Page 70 of Rock Strong

“I always wanted a good woman,” I mumbled, a line from the song.

“What?” Tucker tried following my gaze. “You said something?”

I gripped him by the shoulders. “We’re adding Abby Shines back to the set list. And when we’re done with the tour, it’s going on the next album.” I hugged him and Corbin, feeling excited for the first time in days. “Tell Wes when you see him.”

It was our last night in Philly before one day of rest and then NYC’s Madison Square Garden. I was sure Abby wouldn’t be there, but maybe, if I thought about her hard enough, she’d hear me all the way in Brooklyn. Maybe she’d be at Carnegie Hall or wherever her beloved NY Philharmonic played, and she’d hear me in her soul, press her hand to her heart, and come back to me.

Stupid, I knew, but hey, as long as it helped me sing her song right.

We went through the first eight songs of the night, playing to a crowd buzzing and burning with zeal. They shouted their love to us. They threw flowers, drawings, and all sorts of crazy shit at us. One woman threw her vibrator, and security promptly escorted her out. I kicked it off the stage, way into the audience, though, in retrospect, I should have just let it roll off the stage into the pit.

It was time for Abby Shines. I gave the guys a nod as the stage turned dark. Wes came out, sitting on a stool with his acoustic guitar. My heart pounded inside of my rib cage. I knew the crowd was going to roar, so I sang one long note at a time, let them get their cheers and whistles out of the way, then I came in with the first lines.

As I sang, I closed my eyes and thought of nothing but Abby—I remembered her at the party in LA, across the pool holding her purse, looking scared and excited and nervous all at the same time. I imagined her in the garden when she took me by surprise with her kiss. I thought of her in Seattle, caught in the rain, inside the house, playing her cello, full of sweat and desire. I thought of her in her elite New York studio, and I thought of her in a dress in front of a minister holding hands with me on a warm spring day.

I didn’t realize I was crying during the last words until Wes tapped me on the shoulder and cheers brought me back to life after the few minutes I’d disappeared. Because I hadn’t been there on the stage, in the moment like I usually was. I’d been with her again, and if this song was the only way I could ever be with her again, I’d sing it every night.

When the backlights gradually came on, and the first notes of Save Me Tonight rang throughout the venue, I saw the ocean of hands swaying back and forth. The fans sang with me, they held my hands, they rocked with me, and they cried with me. I was never alone. Our fans had been following my sadness all along. It’d be hard to hear the instrumental bridge again with Mr. Shitty Cello taking her solo, but suddenly—

The vibrant tenor tones of a different cello rang out, and even without a spotlight on the cellist, I knew right away this wasn’t the same understudy. It wasn’t a new one either. Turning to gaze into the darkness, I spotted her slender frame, swaying body, felt the passion in her deep strokes, saw her wide, gorgeous smile in my mind’s eye without having to look at her at all.

The stadium went wild. Wilder than they would have for me or Corbin or Tuck or Wes or all of us put together. They cheered for Abby Chan. They knew her well, and they welcomed her home. And when the light finally grew and spotlighted her, she was more than herself. She was elevated, a goddess in flowing yellow, gracing our stage. I smiled at her, my tired eyes spilling over, singing the last verse along with her like we had in weeks before, only better.

Abby played the song. She was the song.

And together, we rocked it.

Chapter 25

Abby

When Liam Collier—the Liam Collier—hands you the key to your new apartment off Riverside Boulevard on your way to your first live audition for the NY Philharmonic, you don’t question his sanity. Not when you’re so crazy in love with him and you can’t imagine that ever changing.

What you do is, you wave at the doorman, ring your arm through your boyfriend’s arm, smile as he escorts you out on a blustery autumn walk through New York’s Upper West Side, and count your blessings.

That’s what I did, anyway.

At the end of the North American leg of the Feel the Burn tour, the band returned to LA to rest awhile before deciding on revised dates for the rest of the world tour. Insisting he needed to spend some time with me, Liam had put the band’s tour on hold. He returned home for less than a week to visit his friend Garrick Maze and tie up some loose ends before flying here to NYC to pay the rent on the first few months of my apartment. He would have flat-out bought it, or flat-out paid an entire year if I’d let him, but I didn’t want him to. It was my place, and I needed to pay for it myself. Still, a booster first six months wouldn’t hurt. He was spending those months with me, making sure I was settled in, happy, fed, bedded, and generally well-taken care of. When he wasn’t doing those things, he was writing songs, visiting The Tonight Show, The View, Good Morning America, and taking walks with me through Central Park.

Liam loved New York, being with me, putting on a big show for me and my mom with all the flowers he bought, groceries he fetched, cooking he did, and even neighbors’ dogs he walked, just for fun. The best, though, was when he popped open that pricey bottle of wine for us—the one he’d gifted me back in LA. I’d saved it for a special occasion. Well, this was it—the eve of my audition.

What more could a girl ask for?

When we turned left at West 66th Street on our way to Lincoln Center, it all hit me at once—the pure blessed luckiness of it. I stopped on the sidewalk to take it all in. Liam stopped, too, looking over my cello case perched on his shoulder. “What happened?”

I stared ahead, unblinking. “You gave up your dream to give me mine.”

He blinked a few times, then smiled and slowly shook his head. “Abby, we’ve been over this. Not really. I’ve reached some of my career goals, yeah, but there’s always gonna be new ones. Life is forever changing. For now, my goal is making sure you reach yours. After that, we can figure out a way for our careers to work together, okay? Now, let’s walk. This thing weighs a crap-ton.” He held out his hand for me to take.

“Lightweight.” I slipped my hand into his warm one.

“Oh, lightweight, huh? We’ll see about that. See who gives up first in bed tonight.”

“Won’t be me. You’re going down.”

“I’m going down all right.” He winked at me.

“In flames maybe.”

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