Page 14 of For Eva

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Okay.”

He gave me a hopeful smile and turned to find someone to escort us out. A familiar tingle traveled through my body, and when it hit my lips, I finally managed a tiny smile of my own. I looked down at the ground, warmth spreading across my cheeks, but raised my head when he said my name once again.

“Hey, Eva. Don’t leave right after the show, okay? I wanna take you out afterward, just you and me. And I don’t mean to my apartment.” He paused, his eyes searching my face for any indication of what I was thinking. “Can…can we do that?”

The smile on my lips grew wider as something in his voice replanted the seed I’d dug up earlier. “Yeah. We can do that.”

I hadn’t had to think about my answer to his question. I’d known by the end of my conversation with Denise that morning which part of me was winning the tug-of-war happening in my head. And now the opposing team had officially been yanked face down in the mud. I still didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, gave me enough pause to not blow things off as merely an attempt to ease his conscience. I didn’t know if I was kidding myself—if I was stupid, if I was weak. But the thought of not finding out why Danny wanted to see me again only guaranteed I’d spend hours…days…monthswondering.

As soon as he disappeared, we were led back out front. Denise had swiped two beers from backstage—not nearly enough to calm my nerves but better than nothing. I downed mine quickly and was anxiously picking at the label when the house lights went down and a powerful, deep voice boomed from the speakers.

“All right, Hollywood! You wanted the best, you got the best…”

I cocked my head and raised my brows.The KISS concert intro?DannyhatedKISS. I imagined him backstage, jaw clenched and eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

There was a snicker, then the voice from beyond soared up a pitch. “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you. But these guys are pretty fuckin’ good, too. Ladies and gentlemen…put your hands together for Counting Backward!”

Four shadowy figures walked onto the stage, and the crowd erupted.Will sat behind his kit, a stack of amps surrounding him, and stomped out a quick beat on the bass drum.Matt took his position stage right, bass guitar slung low across his hips, and Danny stood stage left, directly in front of Denise and me, his face illuminated by the orange glow of his cigarette as he took a drag.

My head and stomach were woozy, and my only comfort at the moment was that there were enough people around me to break my fall if I went down. Denise smiled and bumped my hip, and I leaned over to tell her I might pass out. But before I could manage, spotlights flipped on and the tall, imposing figure from earlier was standing in the middle of the stage belting out the first song.

“If I tell you that you’recraaaaay-zaaaaay,” Eric sang, forcefully grabbing onto the mic and writhing along with the rhythm as the rest of the band joined in.

Danny was right.This guywasa hell of a singer.

The song was driving with a catchy hook and chorus. There was a hint of blues interspersed between the heavy guitar licks, which made sense given Danny’s affection for bands like the Stones and Aerosmith.

Danny lowered his gaze to me, winking between his backup vocals, and I watched in awe as his fingers moved expertly upand down the fretboard of his ebony guitar. I’d seen him play so many times before, but it was always in the storage space down the street from his house or at a backyard party when someone’s parents were out of town. I’d never seen him likethis. The gauzy scarf with metallic threading that he’d added over his loose, half-tucked shirt, and the silver hoops dangling from his ears occasionally caught one of the stage lights and sparkled against his black hair. He was rock ‘n’ roll personified, all eyes in the crowd focused on him, while his were focused squarely on me.

The band moved seamlessly from one song to another, Denise and I occasionally glancing at one another in disbelief at how amazing they were.The music came to a halt after a song about a girl who’d lost her way in Hollywood, and Danny grabbed a towel, wiping his face before tossing it back on the drum riser.His chest glistened, and the ends of his dark hair had separated into sweaty tendrils.My pulse quickened, but this time it wasn’t from nerves.

He walked back over to his mic and leaned down to me.“You good?”

I smiled and nodded, at a loss for words.

He and Matt played a few random chords on their instruments, allowing Eric to grab a beer off the drum riser. Eric took a swig and sauntered back to the mic, his hair plastered to his shoulders with sweat.

“We’re gonna mix things up a little bit tonight,” he said between screams from the crowd, “and do a song for a very special guest of Mr. Danny Kincaid’s.” He cast a steely glance at me, then motioned over to Danny, who raised his hand in acknowledgment. “Said she’d know it from their old days in Illinois.”

Denise looked over at me, wide-eyed, her jaw hanging open. I cupped my hand over my mouth as Danny began to play a haunting guitar melody to the cheers of the crowd. I wasn’t surehow he had convinced Eric to play a song for me, the girl whose mere presence he’d questioned with his sharp tone and judging eyes, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

“This one’s by Aerosmith,” Eric continued, adjusting the mic.“It’s called ‘Seasons of Wither.’”

Danny continued to play, with Matt and Will joining in on cue.I stood completely still in front of the stage, shocked that Danny remembered my favorite song.It was five albums old by the time I could drive, but I still played it on repeat in the Mustang my parents had bought me for my sixteenth birthday. The melancholy notes and memories of us listening to it with the windows rolled down on hazy summer nights sent an unexpected tear spilling onto my cheek.

Eric grabbed the mic with both hands, casting a sultry stare into the crowd. Danny’s hazel eyes became golden pools beneath the glare of the stage lights, and I was carried away, the song swallowing me up as pieces of our past floated alongside me like driftwood. I blinked and it was nearly over, the final chords crashing over me as Danny strode across the stage, staring at me like I was the only fucking person in the room.

SIX

Danny

January 1988

As soon as my pick glided through the strings on the last chord, I wondered if it had been too much. If playing her favorite song had been over the top.If it evenwasher favorite song anymore. She’d practically worn out the 8-track from listening to it on repeat in that Mustang she’d driven in high school, but that was years ago. Who knew what she liked now?

I’d learned the song when I was sixteen—mostly for Eva, though I never turned down an opportunity to pretend I was Joe Perry. But after I moved out to LA, I made the conscious decision never to play it. I knew it would bring up too many memories. Which meant I had beenunconsciouslymessing around on my guitar when Eric strolled into our rehearsal space one afternoon several months before.

“Is that ‘Seasons of Wither’?” He placed a cigarette between his lips before taking a seat on one of the amps in the old warehouse.

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