Page 12 of Rock Strong

We rocked the first seven songs, and there wasn’t a single person in the house sitting down. Then, we began the ballad that had propelled us to number one for eighteen weeks in a row—Save Me Tonight. Wesley began his signature guitar riff, and soon, my ears flooded with a beautiful sound—a powerful, rising string section that gave the song that complex added layer I’d been hoping for. Whoa! So different from the studio version, but man, this was just what this baby needed.

Streaks of violet and yellow appeared as a curtain of light behind the string section, darkening them in a silhouette that reminded me of that old movie Fantasia. Bows of violins slid up and down, and hands gripping bass and cello shook in vibrato. Fucking beautiful. I put my heart into it as best as I could, the only way I knew how, and right when I hit my trademark falsetto note, the crowd went wild. I dropped to my knees at the front of the stage—a praying man at the altar of rock ’n’ roll. “Save meeee toniiiiiight!”

Roaring voices echoed along with me. We were one, our fans and us.

Then boom—silence.

The bridge that Corbin usually picked up on bass was being played by the smooth, deep, rich sounds of a single, tenor string instrument. I couldn’t see her face, only her darkened outline, but I knew it was her—Cello Girl—Abby, bowing and swaying, making sweet love to the song—my song. Abby, rocking a fucking cello like nobody’s business.

The crowd—my rock ’n’ roll minions—went crazy for her.

Them showing her love made me smile. When the lights came on, I let her see just how awesome she was with two thumbs up. At first she didn’t catch it, she was so absorbed in the solo, passionately bowing away, but when she looked over again, I hit her with the Liam Collier grin, and she nodded in recognition.

A nod, not a flirty smile like I was hoping. Just a nod.

Man, she’d be a tough nut to crack.

But suddenly it hit me like a fucking tsunami.

My life was crazy as fuck. She wasn’t a girl who would put up with it. I didn’t want to hurt her, and she deserved better than me. But none of that mattered anymore.

I wanted her. I wanted to get to know her better. I wanted in her bed, inside her.

I wasn’t going to play games. I’d explain to her how it was. I’d give her a choice with no promises or false expectations. I’d give her every opportunity to tell me to go to hell.

But I was going to do whatever I could to make sure she didn’t.

After the show ended, I searched for her. Not obviously searched—I still had to shake hands with people, take pics with celebrities, and meet the winners of various fan club contests, but I was always on the lookout. A gaggle of groupies nearly knocked me over, hugging and playing with my hair. “Whoa there, girls. I’ll see you in the back room later. I have to go do…just one thing…”

“We’ll see you later, Liam,” a familiar hot blonde chimed in with a wink. She wore short shorts and a glittery, white tube top. Lord have mercy. “Don’t be late.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

“Great show, buddy!” Robbie clapped me on the back. “And you were absolutely right about the string section. They sounded even better tonight than they did at rehearsal yesterday, and they were pretty awesome then.”

“Incredible. Really awesome. I’m like in serious shock.” I know I sounded facetious, but I totally meant it. And a twinge of guilt hit me just then, that I hadn’t been at rehearsal to hear it before the first show when the whole thing had been my idea.

“Good call, Liam,” he said. “Getting them was easy, too. Just called up Juilliard in NYC and said, ‘I need a few of your people.’” He laughed, pretending he was on the phone with his fingers.

“Fantastic,” I said, wiping my forehead with the towel someone handed me. “The girl who did the cello solo killed it.”

“Yes, she was great. Forgot her name.” Robbie tapped his forehead.

“Abby Chan,” I offered. A fair-skinned, raven-haired natural beauty. A girl who could tell Tucker to go to hell and still rock her classy string of pearls. Loved it!

Robbie eyed me like I was an alien who’d replaced the real Liam Collier. “Learned the driver’s name today and now the cellist’s? I’m impressed, Lee. Dare I say your twenty-second birthday has actually begun maturing you?” He smiled and smacked me on the shoulder.

I smacked him back. “I’ve always been good with names, Robbie.”

“Liam, we’ve had the same hair stylist for two years now, and you still call her Lisa.”

“Her name’s not Lisa?”

“Brenda.” He shook his head. “Let’s take one before I lose you for the rest of the night.” Robbie pulled out his phone for another pic, a selfie of the two of us. He was plump and Dad-looking next to me, but then again, he was forty years old. I hoped I was as awesome as he was when I was his age.

I posed on my good side, and in the screen, an image reflected back at me—Abby.

She strolled by with that other girl from the party, the tall, gangly one, and for one brief second, our eyes met in the phone’s back camera view. I spun around. “There you are!”

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