Cline nods. “I just wanna know she’s okay,” he mutters.
Jamie pats him on the back and strides back to the door beside me. “Listen, we need to be out there—now.”
Stokes presses his lips together as we lock eyes and I take a deep breath as nerves jitter through me.
“Well, should we do it?” Stokes smiles, turning to Lucie and Royal, wiggling his cup back and forth.
They all in turn look at Cline, staring at his reflection once again as he fusses with his dark hair.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Doesn’t feel right,” Cline tells them, making eye contact through the mirror.
“Come on.” Stokes waves Lucie and Royal over.
Jamie leans in toward me as they speak in hushed whispers, “Pre-show ritual.”
And without Pascha, they feel weird about it. Makes sense.
“We did it before she got here,” Stokes says, “and we’ll do it long after she’s gone.”
Lucie stands and joins Stokes by his side. Royal stands, remaining in front of the couch, waiting for Cline to turn around.
“Come on, guys,” Stokes says.
I turn to him and he’s waving me over. I join them in the tense moment. Cline turns, his head hung, shuffling over, joining us with Royal following.
“Give ‘em what they want to hear,” Stokes shouts, wrapping his arms around Lucie and me.
“Pour ourselves a pint of beer,” Lucie says and pulls Cline in closer as Royal closes the gap of the circle. They all echo her in a call back.
“Give us all a double shot,” Royal says, and they echo.
“Give the fans all we got,” Cline mutters, and I join in on the call back.
“Cheers!” they all shout.
“To the band,” Stokes shouts.
“To the fans,” Royal shouts.
“To the motherfucking drinks in our hands,” Cline shouts and they shove their cups together, liquid sloshing over the sides, and take sips from their drinks.
They shuffle around, setting their cups down on a little square table, fussing in the mirror.
“Nervous?” Lucie laughs, staring at me.
I press my lips together as they file out of the room and we all walk down the hallway, our footsteps echoing, to the door. Jamie opens it for us. We walk across the back wall to the stage and up the steps.
These are the same steps my father climbed for all of his shows. What would he think of this now? My mom didn’t want to think about it, and I don’t know why I do when I know the answer. I’m still seeking his approval, even though I don’t need it. If I had more time with him as an adult after figuring out I always knew my own interests and passions were worth pursuing, I could have challenged him. I could have shown him how much I want this. It’s not his fault I stopped chasing my dreams. It’s mine.
The voice over the loudspeaker echoes from somewhere near the stage. “Here they are, make some noise for our live band tonight, from right here in Auburn Hills.”
They plug in their instruments to speakers and we take our places. I step behind my mic, just two feet from Stokes as the crowd cheers and the talking gets louder.
“You know them. You love them. Haddonboro!”
The crowd hoots and hollers as the lights dim and a moving spotlight sweeps across the stage like a lighthouse, back and forth.
Stokes smiles and nods to me as my chest flutters with each breath. Lucie waves to the crowd with a little grin, but Royal keeps a straight face as he sits behind his drum set. Cline almost scowls at the packed crowd with his guitar cradled in his hands.
I stare out at the audience, barely making out the figures past the front row through the harsh stage lights until Cline starts playing his guitar and faint blue lights strobe slowly, twisting and turning over the stage. The crowd is huge, filling the bar from wall to wall.
“Where’s Pascha?” I hear a loud man shout and search the crowd for where it came from.
“Yeah,” a few others hoot and holler, and I turn to Stokes with a worried look as he grabs the mic.
“Tonight,” Stokes speaks into his mic. “We’ve got a special guest joining Haddonboro. A long-time friend of mine from all the way back, before high school days.”
Lucie starts playing the keyboard, a riff off the beginning of their first song on the set list and keeps it on loop as he speaks to the audience.
“Everybody, make some noise for Lyn McGowan!”
A few men hoot and holler, and a group of women give a big ‘wooo’.
The same deep, young voice that called before cuts through the noise, chanting, “We want Pa-cha!”
Is the crowd going to start chanting it, turning on me? Was this a mistake? I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have taken her place. They don’t want to hear me. I can’t let them turn on me. Not now when the band depends on this show to go well—for me to do my job.
My sweaty hands grab the mic and I take breaths as deep as my tight chest will allow. “Hi everybody!”
Stokes nods back at Royal, and he begins playing the drums, creating a beat that some of the crowd bobs their head to. Lucie begins the real intro to the song and more of the little groups begin to sway. Stokes turns to me with a big, reassuring smile, and I take a deep breath, gripping the mic with white knuckles, desperate to hold on to something. It’s all I’ve got.
No. I have the music. What does this song make me feel?
Like I did the first time I was falling for a guy who didn’t feel the same, only in this song the roles are reversed.
Stokes begins to sing his part and I concentrate on his words. “Reach me with a whisper, might as well be a scream. What you do to
