Page 51 of Wish We Were There

Taylor’s eyes flickered back toward him, the noise of the guitars and cymbals starting up. Parker gave Taylor as encouraging of a smile as he could muster, and after a beat, the other man returned the smile. Then Taylor took in a deep breath with his eyes closed—Parker could practically see the transformation settle over him—and turned back to the crowd screaming for his attention.

Chapter Nineteen

Taylor

“Hello, San Diego,” Taylor said into his mic, and a resounding, unintelligible roar answered him. His heart was thudding so hard in his chest, it was nearly all he could hear—so loud he was sure the mic could pick up the rapid thrum of it. His fingers trembled above the keyboard. But the same quiet calm had settled over him now that he was onstage as it always had, as if his body still felt the anxiety that had been churning in his stomach just moments before, but his mind was no longer aware of it.

He looked out toward the crowd, but his eyes snagged on the empty mic at the front of the stage. It wasn’t plugged in, purely symbolic; the band had placed a small picture of Zach in front of it. Now, it was surrounded with all sorts of little trinkets: guitar picks; CDs and vinyls; flowers and candles and rosaries; envelopes and other folded-up pieces of paper. Everyone in the venue had transformed the mic into a shrine.

He could so clearly see into the eyes of the people in the front row, their varying expressions of excitement and grief. He’d almost forgotten what it was like, how intimate a show in a small venue like this could be.

“Thank you so much for being here tonight,” he continued, looking back down at his hands. The sight of it all filled his chest with... something. He still couldn’t quite name the jumble of mixed feelings that the memory of Zach elicited. “We’re Get Well Soon, and this is our very last show.”

They launched into the first song amid the screams and cheers that arose. Everyone sang together in place of Zach, and the audience sang along, their collective voices creating a wave that could carry him through the rest of the show. He would be alright.

Despite his months being in the cast, and the weeks in physical therapy, his muscle memory had persisted; after a few practice sessions, he could play the keyboard just as easily as he had before. He barely had to think about it. He’d been so scared that he’d never play again, and now here he was.

The first song passed by in a blur. He and the rest of the band had agreed that they would each have the chance to speak to the crowd individually, so once the last chords faded away, Kylie spoke into her mic.

“We really appreciate each one of you who’s here tonight, in person or watching online,” she said, lightly strumming her bass. “Whether you’ve been a fan for a day, or a decade, you’re all part of our journey. We couldn’t have done this without you. And I know Zach would be so stoked that you’re here tonight, too. Being here in front of you guys, singing his heart out, was his favorite thing in the whole world. So thanks for helping us keep his memory alive tonight.”

Cheers and cries rose up from the audience as they went into the next song. It had been a challenge to create the setlist for tonight, knowing it was the last time any of these songs would be heard live. At first, Taylor had been worried the list was too long, but now he worried it would all go by too quickly. They had picked all the fan favorites, along with their own personal preferences, but would it be enough? Surely, someone out there was going to be disappointed that they didn’t hear their favorite song one last time.

Luckily, it was easy to push the worries from his mind when he was playing and singing with the rest of the band. Being on tour was exhausting, but performing like this, being on stage—that had always been where he felt the most at peace—all his worries drowned out by the music. He barely had to think about what he was doing, and the words came easily, even though he wasn’t the best singer.

They went through a few more songs before Angie spoke. Her voice was shaky, and Taylor could tell she was holding back tears.

“I’m going to be thankful for the rest of my life that I got to be part of all this,” she said, her guitar echoing softly. “Seeing Zach’s passion for music, and being able to be part of the band with him, is something that changed my life forever. Thank you all for being here. Thanks for coming on this journey with us. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

She paused, turning away from her mic to wipe at her eyes, as the crowd responded with noises of sympathy.

“We love you!” a woman’s voice cried out, making Angie laugh as she sniffled.

“We love you too!” she replied, then nodded as she met Dean’s eyes. He smacked his drumsticks together—one, two, three, four—and they went into the next song, the crowd cheering and shouting. They went through a few more songs before it was Dean’s turn to speak.

“We miss you, Zach,” he said, and the crowd roared in agreement. Taylor knew whatever he was going to say would be short, but he remained silent for longer than expected, the crowd filling his silence with cries of, “Zach! Zach!” and “We love you guys!”

One man near the front shouted out, “Play Wish We Were There!” That finally got Dean to speak again; he let out a humorless huff of a laugh.

“Patience, dude,” he said. “Don’t act like someone up front hasn’t already taken a picture of the set list and posted it online.”

The audience laughed in response, various cheers rising up again. Taylor glanced down at the set list taped down to the stage closest to him—were they really more than halfway through it already? There were only a handful of songs left before the encore, then it would all be... over.

His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t make out whatever it was that Dean said next. Taylor turned away from his mic, hoping his suddenly rapid breath wasn’t being picked up. It was so close to being over, and this chapter of his life would finally be done. It was what he wanted all along; but now that it was staring him in the face, he was scared. Touring and performing were practically all he knew.

His eyes flickered up and backstage. He could just make out the shape of Parker standing at the sidelines and meeting his gaze instantly, as if he sensed Taylor looking for him.

Even with all the lights onstage, and the darkness shrouding Parker, Taylor could clearly make out his beaming smile when their eyes met. The other man shot him a little thumbs-up and mouthed, You’re doing great!

Taylor managed a watery smile, nodding. One look from Parker was all it took to settle him. Get Well Soon would be over, but nothing would be stopping him from performing in the future. Hell, he owned the damn venue—he could perform every night if he missed it so much. But it would be here, at home, where he wouldn’t have to live out of a tour bus and learn a different stage configuration every night. It would be familiar and safe, and he would be here with Parker. That was what he wanted. None of the rest of it mattered.

The next song started up, snapping him out of his thoughts; luckily, the intro didn’t have any keyboard, so no one noticed how unprepared he suddenly was. If anyone saw the pained expression that must have been on his face, well, surely they would just think it was because of Zach.

Taylor had thought a lot about what he wanted to say when it was his turn to speak, and the words rolled around in his head even as he continued to sing. In the lull between songs, he cleared his throat and leaned closer to his mic. The crowd started cheering before he could even say anything, clearly anticipating what would happen. He laughed, and the crowd cheered louder.

“There’s so much I could say and still have more to get through, so I’ll try to keep this short,” he said.

“No!” someone in the crowd exclaimed, while another shouted, “Tell us!”