Page 117 of Dirty Rock

“No.” She smirked at me.

“I feel weird as fuck being here without the guys.”

“You’re worth just as much on your own as you are with them. Go and slay that stage out there the only way you know how.”

“How’s that?”

“By making everyone fall in love with you.”

“Everyone, huh?”

“Especially those who want to resist.”

God, I love you.

That’s what I wanted to say to her, but the fear and uncertainty I’d seen in her eyes on all those occasions stopped me from ruining the moment. I pressed a tender kiss on her forehead and answered all her questions about how the brief rehearsal went earlier that morning. Once she was convinced I was good to go, she guided me to where I needed to be, and the two of us waited it out together.

The TV segment I’d recorded with JJ Jones was projected onto a giant screen the live audience were watching, letting me know I was up next. The footage of the wreckage played out in front of them to small mutterings of despair.

“Time to go,” said a runner for the show. He was just a young kid with a headset and mic piece that made him feel important, but I gave him a nod anyway and turned to Jules.

She ran a hand down my arm. “I’m proud of you.”

I’d never had someone look at me the way she did when she was bursting with quiet pride.

I’d never had anyone on the sidelines of a stage, chewing their nails, hoping I killed it.

Every bit of the cocky, immature bad boy I used to be bled out of me in the shadows of that studio, and I found myself reaching for her carefully. Trapping her chin between my finger and thumb, I leaned down and searched her wide, wickedly beautiful eyes.

“If I kill it out there, I want you to do me a favour when I come off stage.”

“What favour?”

“Be honest about how you feel about me because I can’t hold this shit in anymore. I love you, Jules. I need you to love me in return. If you don’t, I need to know.”

Without hesitation, I turned and walked out onto the stage in the diluted light. My heart hammered in my chest, not with fear—only excitement. Those three words were out of my chest, out of my mind, out in the world now. I’d set them free, and with it, set myself free in the process. The walls around my heart crumbled, freeing up my voice and everything that meant something inside of me.

I loved her, and she had the ability to be the best decision I’d ever made, or my greatest heartache.

Either way, I fucking loved her.

When I found the spot marked X on the stage, I stood in front of the mic and gripped onto it tightly with one hand while my other clenched the stand.

I didn’t look back at her, and my chin was dipped to my chest when the segment finished, and the studio lights slowly came alive to pin me to my spot.

For a moment, I burned beneath them, my skin ablaze with manufactured warmth while my insides were on fire from that crazy love I was feeling. I could have slayed an army from the power of it. I could take on an entire country and win because of the adrenaline one woman had placed into my veins.

The backing track rose slowly. I hitched in a breath, looked up into the camera in front of me, and I sang.

I sangHallelujahin a way I’d never sang it before. I sang James Cherry’s version like I’d done every night on tour the whole year before. For the first time in my career, I showed the audience the serious side of who I was. I showed it to myself, too. On that stage, I wasn’t just a rock star. I was a singer: one with credibility, heart, and more passion for music than anyone who’d ever walked out there to sing.

The song built, rising and rising as my emotion rose with it. Emotion for Ma who I suddenly really fucking missed. Emotion for the event, the footage, the audience.

Emotion for Julia.

I sang the words, giving it my all. When the chorus broke, I broke with it, the goosebumps rising on my arms and neck. There were no cocky smirks for the camera that night. No twinkling eyes or bad boy games.

Hallelujah.

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