He wasn’t the lead singer in our band, which feels like a travesty now. His voice is unbelievable. It’s somehow rough and smooth at the same time– the kind of sound that feels like it could reach into your chest and pull your heart out whole. I must have heard it thousands of times in my life, but every time I hear him sing live, it feels like the first time all over again.
I wonder about what could have been had I not left our band– of course I do. But I never, not for one second, begrudge even a fraction of the success Elias has found since then. He deserves it all.
And it seems like Lucy agrees. She starts to move against me, subtle bobs and sways to the beat, and I tuck my secret smile into the back of her neck, kissing her where it meets her shoulder,where her skin is soft and warm. Then I close my eyes and get lost in my favourite song.
When it finishes, she turns to me, eyes wide with wonder.
‘He’s amazing,’ she says.
‘You’reamazing,’ I counter, and she huffs a sweet little breath before kissing me so slowly and deeply that for a moment it feels like time might have stopped. Right now, with the taste of Lucy on my lips and my friend’s incredible voice ringing in my ears, everything is perfect.
And then Dean fucking Ratcliffe shows up.
He’s not the first arsehole I’ve had to worry about tonight. I saw Jon accost Lucy earlier on, from over the other side of the room. I was covering Fox on the bar while she helped with the stage set-up, and I watched Jon and Lucy talk a little while.
It didn’t worry me, though. I don’t know if Jon caught it, but to me, Lucy’s body language was plain as day– she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I wanted to step in, but I saw Peggy keeping her beady eye on the two of them and I knew she’d have it handled.
When I looked again he was gone, and Lucy was right there with the gang in their usual spot, her eyes finding mine like a heat-seeking missile. And Christ, when I saw her there– the moment our eyes met over the haze of dry ice rolling off the stage– well… it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
And don’t judge the dry ice thing. We’re not trying to reinvent the wheel here.
Anyway, as I was saying, everything was going great– no, better than great; it was damn near perfect– and then that idiot over there turned up.
And he’s not the only one, by the looks of it.
I knew it wouldn’t take long for word to spread that Elias was here in person, but I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, nor so dramatically. Before the end of his second song, there are peoplecrammed into every last available space in the bar, and I can see still more outside the window, pressing greedy faces to the glass in the hopes of snatching a glance at the man himself.
But there isn’t a single other person who looks angry. Just Dean. And that idiot looks downright murderous.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get it. It’s the biggest weekend of the year for bars like ours, and I’d already put Dean’s nose out of joint by securing the cover band that I know he was also trying to book. The fact that Elias is here too must be absolutely killing him, and God help me, that makes me feel smug as all hell.
But when I look at Dean again, right before Dougie’s epic guitar solo, he catches my eye and smirks, nodding his head towards Lucy like it’s a challenge. I mean, she’s literally in my arms, but I don’t let that stop me from wanting to kick him so far out of the building that he makes a splash when he lands. I briefly fantasise about drowning Dean in the North Sea before the press of Lucy’s body against mine pulls me out of it.
I deliberately avoid looking his way for the remainder of the set, trying to focus on the beautiful woman in my arms instead, but the hum of annoyance that his presence always raises in me is there, pressing on my throat as real as if he were gripping it with his hand.
Even when the last song ends, and I leave Lucy with Peggy and the others so I can hop back up on the stage and do my acknowledgement bit, he’s there, buzzing like an annoying insect in my periphery. However hard I try to ignore him, I can’t shake the feeling of doom that he inspires in me. And when I pass him on my way back to Lucy, he huffs out a little laugh, dark and theatrical like the villain in an animated film.
I hate myself for doing it, but I rise to the bait and jab my chin at him. ‘Spit it out, Ratty.’
He shakes his head. ‘Just thinking about going to see our reporter friend over there.’ One corner of his mouth curls intoa smirk. ‘Pretty thing, isn’t she? Wonder what that sweet little mouth would sound like screaming my name.’
I see red. I’m about three seconds away from knocking the smugness and misogyny straight out of him when I hear Sammi’s voice in my head telling me to rein it in– to keep out of trouble.
‘She’s with me,’ I snarl in the end, which does make me feel like a bit of a caveman, but I think it’s very restrained compared to what I want to do.
He just laughs.
‘All the more reason to try,’ he says over his shoulder, and then he struts over to the stage like he owns the place.
I hate him. I haven’t said that about many people in my life, but I think it’s warranted here. He clearly doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about sleeping with Jess– if anything, he seems to wear it as a badge of honour like the gutter scum he is. She, for her many sins, at least had the decency to tell me that she was sorry, but Dean never did. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, I’m sure of it.
When I reach Lucy and think back to the way that Dean was looking at her, pure rage flares in my chest, but the very second she smiles at me I start to feel better. I move into the space next to her, and she slips an arm around my waist, pulling me in tightly.
‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she gushes, though I’m pretty sure I can’t take the credit for that, having been in this building for hours. But I accept her thanks anyway, trying to angle the two of us so that Dean can see, because apparently I’m just that petty.
But we’re soon surrounded by the others, loose-limbed and rowdy from whatever they’ve been drinking. Peggy and Wladek have known Elias since he came home with me one year for Christmas, and they’re waxing lyrical about how much he’sbloomed since then. They sound like proud parents, which makes me smile given that Elias is older than any of us.
‘We’re going to head home,’ Peggy says, the alcohol pinking her plump cheeks. ‘All that excitement has thoroughly tired us out.’