Page 25 of The Sound Between Us
Ten minutes left. The agreement. Never overrun; Londoners need to catch the Tube. Not very rock and roll. But fine.
I watch the crowd. Faces blur. Mostly women; too many young girls. Something twists in my chest. I get to my feet and walk toward the edge of the stage.
Normally, I’d leap down. Make a moment of it. But she flashes into my head. The girl from the record shop.
He always touches the crowd.
Yeah. Well. I like to surprise people.
I throw my fist into the air. A wordless cry ripped straight from somewhere messy and real.
Dex slams to a stop. On the beat.
One. Two. Three.
Everyone knows what’s coming. The song.
The hit. The one that changed it all.
The first words come easy. Muscle memory; exhilaration laced with rote repetition. But tonight feels different.
New words spark in my mind. They crash against the old ones. Fight them.
It’s chaos up there. In my skull; in my chest.
New words.
I want to leap out of my own skin.
New words.
I scan the VIP area. Is she there? The thought of her slips into my bloodstream like electricity and fire.
I run the length of the stage. My body is molten; I feel alive. Every part of me desperate to be seen. Really seen. Maybe by her.
I sing harder. Push further. Sweat pouring, lungs burning, throat raw and radiant.
The last note hangs. One long thread of sound. Then the fireworks go off. Wembley explodes into glittering light and smoke.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel hollow. I feel awake.
“Fucking hell.” Jamie tosses his guitar at a stagehand, stumbling forward with a pint clutched like a lifeline. “Dex, you knobhead, that was ridiculous.”
“Had them though, didn’t I?” Dex has his head buried under a towel. Thank God. Sweaty bastard.
“My boys.” Henry greets us with a string of high-fives as we make our way down the corridor backstage. “That was legendary.”
“Legendary?” I lift a brow, chugging warm water from a bottle as I watch Dex slap a dancer on the arse like he’s still in sixth form. Sooner or later, he’ll realise that shit isn’t cool. Hopefully before he ends up answering to a judge.
“Hands off.” I flick water at him, and he barrels into my space laughing.
“Mate, I’m helping you.”
Henry hands Jamie a spliff. “Well done, Jamie.”
Jamie nods, already dragging hard. “I’m fucking exhausted.”
I roll my head on my shoulders, muscles aching with that post-gig throb. The lyrics from earlier bounce round my head—words I didn’t expect, ones that actually mattered. They crash against the noise of crew and chaos backstage.
