As they stared at one another, something passed between them that she couldn’t describe. It was as if suddenly they were in tune with one another and able to communicate without words, and the air between them became dense with unspoken feelings. Unable to deal with the fire burning behind his eyes, she turned away. Her resolve was weakening with each minute that ticked by, and she slowly began to admit to herself that she was starting to care about him.
“Lizzy.”
She kept her gaze focused on the table filled with beverages. “What?”
“Look at me.” He touched her, and she faced him.
His hair was slick with perspiration, and his muscles were taut and defined from the exertion of his performance. The tattoos across his shirtless chest rippled as he still struggled to catch his breath after beating the drums for the last hour and a half.
“Let’s get together for a drink after the show and talk,” he said.
She couldn’t trust herself to be alone with him. Not after last night. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s just go our separate ways. Aren’t you tired of the fighting and aggravation?”
“It was Sid that pitted all of us against one another. It was always a war out there. It’s over now. It can be just us. We have a chance.” He brushed her hair off her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. “I know you care about me. I know that last night meant something to you. Why are you afraid? What’s there to lose?”
She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. “Just my heart.” She was slowly opening up to him, letting him see the softer side of her that she rarely exposed to anyone.
A loud commotion interrupted their conversation and made them turn toward Sid and Zach who were yelling at one another.
“Don’t fucking step on my lyrics! That was fucking rude!” Sid yelled.
Zach stepped closer, so they were chest to chest. “You’re the one who cut off my guitar solo! I was still fucking playing!”
“It was too long.”
“Too long? You don’t get to determine that. And what kind of fucking introduction was that? You weren’t even going to say my name. Were you?”
Dillon placed his hand on Lizzy’s shoulder. “Don’t pay attention to them. Let’s finish talking about us.”
“I don’t think there’s anything?—”
A loud crash cut off her sentence as Sid and Zach went atone another like professional wrestlers, knocking over a small table with a bucket of ice, glasses, and cans of soda in the process. Walter rushed in with one of the stagehands, and they pulled Zach and Sid apart, still kicking and trying to connect with punches.
The stagehand got an elbow in the ribs from Zach, and Sid shook himself free from Walter’s hold. The two rushed at one another, eyes blazing and spewing curses, but it was Sid who connected first with a fist to Zach’s jaw. Zach stumbled back while a trickle of blood seeped out the corner of his mouth. At first, he looked surprised by the punch, but his eyes quickly turned hard with anger, and he lunged. His fist hit Sid square in the nose causing blood to gush down his face and onto his shirt.
Sid’s hands flew to his face, the blood seeping through his fingers at an alarming rate. “You broke my nose you son of a bitch!”
Zach held his swollen hand to his chest. “Your nose broke my hand you fucking bastard!”
Security, medics, and a million other people came rushing in. Everyone was yelling. It was total fucking chaos.
“Get them both to the hospital!” Walter shouted, and the medics took Zach and Sid away, still yelling at one another.
Lizzy watched, flabbergasted, at what transpired. It happened so fast, seemingly in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, she realized that half her band had been whisked away, and they were supposed to go back on stage any minute. “What about the encore?”
Walter waved his hand. “Forget it. It’s over. You have no singer and no guitar player.”
“No,” she protested. “We can’t go out with a lackluster bow.” The elaborate 40-minute encore was unprecedented, and it was designed to blow away any show they ever performed. The sound of the fans screaming for them to return to the stage was still audible over the noise backstage. Speculation about the surprise finale had been rumored for months, and Lizzy refused to disappoint the fans. “We can’t let the fans down! We need to do something!”
“What do you expect me to do, Lizzy?” Walter was frazzled, and his cheeks were flushed. “If I could play the guitar or sing, I’d step in, but I can’t. Do you think I want this? Do you know how much money we just wasted on a finale that’s not going to happen?”
“Lizzy can sing.”
She snapped her head toward Dillon. “What?”
“You know all the songs, and I’ve heard you. You’re one hell of a heavy metal singer. Taking the mic could be the big surprise the fans are anticipating.”
For a brief second Walter’s eyes lit up, but his creased brow showcased his skepticism. “If you can pull it off they’ll love you, but if you screw it up, the fans are going to eat you alive. Let me hear the chorus of “Blindside”right now.”
