Page 148 of Cherry Beats

Bourbon turned it over in his hands, and with no delicacy at all, he ripped it open before pulling three tickets out and holding them up.

“What are they?” Molly asked, snatching them off him. Her eyes widened instantly. Her cheeks flaming before she pushed herself off the back shelf and held them up in the air, fanned out.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked her.

“Tickets. To. Fucking. TriFest, baby!”

“What?”

“You heard me.” She smirked.

My heart raced, and my skin tingled. “Who is that from? Who sent it?”

Bourbon was pulling a letter out of the envelope, his eyes squinting as he opened it up and took it in.

“Someone called Dicky Bennett,” he said roughly.

Dicky Bennett? Why was he sending tickets to Bourbon?

“What does it say?” I dared myself to ask.

He cleared his throat and began to read it out loud. “Mr Bourbon, if that’s your name. I’m sorry, but that’s all we know you by. Enclosed are three tickets to this year’s TriFest, where Youth Gone Wild will be headlining along with fourteen other international bands and supporting acts. Presley West requested you be sent these as a gesture of gratitude for all you and your establishment have done for him and the band in recent years. If you require backstage passes and VIP access, please call me on the number at the bottom of this letter, and I’ll have them shipped to you right away. He’d also like to request that you save one of the tickets for a Miss Tessa Lisbon, if she does so require one. If she doesn’t wish to attend, feel free to use them as you please. He’s also arranged for extra security to man your doors if you need it. Mr West is very aware of the attention Hollings Hill is receiving at the moment, and he’d like to do everything in his power to protect it and the people who are important to him. Feel free to call me on the number below if you have any questions. Regards, Dicky Bennett.” Bourbon looked up at me, seeing the tears that had collected in my eyes.

“Presley West is one smooth bastard,” Molly whispered.

“Tess…” Bourbon began, his head tilting to one side as he stared at me. “You have to talk to him.”

“I know, B. I know.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “He deserves to know where I stand now.”

“This would be a perfect time to say what you feel face to face,” Molly chipped in, waving the tickets around

Turning to her, I huffed out a laugh. “Then I guess the first place I’m going on my adventures is TriFest.”

“Fuck, yeah!” she squealed.

I let the thoughts of Presley on stage wash over me, knowing that I needed to see him do his thing…

Just one last time.

Chapter Forty-Five

“Fuckme!” Molly gasped as we walked through the entryway to TriFest, out into the open field crammed with thousands upon thousands of fans. We were at Milton Keynes Bowl—a venue shaped like an actual bowl, where music enthusiasts lined the base and the hills surrounding the stage, and where Mötley Crüe’sWild Sideplayed through the ground’s speakers. The beat of Tommy Lee’s drumming had my head moving to the music and goosebumps springing to life over my arms and legs.

“And suddenly, I feel old,” Bourbon muttered beside me, making me smile as I stared at the dark stage, where roadies were pushing equipment along and getting ready for the first set of the night.

“You need a young woman,” Molly told him. “When you’re practically a grandpa, you need a fresh piece of meat to keep you feeling like you’re not getting a bald patch.”

Bourbon felt the back of his head. “What the hell, Molly. I don’t have a—”

“Gotcha!” she laughed, turning to grin at him before she pushed in between the two of us and linked her arms through ours. My stomach was fluttering—the thought of Presley being so close to me, making me want to simultaneously run to him and stay frozen on the spot.

“He’s here,” I whispered to no one in particular.

“Do you think he can see you?”

“Yeah, sure. He can see me standing here in a sea of thousands.”

“You never know. He could have a cracking set of binoculars on him.”

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