Chapter Nine
Gabby
Almost all my big firsts have been with Jonathan. First orgasm at the hands of someone else. First oral. First serious boyfriend. First long-distance relationship.
Now I can add first rock concert to that list after the shows yesterday. And now, watching him perform from the wings of the stage, first time watching him perform for a big audience.
He’s said before that it’s addicting, the best high. And I can see why.
The energy here is so different from one of my performances, either as a soloist or a member of an orchestra. I felt it yesterday while I was in the crowd.
But from my hiding spot here, able to see the crowd from behind the black curtains that form the backdrop of the stage, it’s a whole other experience. What must it be like to be on stage, having all those people singing along with you? With something you wrote?
People humming along to that little melody that’s still languishing in my music folder flashes before my eyes, and I suck in a breath. God, that would be … amazing.
I started off the show in the audience, wanting to get the full concert experience. But I’d promised I’d meet him backstage. Colt came and got me from my place in the front of the crowd, on the other side of the barricade holding the fans back from the stage.
Jonathan is finishing up his last set, just him on stage, sitting on a stool with his guitar. He’s playing “Everything,” and I have to fight back the tears at the memories stirred up by that song. I’ve heard it a billion times now, but it still hits me hard. This is the second single that’ll be hitting the radio at the same time as the album release.
The crowd is intent, almost silent, which is amazing in this kind of venue, with other performances on other stages around the park and people just crowding around on the grass. But Jonathan holds them with his words, his music, his voice.
As he strums the last chord, the sound shimmering away into the night, there’s a pause. A breath of near perfect silence. And then the eruption of applause is deafening.
I blink away the tears burning behind my eyes, my cheeks feeling like they’ll burst I’m smiling so huge. My hands sting from clapping so hard along with everyone else.
Jonathan stands from his stool, waves at the audience and thanks them before giving a slight bow and striding off stage. I see the moment he realizes I’m waiting there. His eyes light up, and his huge smile gets impossibly wider.
He pushes the guitar behind him so it hangs down his back and sweeps me into his arms, picking me up and giving me a fierce kiss.
People move around us, a few clapping Jonathan on the shoulder and saying, “Nice job out there,” or, “You killed it.”
After the third or fourth person, Jonathan breaks the kiss, but doesn’t even pay attention to the people around us. His eyes capture mine, his lips still curved in a smile. “What’d you think?”
“It was amazing. You’re amazing. I’m so glad I got to watch from the audience.”
His arms squeeze me tighter and he presses another quick kiss to my lips before letting me slide down so my feet touch the floor again. “Me too. I wish you could come to all my shows.”
“I’ll come to all the ones I can.”
A man dressed all in black interrupts. “Sorry. I just need to put your guitar away.”
“Right.” Jonathan releases me and pulls the guitar around to his front by the neck before shrugging it off and handing it to the roadie. He watches as the man walks away, guitar carefully held in both hands.
When his eyes find me again, I smile brightly. “What now?”
He threads his fingers through mine and tugs me around backstage. “First we hit my dressing room. I want to get some water and a snack. And then we party like rockstars.”
My eyes widen. “We’ll have to send Colt to find Lauren. She’ll be pissed if we go to a party without her.”
“Colt will love that.” His smile has settled into a smirk, and he nods at a few more people bustling around backstage, offering him congratulations.
We take a set of stairs down off the raised stage platform and head into a set of portable buildings that serve as the dressing rooms for this stage. One door has a paper taped to it with Jonathan’s name written on it in black sharpie. Jonathan pushes the door open and pulls me in after him, backing me against the door once it’s closed and kissing me hard again.
My arms go around his neck and his fingers flex on my hips as he grinds himself into me.
I flinch as a fist bangs on the door right behind my head. Jonathan pulls back with a low growl, pressing one last, gentle kiss to my lips before stepping back and pulling me with him. “Yeah?” he calls through the closed door.
“Dude. Open the door. Don’t be a dick. It’s me.”
While Jonathan reaches for the door, I hide behind him to cover my grin at Colt’s annoyed voice. With the door open just enough to see out, Jonathan gruffly demands, “What do you need?”
“Seriously?” Colt’s fingers wrap around the door as he tries to push his way in, but Jonathan doesn’t let him. All those workouts are paying off in more ways than one.
“Seriously. I need to decompress for a few minutes. Alone.”
“I know Gabby’s in here with you. You’re not alone.”
Silence stretches between them as Jonathan stares at his younger brother. Colt clears his throat. “Right. Sure. Decompress. I see.”
When Jonathan speaks again, I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at his brother. “Hey, since we’re going to some after parties in a bit, why don’t you track down Lauren. She’ll want to come too.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Gabby’ll text you with her number. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Don’t take too long. Even though this was set up last minute, you still have meet and greets to get through tonight. I had the crazy idea you’d want to get them out of the way sooner so you could spend more time with Gabby without anything hanging over your head. Clearly I was wrong. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” Colt turns away, grumbling something about being an errand boy.
When Jonathan closes the door, he gives me a long, heated look, but shakes his head. “I guess we’ll have to wait to really decompress until we get back to the hotel later. I’m not sure how long I’m going to want to stay at a party, when I know I only have one more night with you.”
I laugh lightly, stepping closer to him. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in close. “I’m okay with not staying for long. But you need to do the meet and greets. And since you sent Colt for Lauren, we’ll have to at least go to the party long enough to get her in. If Colt stays with her, she’ll be fine.”
With his face buried in my hair, he hums his agreement. “You better text him Lauren’s number. If he doesn’t find her before he’s supposed to come get me, he’ll give up and let it go. And I am starving. And so thirsty I could drink a gallon of water right now.”
I press a soft kiss to his lips and step back, pulling my phone out of my pocket to text Colt and then Lauren, so she knows what’s going on.
Jonathan heads over to the stiff couch in front of a coffee table with his usual post-concert meal of a roast beef sandwich and a brownie laid out as well as several bottles of water.
After sending off the texts, I head to the Keurig set up on a side table along with mugs, boxes of tea, a small carousel of K-cups, and a bottle of honey. I pull a bag of chamomile tea out of its box and drop it in a mug, then make the Keurig pour hot water over it.
“Thank you.” Jonathan’s voice is sounding a little rougher than normal after a full show plus the weekend full of talking, attending concerts with me, and shouting and cheering along with the audience. When he sings, there’s no strain. But sometimes he ends up shouting from the stage, either to talk over the audience and calm them down so he can be heard, or to get them excited.
Watching him perform is an education in itself. His energy and stage presence draws in the crowd, makes them feel like they’re part of the show. He plays the audience as much as he plays his guitar.
I turn and give him a smile, bringing the mug and the bottle of honey over to him. “You’re welcome.”
His hand catches mine as I straighten up, and he guides me over to sit beside him. I steal one of his apple slices, and he smiles at me around a mouthful of food. “I could get used to this,” he says once he swallows.
“Me too.” And I could. All too easily. I haven’t practiced all weekend, and I have no idea what homework is due tomorrow. At this point, I’ll probably skip theory in the morning anyway. We’ll be up late, regardless of how long we stay at a party. And Jonathan’s getting on a plane tomorrow. I won’t see him again until he’s in Seattle in mid-October.
He bumps me with his shoulder. “Hey. You’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking?”
Grabbing another apple slice, I sit back on the couch. “Just about tomorrow. I think I’m going to skip most of my classes. Eight o’clock is waay too early in the morning after a weekend like this.”
Jonathan seems to contemplate me for a second before smiling. “While I hate to think I’m getting in the way of school, I won’t complain about getting a lazy morning with you tomorrow.”
“I hate that you have to leave already,” I whisper. I didn’t plan to say that out loud. But that’s been creeping into my head more and more all day. Now that the sun is down and his concert is over, it’s on repeat like a catchy chorus. I hate that he’s leaving already. I hate that he’s leaving already. I want him to stay. I want to go with him. I want … I shake my head, dislodging the thought. Trying to make it stop.
With a deep breath, I force a smile at him. He sets his sandwich down and reaches for me, pulling me onto his lap. His hands run up and down my back, then up to run through my hair, his gaze abstract as he watches his hands, but doesn’t seem to be really focused on them. “I know. Me too.” His eyes meet mine. “This trip has been way too short. And Seattle will be even shorter, since you’ll have to come to me.”
“At least my Fridays end at one. And flights to Seattle are quick.”
“Yeah.” He refocuses on his hands. “School’s going good, though?”
I nod. “It is. I mean, we’re only a few weeks in, but lessons are going to be good. Clara’s happy with the progress I made over the summer and the things I worked on with Julia have added more depth to my playing. Sight Singing is the same as always, and theory this year is actually more interesting. Lots of analysis still, but less rote memorization, so that’s nice.”
“Good. That’s good.” His lips curve up in a smile, but his eyes are sad. “I’m glad your lessons with Julia were so useful, even though you didn’t work with her for very long. Have you told Clara about starting to compose at all?”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “I haven’t told anyone about that.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Not even Lauren?”
“Not even Lauren. I don’t really know what to tell people anyway. It’s not like I’ve worked on it much lately.”
His brows draw together now. “Why not? You should. Didn’t Julia’s husband tell you not to stop composing?”
With a sigh, I shift to the side so I can take my seat next to Jonathan again. “Yeah. He did. He also told me to take more theory classes and piano lessons. Well, I’m in theory. And I signed up for piano lessons, which is taking up a ton of time. I have to fill out a practice log for my non-major piano lessons.” I make a disgusted noise to concisely express my feelings on practice logs. “I feel like I’m in middle school again. Except my mom doesn’t have to sign my practice log these days.”
Jonathan laughs as I roll my eyes, and I shove his shoulder. “Shut up. It’s not funny. It’s hard enough finding time to practice violin, do all my homework, and talk to you every night, and now I have to do an hour a day of piano. And on top of that I’m supposed to write music? When? How? Where?”
“Umm …” Jonathan screws up his face like he’s thinking hard. “After midnight?”
“Right. Sleep is for losers, anyway, right?”
He shrugs, an unconcerned expression on his face, but a teasing glint in his eyes. “Of course. Plus, you’re a college student. Not sleeping is part of the whole experience.”
“Ha. Thanks.” I scoot to the edge of the couch and break off a bite of his brownie. “We have to compose some for theory, so I’ll use that to keep my music writing chops in shape. Okay?”
Jonathan shakes his head, his long fingers breaking off a piece of brownie for himself. “I guess that’ll have to work. I get it, though. I remember being swamped sometimes and not having time to write. It’s rough. But you’ll make it through. I promise.”
“I know.” I’m not worried about not making it through school. It’s the long weeks of separation from Jonathan that I’m not handling well. Maybe it’ll get easier?
God, I hope so.