Page 3 of Doc Rock
Ford rolled his eyes. Ryan was such a douche. They'd brought him in to replace Sie after she vanished, and in those initial years, Ford thought he was a great guy. The life and soul of theparty. Always knowing where the best club was, the best alcohol, and the best drugs.
They’d lived their lives in a hedonistic blur, Ford burying the fact that his heart had been ripped in two when Sie left.
Even all these years later, Ford still scanned the audience of every show, hoping to catch a glimpse of straight black hair and striking violet eyes.
Over the years, he’d hired private investigators to search for her, butit waslike Sie Harrington never existed.
Another unnecessary guitar riff screamed from Ryan, and Ford ground his teeth. After too many stints in rehab, Ford was clean from drugs, and wished Ryan would grow up and move on from the live-fast, die-young mentality he inhabited.
Ford still cringed at the fractured memories of all the things he’d done while high. Trashing hotel rooms. Acting like he was better than anyone around him. Taking a different groupie back to the hotel in each city, then sending them on their way the next day with a hundred bucks for a taxi and a promise to call them—a promise he never kept.
They were now thirty-eight years old, and Ryan still tried to act like he was twenty-five. Ford was glad he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He didn’t want to be that guy again, as that guy was a total idiot.
He used to wear tight leather pants to every show, and when he got too hot, he would rip off his shirt and delight in the screams that would come from the crowd when he played the rest of the show bare-chested.
Until one day, he was dusting his legs with talcum powder togetthose stupid trousers on, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to move properly for the rest of the night, and he examined himself in the mirror. A grown man with his leg hair covered in white talcum powder so hecouldwear his stupidly tight leather pants.
That was the moment he took those dumb trousers that were his signature outfit and threw them in the bin, instead putting his jeans back on.
He paired the faded blue denim with a black singlet, then yanked the leather pants out of the bin,grabbed a pocket knife andhacked into them.
He wrapped the strips of leather that he sliced off around his forearms.
The girls screamed louder that night, telling him to take his shirt off, but he smiled the flirtatious smile he'd perfected as the frontman of a world-famous band and left them wanting more but loving him at the same time.
In Kookaburra, whateverit wascalled, Football stadium, Ford stared out at the faces in front of him and did his usual search for Sie. His heart skipped a beat when hesawa girl with long, dark hair that vaguely resembled Sie. Then he remembered he was looking for a woman, not a girl, and the image he held in his head of her was sixteen years old.
Staring into the audience, he sang song after song, giving them the show of their lives. All he had to do wasgetthrough one more night tomorrow in Kookaburra, whatever-it-was, and then his contractual obligations were done, and hecouldfinally have a break.
He'd told Donnie, their manager, that he wouldn’t be touring again for several years. The rest of the bandcoulddo what they wanted, but he needed a break.
As the set drew to a close, he mopped some sweat off his brow and frowned when Ryan gestured to security, then pointed to a girl in the crowd. Staring at the girl harder, herealisedshe was very young.
Shit, he didn’t want anything to do with that.
He glanced off to the side of the stage, where Donnie was watching them. He raised his eyebrows, nodded his headtowards Ryan and subtly gestured to the girl, knowing their manager would quicklyseethe problem. Which he obviously did as he nodded his head in return, a frown pinching at his brows.
Heknewthat Donnie was over Ryan as well, but their manager was always a professional and never made a comment about the guitarist’s antics, merely steered quietly from the back to ensure the worst of his impulses were stopped.
The last notes of their final song faded around the stadium, and Ford spoke into the microphone.
“Thanks so much for being here tonight.You’ve been a fantastic audience.”He went on to call his bandmates forward, making sure they each got individual applause, even if he did want to roll his eyes at Ryan’s swaggering.
The four of them strolled off the stage, waving as they went. While they waited in the wings, theyheardthe noise of the crowd increase in volume, their voices joining as one to yell‘Encore!’.
Ford picked up his water, took a long swig, and wiped his face on a towel. Catching the eyes of the other guys, he nodded. They were ready to play.
As he jogged back onto the stage, the roar of the audience became deafening. He waited for the others to take their places and grabbed the microphone stand.
“So, you may havenoticedwe missed a song,”he said playfully to the audience.
A roar greeted him.
“Did you really think we would leave without playing Summer Days?”He grinned as the roar grew louder.
Glancing over his shoulder at Scotty, he nodded, and the drummer tapped his drumsticks together, counting them in, to a song that he loved and hated at the same time.It wastheir first hit, the song that set them going on this incredible journey.
As Ford sang, he closed his eyes and thought of Sie, with whom he wrote Summer Days when they were only seventeen.He remembered the excitement in her eyes as she hummed the tune for him, then softly sang the words that they moulded together into the song he performed today. He loved her voice; shecouldhave been a singer, but she preferred to be behind the guitar, leaving the vocals to him.
