“On the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end.”
Elliot’s sweet tenor wrapped around Killy’s pack-a-day growl, blending together seamlessly.
The audience joined in, chanting, “Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!”
Rob kept pace on the drums, a musician not really worthy of the band they’d become, and Ace, a friend and one hell of a musician, wound his way through the twists and turns on his keyboards.
“The only home I’ll ever know stretches from sea to sea
No start, no end, no in between, just miles of road and me
Living a life all on my own free of family, lover or friend
On the highway I was born, it’s there I’ll meet my end.
Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!
Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!
Highway! Highway! Live and die on the highway!”
The mass of humanity might have started chanting again for all Killy knew. His world boiled down to this moment, the music, his brother, his friend, and the life laid out for him long ago, the first time his mother brought him and Elliot onstage.
They’d stayed. She’d gone.
Here they still stood, though she didn’t.
Never would again.
Nope, no bad thoughts. Just the music.
Note after note poured from him like rain, blocking thought and feeling.
He crashed to his knees, striking a chord and letting his guitar speak for him. Caught in the spotlight, he leaned back in a signature move his manager made him practice, making his shirt ride up to show some skin, while his hair fell back, glittering like gold in a strategically placed spotlight.
The blue streak, his own addition, voiced his defiance at being a commodity.
He should’ve been exhausted after the show they’d put on, but in that moment, he swore he could go all night.
He jumped to his feet, racing across the stage and running through part of the guitar solo for those seated to the left of the stage, then reversed course to the right, repeating the solo.
Arms reached for him, a thousand voices calling his name.
Rejoining Elliot centerstage, he launched into the chorus and let the others join him.
After extending the song by two more choruses, he finally wound down.
An announcer stepped up on stage, to catcalls, whistles and ear-splitting shouts. “Let’s hear it for Trickster!”
More screaming and stomping now.
“You want another song?” the announcer yelled over the noise.
The pandemonium hit nearly frightening levels.
“What do you want to hear?”
Oh, fuck no! Killy hadn’t said the announcer could offer another song, especially since the only fan-favorite they hadn’t yet performed was… Had Gus given permission? Just wait until he saw his pain in the ass manager.