Page 1 of Before Now

1

REMI

The shrill screamsfrom outside the venue cut off when the heavy metal door slams behind me. I force a deep breath, regaining my cool after shoving through the group of women camped outside the back exit to the arena.

I glance over my shoulder at the guard who followed me inside, leaving the other to deal with the fans. He’s in an all-black T-shirt withSecuritysprawled on the back in white with the Czech translation above it. His eyes sweep over me before he juts his chin in the opposite direction.

As I turn, he dodges around me and starts down the long, narrow hallway. I shadow behind him, rechecking my phone. The video has been pulled up and ready to go the other twelve times I’ve looked since leaving the hotel, but I need something to focus on. A distraction from the nerves that accompany the soft thump of bass, growing louder with every passing second.

Once we turn a corner, a few people are rushing around the corridor, some carrying flashlights and others with cables and gear.

This is my first time backstage during a concert. I always imagined it would be busier, though I guess people are already where they need to be by now—keeping the show going with lights and sound.

I’m watching a tech fast-change batteries in a radio when we stop in front of another guy with an earpiece. The guard at my side lifts the shoulder closest to me. “She’s for the band.”

I glare up at him for making it sound like I’mforthe band, but he just smirks and shrugs.

“My English,” he says in his thick accent, “it’s not always perfect.”

He stalks back in the direction we came, and the man he left me with chuckles.

“He’s a dick,” my new keeper says, a bit of a southern drawl sneaking through. His attention follows the other guy a little longer before it drops to me. “You’re the documentary director meeting Christian?”

I nod, and his lips turn up at the corners.

“This should be interesting.” Then he hooks his head for me to follow him.

He keeps a much more leisurely pace than the previous guy, seeming perfectly at home roaming the venue. If he’s private security, which I’m guessing he is with the Texan accent and plain black Henley, he’s likely strutted plenty of unfamiliar hallways.

When we hit a door at the end, he pulls it open for me and unleashes the full volume of the concert. The music pulses in my chest, a rush of cooler air hitting me as I step into the dimly lit area. With most of the light spilling off the side of the stage, my eyes fight to adjust. The rafters towering above us are barely visible, and the only other clear marker is a redExitsign shining on the far side.

“Here,” the guard says, clicking on a flashlight.

He takes the lead again and crosses toward the sign. The stream of light hits us on our way past a metal set of stairs that lead onto the stage. I squint against the brightness until I make out the band. And all those nerves kick it up a notch at the sight of them, real and in front of me.

Of Men and Wolves weren’t complete unknowns when they left for the European leg of their tour, but over the past few months, they’ve gone from up-and-coming to arrived. They have four songs on the charts; their music is all over social media and a constant on the radio, and they’ve added six more stops on the last leg of the tour once they return to the States.

Now the documentary.

I stop by the bottom step, curious for a preview of them live. A friend had tickets to a show in NYC last year, but I was working a wedding that weekend in Jersey. I still heard their song “Echo” that night at the reception. Like a majority of the weddings I filmed that summer, the couple picked it for their first dance. It was an interesting trend, considering the song’s about a guy watching a girl he’s never met, imagining falling in love with her.

Semi-romantic if you only listen to half the words, I suppose.

The band’s playing the second verse of it now, and the lyrics that were burned into my brain pour through the arena, wrapping around the crowd of ten thousand.

I never asked to fall for a smile and those innocent eyes.

Had to find out the hard way the ghost of love never fades.

You left me chasing your echo while he holds you through the night.

You let him take away the pain, even though I wrote you a lullaby.

A whistle drags my attention away from the stage and to the guard. His shoulder is propping open the door under the sign, his head tipped to the side while he waits for me.

I’m about to catch up with him when I glance onstage one more time. The bassist has backed closer to the speakers, giving me a straight shot of the singer. He has his red and black guitar slung across his chest, a hand on the microphone stand. Only instead of starting the final chorus of the song, he’s looking offstage in my direction. Likerightat me.

He lets go of the mic and pushes the dark, shaggy hair off his forehead. His brow draws in just as a tech bumps into me. Another pushes by me on the other side, flying up the steps. Realizing how in the way I am, I rush after the guard and offer an apologetic smile.

---