Page 103 of Sky Full of Stars

“No shit?” he widens his eyes.

“Yeah….” I chuckle. “Like a line-backer, I was out of there, dodging and weaving.”

Nick bursts out laughing and I grin at him. “What happened?”

“I got away with it and hid behind a tree. Lou found me about ten minutes later. I thought he was going to kick my ass, he was dad’s best friend. But he sat beside me, didn’t try to take the helmet, he let me cling to it, took my spare hand and we sat there until everyone left. He told me to keep it safe. Dad wouldn’t have wanted anyone else but me to have it.”

We sat in silence then. I hadn’t told him because I was expecting him to reciprocate. Adam said he wasn’t really talking to them and sometimes it took speaking to a stranger, or someone you barely knew, to allow you to open up.

“My Warwick is like that,” he finally says. “My bass. It got stolen.”

I nod but don’t let any sympathy or pity show, which isn’t what he needs to see right now.

“It belonged to my grandfather. Mom had it on display in the house for years and when I started to show an interest, she told me I had to learn and be the best before I got to play my grandpa’s Warwick. I worked damn hard.”

“It shows,” I nudge him. “You’re in a pretty decent band, semi-recognizable,” I tilt my hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.

He laughs again. “Yeah, Ad said you had no fucking clue who we were.”

“I am not ashamed of that,” I take a sip of my beer and look nonchalantly at him.

“It probably helps.”

“With what?”

“How he feels about you,” Nick glances over at his friend, who is laughing with a couple of guys at the bar. “Not saying this to piss you off or offend you,” he says, giving me a slight side-eye. “But Ad has been with a few fairly famous women, or women who are out to use him for what they can get from him. You’re different. You didn’t know who the hell he was and I get the impression there is nothing you want that you couldn’t get yourself.”

“My mom raised me to look out for myself.”

“She was right to do that. There are a lot of assholes in the world. People use us all the time. Look at the cunt who used that fucktard of a roadie to get on our bus,” his hand clenches around his glass, the knuckles turn white.

It reminds me I was trying to make a point about my dad’s helmet.

“You wanna know where my dad’s helmet is? It’s in a box, in my mom’s attic. I don’t think its seen the light of day for a decade if I’m being honest.”

He nods, looking a little resigned, which makes me think my advice is not going to be welcome or go over like I thought it would.

“I’ll never forget my mom, or what her giving me that guitar meant. I don’t associate the guitar with my love for her. You were gonna say something along those lines right.”

“I guess it was a bit of a cliché.”

“No, it’s right, to a degree. I get what you’re saying, like with your dad’s helmet. It doesn’t symbolise your love for your dad. It’s an object that can be attached to his memory but if it wasn’t there anymore, or it’s out of sight, it doesn’t mean you love him any less.

“The guitar was a thing between us, she wanted me to become the best I could be and she made me work for it. Mom was a big believer in working hard for what you want. She never just handed anything over, not to say she was a hard ass, she wasn’t mean or any shit like that, but she saw my potential and she wanted me to see it too.

“She rewarded me with the guitar I admired most of my life, right before she passed away. She never got to see us like we are now but she knew we were going to make it, and I swore I’d do it for her. But I did it for me too, you know?” he sighs heavily. “That guitar was my reward but it was my hard work that got it, my love for music, for the instrument. It doesn’t take away how much I loved…love my mom that the guitar is gone. It was a shock when I found out it was gone and yeah, it made me think of my mom, but I earned that guitar. Her ghost isn’t attached to it.”

“I get it,” I say softly.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I do actually. It was more than a keepsake, or a memory. It was an ideal. An achievement to make her proud.”

“Yep,” he leans back in the seat and I turn my head to hold his eyes.

“But all this,” I wave my hand around and he looks about the bar, at his bandmates, the people who make up this whole roadshow they have going on. “This is the evidence of your hard work, Nick.”

His brow pinches and he takes the time to look around us. Archer and Jordan are doing shots, making more noise than we realised being so caught up in our conversation. Jordan is pissing himself laughing as Arch chokes and spits his liquor out. A rowdy card game is being played on another table. Adam is still chilling with a bartender and Stone, the bodyguard. Everyone is smiling and laughing.

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