Page 150 of Cherry Beats

“Back there, it’s a business. There’s no magic. Out here it’s a show. I want to see the show. I want to see him do his thing without him knowing we’re here.” I turned back to Bourbon. “I want to see him without the circus around him. That’s when I’ll know.”

Bourbon’s eyes searched mine. “Dolly, you already know.”

“Thankyou,” Molly whispered.

“For two people who lecture me so much about going after what I want, you sure would think you’d have your own love lives sorted out first.” I smirked.

“Oh, don’t you do that,” Molly warned.

“Typical Tess. Always deflecting,” Bourbon said through a smile.

“I’m just saying.” I shrugged and took a casual sip of my beer, eyeing them the whole time before I lowered my plastic cup and rubbed my lips together. “There’s a therapist thirsty for each of us out there somewhere.”

Molly laughed. “Show me a therapist who can handle my life, and I’ll probably fuck the therapy right out of them just to prove a point.”

“Jesus,” Bourbon laughed, and I couldn’t help but follow.

The next thing we knew, the sound of a guitar coming to life made the whole venue roar. The people on the hills began to stand and cheer. The people around the stage raised their arms in the air, leaned back and cried out in joy.

We spun around to see the first band’s name light up the giant screens on either side of the stage. Front Row Frogs were an up-and-coming American alternative rock band who were making a name for themselves. I loved some of their songs, and seeing them walk out on stage made every part of my body tingle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. There’s no feeling quite like seeing your favourite musicians standing only a few meters away from you with their guitars, drumsticks, and microphones in hand.

There’s no feeling quite like knowing that, for a few hours, you’re going to be able to forget about your problems, reality, the bills you pay and the work you hate, because those guys up there are going to make you lose yourself to the music.

There’s no feeling quite like being at a concert you didn’t know you needed.

Music saves lives, and right there and then, even with a slightly fractured heart and a nervous flutter in my belly, the first strum of Front Row Frogs lead guitarist’s thumb, and I was lost to every lyric.

It made waiting to see Presley without dying of nerves an actual possibility.

* * *

Six hours later and the sun was fading fast, the lights of the stage drowning out the ocean of music lovers to emphasise the talent up there on that stage.

Thirteen bands had been and gone. We’d drunk beer, eaten pizza, danced until it felt like our arms were going to fall off, and we’d laughed more than ever before. This unusual trio of friends, somehow so comfortable with each other, had crossed the line into family now.

The alcohol had helped settle the nerves in my stomach, and at some points, I’d even allowed myself to forget why we were really there.

Band number fourteen, Sugar-Coated Sinners, said their thank yous to the crowd. The lead singer was tall, with long, black hair that fell down past his shoulders. It was a sweaty mess as he pushed it back from his forehead and raised one arm in the air while he used the other to hold the mic to his mouth. Even though there were two giant copies of him on the screens at either side of the stage, I chose to focus on the real-life figure in front of me… even if he did look small from where were standing about twenty rows back from the front.

“MK Bowl, you’ve been fuckin’ amazin’ tonight, man!” he cried out, waiting with expert timing for the crowd to cheer. They did, and the guy smiled brightly, the energy feeding off him from the performance of his life. They’d covered The Who, Backstreet Boys, AC/DC, Royal Blood, and Whitesnake—the last one in particular making me gowild.

“Me, along with the rest of Sugar-Coated Sinners, can’t wait to rip this shit up with you again sometime.” The crowd went bonkers again, and I watched as the drummer stood from behind his kit, and the other men took off their guitars, each of them making their way to the front of the stage to join their frontman. “You guys are in for a fuckin’ treat next. Do we have any Youth Gone Wild fans out there? Damn right we do! Get your freak on, folks. This stage is about to be set onfire!”

The moment the words: Youth Gone Wild fell from the singer’s lips, the screams were deafening.

I froze when I truly realised what was about to happen. I was going to see Presley for the first time since I’d walked away.

“Hey,” Molly hissed in my ear. I hadn’t realised she’d grabbed hold of my elbow and was tugging me to her until she was right there, pressed against me. “Hey. This is it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No,” I mouthed, eyes wide as I stared up at the stage.

“Oh, shit.”

“What’s up?” Bourbon asked, moving to the other side of me.

“She’s freaking out.”

“Was always gonna happen,” Bourbon exhaled as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and caged me in.

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