tattered notebook. “It’s a bit different,” he said. “I wanted to try something more classic rock.”

“Like what?” Frank asked. “Led Zeppelin classic? Deep Purple? Oh, I know, glam rock like T. Rex.”

“Led Zeppelin,” Dee and I echoed at the same time, and he grinned at me.

He picked up his guitar and played through the first song in his book. It was a fast rock song.

I read his lyrics and whistled. “Nice words, Dee Dee.”

“Nah, not really. I want you to rewrite them.”

“Me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“They’re all about love and sex,” I said. “Not exactly my forte.”

“How is it not your thing, Zo Zo?” Frank exclaimed. “Look at you.”

I looked at myself and shrugged.

“She doesn’t see it,” Dee said to the others. “Not yet.”

I looked down at the song Dee had written so I could hide my blush and played the first few bars the way he’d just hammered them out. Dee’s idea of writing was to illegibly scribble the chord down and demonstrate. I knew it was meant to be fast because he’d scrawled the words fast as fuck at the top of the page followed by letters and numbers that indicated how many notes. Unlike me, he hadn’t bothered to learn how to read or write music.

He’d intended it to be fast, but I turned it on its head and slowed it down. Filtering out the others, who were sitting there watching my every move, I played around with the notes. I was surprised at how it sounded this way.

“Fucking hell, Zoe,” Dee exclaimed, and at first, I thought he was mad, and my fingers scratched across the strings making a horrible sound.

“Don’t stop,” Chris said from his corner.

“I never thought of it that way.” Dee was practically wetting his pants. “That sounds hot.”

“Like sex on a stick,” Frank said, much to the amusement of the guys.

“What’s it called?” Chris asked.

“It’s called ‘Walls’,” I replied.

Dee pulled out another notebook from his bag and tossed it to me. “Write the lyrics.”

I glanced at the empty notebook and then at Dee’s tattered one that was full of ideas and marks. I didn’t know where to start. I tried not to think about it too much as I grabbed a pen and wrote out the music as best as I could manage. It was already there in my mind and fingers when they sat on the strings—I just had to translate it into something coherent. But when it came to the words, I saw what Dee had written, and it could be a song about me. No wonder he wanted me to change it. He wanted the song to be from me instead. My side of the story.

The couch dipped next to me, and Dee stuck his head over my shoulder to see what I was writing. I pressed the notebook into my chest as he tried to snatch it away.

“Hey,” I cried. “I like you and all, Dee, but stop trying to feel me up.”

His lips curved into a sly smile, and he knew I was onto him, and for once, I didn’t argue.

“What are we gonna call ourselves?” Frank asked. Before Chris could open his mouth, he added, “No ideas accepted from Chris.”

“Why not?” he grumbled.

Dee began to laugh. “We’re not into Morrissey.”

“I think Empty Hands is a good name for an indie band,” I said kindly.

“Thanks, Zoe.” Chris smiled and tapped his bottle against mine.

“We’re not a pansy-ass, mopey, indie band,” Frank declared and beat on his chest. “I want to beat the shit outta those skins, for one. I’m too manly to get in touch with my feminine side.”

Dee was watching me with a frown, and I realized I’d been running a finger along the scar on my arm.

“Tattoo,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

“What?” I tucked my hands under my legs.

“Tattoo,” he said again, and I could almost see the light bulb pinging to life over his head. “The Devil’s Tattoo.”

As soon as he said it, I knew he wanted to name the band after me. I couldn’t help but wonder who the devil was meant to be. The devil scarred my arm, and I covered it with a tattoo.

“Dee…” I began to scold him.

“Bloody LOVE IT,” Frank shouted, leaping to his feet.

“It’s not like that, Zoe,” Dee whispered in my ear. “You’re my phoenix from the ashes. You’re my version of the devil, babe.”

It sounded like he was declaring his love for me, and in a way he was, but not like that. Dee was my brother. Dee was my family.

I smiled at him. “The Devil’s Tattoo.”

“All in favor?” Dee asked, but it’d already been decided.

“Hell, yeah!” everyone shouted, and it was done.

* * *

The next couple of months flew by in a haze of band rehearsals. We got together almost every day at Frank’s place and worked through Dee’s songs. I rewrote some lyrics, and together we came up with some stuff that we were all really pleased with.

It was one Thursday night, just after rehearsal on our way home, when Dee dropped a bomb on top of me.

“You did what?” I almost screeched at him.

“I booked us a gig,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“And you’re dumping this on me now?”

“Yep.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” This couldn’t be happening. I needed time to mentally prepare myself. I was going to hyperventilate. I needed a brown paper bag…stat.

“Tomorrow night at Cherry,” Dee said proudly.

“Cherry?” Cherry Bar was probably Melbourne’s most famous rock venue. It sat off AC/DC Lane in the city and was a tiny hole in the wall. It attracted rockers, punks, indies, and all kinds of alternative types. It was the place to play to be seen.

“We’re supporting Ipswich.”

I knew Ipswich was a hard rock outfit that had been doing pretty well locally. The thought of playing before them made me even more edgy. There’d be a lot of people there.

“We’ve got the songs, Zoe. With a cover, we have a tight set. This will be amazing.”

The thought flowed through my mind that there would be people I knew there. People who didn’t like me all that much. What if I bombed? It would give them fodder for years.

Dee seemed to read my mind. “It’s your chance to rub their faces in it.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he scolded me. “I’d say picture them all naked, but that’s a bit cliché.”

I rolled my eyes. “And it’d scar me for life.”

“Ugh, don’t go there.”

“You went there first.”

Dee pulled into the drive of my apartment block and kissed me on the cheek. “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at six thirty sharp. Doors at eight.”

“Okay,” I replied, getting out the car and retrieving my guitar from the back.

As he drove away, I couldn’t help but feel my stomach churn, and a mountain of what-ifs bounced furiously around in my brain. Ping, ping like I was inside a pinball machine.

Before, when I thought about becoming fodder for gossip again, that was my only real fear. After what I’d come to call Armageddon, everyone turned on me. They didn’t want to hear my side of the story, and ‘Walls’ was my side. What would happen if someone I knew from before was there and heard it? What would happen then? I was worried it would drag everything back up the moment I began to feel happy and destroy the great thing Dee had created for me.

Was I destined to feel afraid the rest of my life because of what someone else did to me?

Was this as good as it got?

I really hoped it wasn’t.

* * *

The guys in Ipswich were actually pretty nice.

They’d listened to our hastily recorded CD of songs and were happy to have us along to support after another group dropped out at the last second. They had been hanging around in the alley out front of the bar when we arrived and chatted to us like we were already friends, putting my nerves somewhat at ease.

They had four members like we did, but they were all guys, and all of them were dressed like they were Guns N’ Roses and AC/DC hybrids. Black skinny jeans, torn T-shirts, and long hair ranging from below the ears to almost as long as mine.

Being in the band meant you had to be there early to set up your gear. In a small venue like Cherry, you had to do it yourself. There was no such thing as a roadie, and you even had to find someone to help with the sound. Luckily, Ipswich’s guy helped us out since we’d come on at such late notice. We were doing them a favor, apparently. Even they didn’t have enough songs to fill two sets.

We were sitting in the corner on some couches, drinking and passing the time until it was time for us to go on. Frank was all worked up and ready to go. He’d done this a million times, and so had Chris, who was so mellow it made me jealous as hell.

Right now, I felt like throwing up.

To my complete annoyance, Dee had this uncanny ability to guess whatever I was thinking, and he poked me, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and feigned throwing up.

“Not funny,” I said with a groan.

“Take your hair out,” Dee said, tugging on my braid.

“Why?”

“I’m not getting up there with you looking like that. And if you do happen to throw up, I’ll hold it out the way.”

“Thanks, girlfriend.” I punched him in the shoulder.

“You look better with it out,” he said with a laugh. “Image, Zo Zo. You can hide behind it, and people think it looks rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Sold!” I pulled my braid out and shook my hair, much to Dee’s amusement. I was suddenly very glad I’d let my fringe grow out because now I could hide behind it, as well. If your eyes were the windows to your soul, then on stage, I didn’t want anyone looking into them and seeing the fear I was trying desperately to squash down.

One of the guys from behind the bar leaned over and said something in Dee’s ear, and my heart almost stopped.

“Time to rock ‘n’ roll, Zo Zo,” he said to me.

I swallowed hard, and for the first time, I looked at the crowd around us and understood just how popular Ipswich were. The place was crammed with people, and now I had to go and play in front of them.

“Close your eyes and jump, sweetness.” Frank wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me through the throng.

“We believe in you.” Chris squeezed my shoulder as he passed.

I couldn’t hear a word Dee was saying into his mic as I stepped up onto the stage and slung my guitar strap over my shoulder. People began to push up against the stage, and I turned my back to them, fixing my gaze onto the drum kit.

Frank smiled at me from his position behind the drums and began to count us in for the first song. It was now or never, so I turned back around, and as I began to play, the words of our opening song tumbled from my mouth, and I imagined myself in Frank’s back room.

We are at rehearsal.

No one else is here.

I know the stuff.

I know it.

It’s going to be awesome.

Then the first song was done, and the crowd was clapping and cheering. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on until Dee was in my ear saying, “They fucking love you, Zo. I knew it.”

I grinned at him and realized he was right. They liked us. They really liked us. We powered through our set, not skipping a beat, and all too soon, it was time for ‘Walls’—the song that bared my soul. Nausea washed over me.

“This next song,” Dee was saying, “is one that’s close to home. It’s quite personal, and we hope it resonates with some of you. It’s called ‘Walls.’”

Taking a deep breath, I dove into it and played the intro solo. As the music progressed, Chris added his bass, and then Dee came in on the second guitar part. Frank was playing a soft beat, and other than the hum from the bar at the back of the venue, everything seemed deathly still. I forgot about the crowd in front of me and began singing.

There’s calm in the stories now told

A tale of a girl gone wrong

Turned on, set upon, smash, and burn

I guess you know why

There were no lies in the way she laid

Broken, alone, no place to call home

Split apart, you splintered her bones

A lie you told, why?

The walls have gone up. The walls have closed down

The walls that you have built up

Built up inside you

There was more than a break in the smiles

I’d never known her to cry

A river, a lake, a floodplain

She was shaking, lost again

You splintered her bones

Splintered her bones

Slamming the walls down

The walls have gone up. The walls have closed down

The walls that you have built up

Built up inside you

As the last chords of the song echoed out into silence, I felt confidence brimming inside me. I looked up right into the eyes of Will Strickland, and I almost tripped over my guitar lead, my heart beginning to jackhammer wildly in my chest. He was shaking his head, a grin on his face, and clapping along with the rest of the crowd around him.

He was…he just dazzled me.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ripped out the lead from my guitar and made a hasty exit stage right, not quite understanding why it had riled me up. It had been ages since the Stabs gig, and with all the band stuff, my crush had fallen away to the point I’d almost forgotten about it, but seeing him standing there brought it back to the surface, and it burned even brighter than before.

Dee appeared behind me and helped me start packing away our gear so Ipswich could set up.

“You were ah-maze-ing.” He grinned at me like a proud parent. “What a rush, huh?”

“Yeah.” I sighed, realizing it was more the rush from just having shown everyone out there and myself that I could actually do this band thing than seeing Will Strickland in the crowd. “Yeah, it was.”

“Wanna do it again?”

“Sure.”

Dee smiled widely as if he knew this would be my answer all along. Smartass. He was like a puppet master, but I loved him too much to give him shit about it.

For the rest of the night, I hardly looked at anyone, still wary of the fact I’d outed myself on stage. They didn’t know that of course, but I did. If someone said, “Hello,” I would peek out from under my hair and say, “Hi.” Mostly, I didn’t recognize anyone, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Our set had gone over well. So well that people stopped us to say how much they liked it, and a few even asked if we had an EP.

When I finally stood at the bar, I leaned against the top and heaved a sigh of relief. I needed a little alcohol to calm my jitters and wet my dry throat. I’d spoken more in the last hour than I had in my entire life. For someone who didn’t say a lot of words back to back, it was exhausting.

The guy beside me moved off with a few glasses, and the next person moved into the gap. An arm wedged up against mine, and when I glanced up, I almost had a heart attack.

Will Strickland stood right next to me, and it was his arm jammed next to mine in the tight space. The sudden awareness of my reignited crush tingled down my bare arm, and I jerked away like I’d been shocked.

He turned at the abrupt movement, and his gaze met mine. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but I was stuck all the same. Up close, he was even more fuckable than he was on stage. His hair, his tattoos, his stubble…just his presence had me trapped in his bad boy web.

I stared at him for what felt like an age, and a sly grin began to pull at his lips—a grin that said he was the wolf who’d caught the lamb unawares.

“Hey,” he said, making my insides squirm and juice up with that one little word. His voice was husky and deep, and I wanted to hear more.

“Hey,” I said, almost choking when Dee grabbed my arm and yanked me away.

“Not on my watch,” he said, glaring back at Will.

“What the hell are you doing?” I was almost shouting at him, devastated he’d broken the spell.

Dee pouted. He actually pouted. “He’s not right for you.”

“Who died and made you my dad?”

“Zoe.” He ran a hand over his face. “I just got you back. A guy like that will just use you and chuck you back just as broken as before. I can’t see you like that again.”

“You’re the one who worked so hard to get me to move on,” I said and gestured around us. “And look where we are. He wanted to talk to me.” And before, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t want to approach me at the gig…but now he did.

“Yeah, I want you to move on, but not to another idiot.”

I knew Dee’s heart was in the right place, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t annoyed. I knew exactly who Will Strickland was. How could I forget with Dee around to remind me?

“Who said I wanted to fuck him?” I spat.

“I know dudes, Zo, and he had the ‘I wanna fuck that’ look on his face.”

I sighed sharply and glanced back at the bar, but there was no sign of Will. I guess my chance had flown right out of the window now.

“Okay,” I said just to appease him so I could go on crushing on Will Strickland in secret where he was harmless, and his dick was safely in his pants where it couldn’t go and break my heart. “From now on, I’ll let you screen all my dates. If I actually get one.”

He knew I was having him on, and his face softened. “I expect a resume, you know.”

I couldn’t help laughing, and I shook my head. Chris appeared beside us then and had a girl trailing behind him. She was quite pretty. Blonde, friendly face, and dressed in black jeans, boots, and a fitted Ramones T-shirt.

“This is my friend Simone,” Chris said, nodding at the girl.

“Hi.” She held out her hand, and I shook it with a small smile before she moved on to shake Dee’s hand. “You were great up there.”

“Thanks,” I said with a shrug.

“Wanna get a drink?” she asked me.

I glanced at Dee, and he nudged me with his shoulder. “Um, sure.”

Simone and I moved toward the bar, and I couldn’t help but warm to her when she linked her arm through mine like we were already best buddies. She smiled at the bartender, and she was pretty enough that he let it slide when she jumped the queue.

She handed me a bottled cider a moment later with a grin. “I noticed you had one on stage.”

Wow. “Thanks. So what do you do?” I asked, attempting some sort of conversation.

“I study Music Management at Victoria University,” she replied. “I have no musical talent, not like you. I wish, though. I want to manage a band or a venue one day. I reckon it’d be the best job ever.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” She seemed outgoing enough to be able to do it, and I wondered if that was why she was hanging out with me and buying me drinks. We’d played one gig, and she wanted to be my friend. Or perhaps she just wanted to get to know me. I had to get over my own hang-ups.

“Hey,” she exclaimed. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Alison Mosshart? You know, the lead singer from The Kills?”

I blinked hard in surprise. I think I liked this girl already.