At least they’d left us two seats next to each other, even if they were at the start of the table.
Assholes.
“Thirty seconds to spare,” Draven grumbled, holding up his phone so I could see the timer he’d set on it.
“Which means I’m on time,” I pointed out, chuckling as I got settled.
An assortment of Sharpies had already been laid out for me, with the guys at the other end of the table handling the actualmerchandise. I could sign my name in my sleep at this point.
Kit had taken to just signing KT, with an X beneath it that I knew meant crossed drumsticks, a line of smiling faces passing like a blur as our time there ticked on. Having a piece of that joy, up close and personal, the way they were when they leaned over the table for selfies, or gushed as we scribbled our names, was just as big a gift as staring out at a massive crowd.
All I’d ever wanted was to create music that stirred up emotions in people the way the music of my youth had inspired me. What more could I say now but that I am living the dream?
A young man with a metal guitar pick necklace and fingerless gloves on his hands held out a worn edition of Guitar Craze magazine, cheeks pink as he stammered out a request for me to sign it.
“Whoa,” I said when I got a look at the cover.
There I stood, a decade younger, guitar held over my head in triumph after I’d been named guitarist of the year.
“I got it off the magazine rack at the grocery store,” the guy said. “Memorized every tip and technique you shared until I could playHarlequin Blues. Thought I was gonna die when I heard you guys play it tonight; you fuckin’ slayed.”
Our first time topping the charts had been with that song, which, ironically enough, had been inspired by a cartoon Johnny and I watched in a dumpy-ass motel room one night. Two guys to a bed, the constant droning of the television accompanying my bandmates’ snores. He and I had lain awake, fiddling with words, grumpy as fuck when it was time to roll out in the morning.
I lived for moments like this and the brilliant reminders of the past and everything we’d gone through to get here tonight.
“Thanks,” I said as I carefully signed the cover. “You still play?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Right on! That’s what I like to hear.”
“I’ve got a band and everything,” he said. “We’re just playing fairs and town festivals right now, but one day, I’d love to play atsomething like this.”
“If you ever do, hit me up on social media or through the band’s website. I’d love to come check you guys out,” I said.
“Seriously?”
“You’re damn right,” I said as I passed the magazine back.
I’d be there too and carry this moment with me as yet another reminder that what we did mattered. I’d been one of the lucky ones, with a family that believed dreams should be pursued. In a world full of people who’d been forced to settle for less than what they’d craved, I was truly fortunate to wake up every morning doing what I loved to do.
I deserved a kick in the ass for the thoughts I’d had earlier in the tour, when I’d considered hanging up my guitar because I didn’t have the freedom I’d once had to go out and get into trouble.
Steel was right. I needed to learn patience.
Even as he moved along and I ducked my head to sign an autograph book, I couldn’t stop thinking about that magazine issue and how excited, and completely out of my element, I’d been that day.
The first three dozen shots had just been me awkwardly standing there holding my guitar before we’d moved on to me having it slung across my back, my hands shoved in my pockets as I’d stared into the camera. The next few poses weren’t any better, until finally the photographer was like:Dude, you just won guitarist of the year; celebrate that shit.
And that’s how I’d wound up holding my guitar up in one hand, like I was showing off a trophy.
I was so in the flow of signing that when hands slammed down on the table in front of me, I jumped and blinked up into Knightly’s twisted-up features as he glared at me.
“You’re gonna talk to me!” Knightly declared.
When I looked past him, intending to ignore him in favor of signing for the next person in line, I realized there was no next person, just this fucker waiting around to fuck with me.
“If you don’t have anything that needs to be signed, you canmove along,” Sully said, his voice firm as he stepped up beside my chair.