Page 115 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Cooper’s monstrous drums chased her.

The song was so layered with sound I couldn’t catch it all. But it really didn’t matter. I only had eyes for Oz now. His lips brushed the microphone as the low growl of his voice purred into the room.

The crowd screamed behind me, surging forward to get to him.

Screams of his name, signs lifted, phone camera’s lifted high to catch the rare moment where he sang lead. He didn’t look up. He was buried in a wash of curls and silky brown hair, leather and strength. His voice was a brilliant tenor with the rasp of his ode to Coverdale.

The song built as he spoke of judgement day, the mistakes of the past, and love’s healing embrace.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes skipping across the crowd then he found me. Intensity radiated off him as the guitars built and the drums slid back to echo Oz’s voice like a heartbeat.

He never looked away from me.

The lyrics were for me.

A painful confession as he dropped to his knees, his guitar an extension of him and his voice dripping with pain.

Then the song slid into “Crying in the Rain” with Lindsey taking back the vocals with a howling Jamie sending out a battle cry into the arena. Jamie and Zane were on the floating stage, both buckled in and headbanging their way over the sea of faces.

The crowd literally lost its shit. Elle was screaming as she jumped up and down like the rest of the fans.

Then someone recognized her and the screeching hit a fevered pitch as they realized someone famous was in the pit with them.

Instead of overwhelming Elle, they jumped and screamed with her as Lindsey kicked out a leg and owned the crowd. Running up and down the stage to get everyone to sing.

Oz swapped the acoustic to his tech and pulled his bass back in front of him, but his gaze didn’t leave mine as he slowly rose to his feet. His bass was thunder as sweat dripped down his arms and he went back to being the steady support for the song.

While Lindsey shone like the diamond she was.

But it was all too much.

It started off as harmless fun to try and remind myself I could manage to have Oz around me. To poke fun at him with his hair metal roots. Instead, I had an indelible vision of him singing for me, kneeling before me, pleading with me.

As the song wrapped up and moved into Brooklyn Dawn’s version of “Barracuda” I backed away. I glanced at Elle, and she seemed to understand I had to go.

She nodded to me and was enveloped in the fans looking to party.

I had to get out of there.

The pain of what could have been was drowning me.

I could trust the emotion radiating off of Oz and on display for the fans. Because he gave me everything then closed it away, locking me out when the emotion got too big.

And I was so tired of pounding my fists on his doors.

I flashed my badge at the security team and slipped back to where I belonged. On the sidelines and the safety of backstage.

Alone again.

Twenty-Two

After the MSG show a few days later, I did what I did best.

Hole up and hide from the world.

Before I disappeared, I did not rip apart a hotel room futon or spray any unfortunate guests with champagne. I’d only done each of those things once last year. Maybe twice on the champagne one. To be fair, I’d thought they were on their way to party with us, but it turned out nope.

At least they hadn’t tried to have me arrested. Unlike the photographer I’d attacked. He wasn’t so benevolent. Day after tomorrow, I had an appearance ticket back in good ol’ Lake George. If that went as well as my lawyer assured me it would, my next step would be to do some home DIY in the cabin, drink heavily, and pray to whatever deities still listened to me that Daisy would follow the treasure map I’d left her.

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