Page 44 of Verses Of Us

“For fuck’s sake! Come on, man!” Clark shouted.

Ciarán threw up his index and middle finger. “Oh, fuck off!”

After running a hand down his face, he grinned, thatCframing his lips once again, and asked, “So, you’ll be there?”

“Sure.” She couldn’t understand why she kept saying yes to him, but his smile must have had something to do with it. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

He stepped back and jumped a few times, shaking his arms as if shaking loose some demons. Without warning, he lunged at her and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Lex.”

A youthful enthusiasm flooded her as he ran out through the doorway toward the stage.

Clark waved her over. “Well, you must be special.”

Instead of acknowledging his sarcasm, she gripped the strap of her bag tightly and grinned. “Must be.”

“Alright, girly. Come on, then.”

A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE

Alexis

Fromtheside,Alexispeeked out at the lively crowd. Ciarán had been on stage for nearly two hours, but the fans’ energy showed no signs of slowing down. The set-list covered songs from his early days, ones Alexis couldn’t help singing along to, and his newer hits, the ones Alexis didn’t know, but now wished she did. Ciarán even did some covers of popular hits from the 90s, which the fans and Alexis gobbled up.

Buzzing like one massive beehive, the crowd sang along, cheered, and laughed at Ciarán’s repartee, creating a kind of symbiotic life form.

Charismatic and entertaining, he was in full-entertainer-mode, but sometimes, Alexis swore she saw him struggling, especially when he’d run off stage for a quick wardrobe change or intermission. Each time, he’d throw her cautious glances as he passed by, taking her hand and squeezing it. He’d smile, as if loving every second, but something in his eyes told her things weren’t right. Beyond the signs of physical fatigue, beyond the sweat dripping off his face and body, the redness of his face, was a weariness that bled out from his soul. It called out to her heart, which ached to help him any way she could.

A bottle of beer waited for him in the wings, as was the roadie, whose job consisted solely of guaranteeing a new one was ready when Ciarán stepped off. He’d handed him three bottles so far, and though she saw Ciarán swig them all, she didn’t want to believe he was emptying them. She assumed he only drank a few sips; that’s what she kept telling herself.

Still, he smiled each time he passed by, in a way that made her ignore the nagging criticism in her head. The alcohol didn’t seem to affect him. He wasn’t forgetting words or tripping; he didn’t seem drunk. So, she smiled back, offering him encouragement.

At the end, the fans chanted his name over and over, demanding an encore. Alexis grew indignant and protective. She wanted them to leave him be, tell them to fuck off. Couldn’t they see they were pushing him too hard? He was just a man. But knowing his love of performing, or at least remembering what it used to mean to him, she knew he wouldn’t stop until they got what they paid for. After all, Ciarán was the epitome of a people-pleaser. And even if she disagreed with his need to make his fans happy, she still respected him for it.

She noticed how Ciarán’s eyes dropped, how his breathing sped up, how his face flushed darker than before. She itched to hold him, to take him some place quiet, somewhere away from the demands of the greedy, unsatisfied mass.

“Come on, fellas,” Ciarán said into his mic, dropping an arm around Gus, the guitarist’s shoulders. They nodded at one another as if coming to an unspoken agreement.

The music picked up, and Alexis shook her head, crossing her arms. It escaped her how someone would push themselves to the breaking point like this for something they claimed they didn’t enjoy any longer. He was wrong. The love Ciarán had for his music, for performing and for his fans was obvious as he jumped across the stage.

The resulting roar was deafening, even from offstage. And despite her impatience with the eager crowd, Alexis remembered their enthusiasm and still felt it, too. Sure, she’d gone to more than her share of concerts, but there was something extra when she watched Ciarán perform. There was pure delight in hearing that one extra song. There was an endless hope that he wouldn’t leave. Not yet.

He waved to the crowd, his grin wide, those trademark dimples creating charming crevices on his flushed, sweaty face. Alexis shivered, struck by the charisma he exuded. This wasn’t excitement, this was arousal, and she tugged her hair away from her warm neck.

With the microphone in hand, Ciarán held his arms up high, bathed in the glowing lights cast from above. The crowd chanted his name, praising him like a deity. Right before her eyes, his weariness vanished, and he transformed into what they worshipped.

Earnestly, he thanked his fans for making the tour such a success and hummed the opening notes of his first solo hit song. Notes that still made Alexis’ heart skip a beat. She sang along, her mind consumed by memories of their first meeting nearly six years ago.

Back then, she’d looked up at him with adoration, like the fans in the front row were doing now. But these fans gave off a different vibe. Dressed in tighter tops than she used to wear, and dangerously low-rise jeans, they seemed much flirtier than she had ever been. But that wasn’t hard to beat. Alexis wondered if her uneasiness at watching them stemmed from seeing things through the eyes of an older woman and not some innocent teenager.

Ciarán played all too willingly into their hands, feeding off of their adoration, flirting right back. He serenaded them, doing what he was best at, and seduced the hell out of them. This was part of his performance, his shtick, but when he reached down into the crowd, holding one perky blonde’s hand, envy rose from Alexis’ gut.

Worried someone might read her absurdly jealous thoughts, she glanced around, then laughed at herself. Bothered that her old crush had come crawling back, she tried to shake the strange feeling away. But the more he performed, the more she knew she’d never truly gotten over Ciarán.

At the song’s midpoint, he glanced over and flashed a smile that was stuck somewhere between sheer happiness and fear. It was raw and honest, too. She knew it was something he’d never share with the outside world—something for her eyes only.

Busy roadies scrambled around her, dismantling instruments and sound gear, getting ready for the end of the show. Someone bumped into her, but with so many people buzzing around, she thought nothing of the man standing next to her with his head bobbing to the music.

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