by Sienna Blake
“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “You clean up well, too.”
Ethan was dressed in olive-green dress slacks, his pale-blue collared shirt and navy jumper completing his clean, preppy look.
“Our little girl’s growing up,” Anna cried from behind me, clasping her hands together.
I let out a snort. “Gee, thanks, Ma.”
“Enjoy yourselves. Break a leg. Snapchat me. Take a vid or it didn’t happen!” Anna cried from the doorway, waving at us, as Ethan and I headed down the stairs.
Anna had already made plans for tonight with some other friends, otherwise she’d be coming with us. Truthfully, I was glad when she said she couldn’t come. One less person to embarrass myself in front of.
The Jar was our university bar, the full name being Whiskey in the Jar, named after a song sung by The Dubliners, an Irish band popular in the seventies and eighties. It was a rambling space, dimly lit and wood paneled, a wooden bar running along one end and a stage on the other with a dance floor in front, booths and tables in between. The walls crammed with signed photos of the musicians who had drunk or played here, a Who’s Who of Irish and international music fame.
Tonight it was practically a mosh pit.
The girl at the door was a student I recognised from one of my classes, perky and nice enough. Nina, I think her name was.
“Are you in Mr O’Donaghue’s class?” she asked as she eyed my guitar case strapped to my back.
I nodded, my mouth already dry as I peered through the crowd past her shoulder.
Her smile widened. “Exciting! He’s told the open mike organisers about your assessment performances and they’ve basically handed over the mike night to him. You guys are all going first.”
I gripped tighter onto my guitar. “Great. Just great.” At least going first meant getting this over with.
Nina whipped her head around and pointed to a group of students milling around in a curtained-off space near the side of the stage. “That’s the area we’ve reserved for you guys.”
I could already spot Veronica and her girl crew there, dressed in matching bubblegum skirts and tight white tops as if they were a girl band about to appear in a pop music video.
I couldn’t see Danny. I couldn’t tell whether I was disappointed or relieved.
Nina gave Ethan and me matching purple bands for our wrists, denoting us as performers. “Break a leg!” she said as she let us through.
Why did everyone keep saying that?
Ethan and I made our way through the crowd and ducked under the ropes of our section. The stage was currently empty and dark, the DJ mix playing the latest commercial dance tracks through the speakers throughout the venue, adding to the celebratory mood.
If only I could celebrate right now. I only had this assessment to get through and I would have a week free to relax. A week that was sorely needed.
Ethan and I said hello to the other students who were already there. He got a smile but I was gifted a sneer from Veronica and her pack.
“Where’s our fearless leader?” Ethan asked Calvin, who was nervously picking at his shirt.
A sudden reverent clamour went through the bar. I knew that he had just walked in.
I didn’t want to turn to look at Danny. But I couldn’t help it.
God, he was beautiful.
More than beautiful, he was devastating in dark jeans ripped at the knees, a fitted black shirt over his muscled body, a studded leather cuff around his left wrist.
His stare locked with mine as he slid through the crowd like Noah parting the Red Sea, shrugging off any attempts by adoring fans to get his attention, leaving a wake of people with a mix of awe and disappointment on their faces.
Damn him for making me feel like I was the only reason he was here. Damn him for making me feel like he was coming for me.
Danny ducked under the rope around our section with the grace of a dancer, ignoring the greetings from a few of the braver students, and stood right before me. I was sorry to say that I took a step back, trying to disappear. He felt too close.
“Listen up, students,” he yelled over the music. “I’m only going to say this once.”
Everyone crammed in closer so they could hear, pushing me forward until he and I were practically breathing the same air. I didn’t dare look him in the eye. So I kept my focus on the centre of his shirt where his heart would be. If he had one.
“The backstage is small so only two acts in there doing pre-performance prep at a time,” he said, his voice reverberating through me like a bass note. “The rest of you are expected to be out here cheering or egging your peers on, whatever floats your boat.” A few people chuckled around me. “A little friendly competition never hurt anyone.”
I shoved aside the feeling of anxiousness and tried to keep my breathing steady.
“You are expected to manage yourselves. Go backstage when you are two performers away. Get your shit onstage when the performer before you is done and cleared off the set. I’m not here to hold your fucking hand. Stay alert and keep things running smoothly between performers or you will be marked down.”
He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket with a flourish.
“Here’s the lineup. Starting off we have…” He went through the list of performers, starting with Veronica and her minions. I had hoped that Ethan and I were to go first or at least one of the firsts, but alas, it was not the case.
The longer I had to wait to go up, the more nervous I’d get and the harder it would be for me to keep my shit together once I did get up there.
With every next performer he read out, my hope sank.
“Last, and hopefully not the least, Ethan and Ailis will be doing a couple duet.” Danny looked up from his paper before stuffing it back into his pocket. I caught the sneer directed at me.
“In ten minutes the first act will go on. First two sets of performers, off you go.”
Veronica and the girls gave a cheer and hustled off backstage, as did the next performers, another duet.
Danny dropped into the only booth in our section and stared pointedly at me from his throne.
I ignored him and remained near the ropes beside Ethan, my gaze fixed on the stage. It was small, only three metres wide, a large set of speakers on either side, coils of cables along the back around a small drum kit.
All other instruments we were to bring ourselves. I hitched my guitar into a more comfortable position over my shoulder.
As each performer went on and performed, my heart began to ratchet up in beat, my mouth getting drier and drier.
Fuck.
I needed water.
There was no way I was getting through that crowd with this case strapped to my back. I slung it off my shoulders.
“Can you hold my guitar?” I said to Ethan. “I’ll be back.”
He grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”
“Water. Bar,” I said, trying not to strain my voice to be heard over the blaring music.
Concern creased his eyebrows. “We’re almost due backstage.”
“I’ll be back in time. Promise.”
I slipped under the rope and pushed my way through the crowd.
The performer onstage was a solo act, a singer who was doing a Lana Del Rey cover with a recorded backing. She was good—great, actually—but it would have sounded better if she’d done something with it. Had a live piano set behind it, did an a cappella version, something to make it her own.
Based on how far through the song she was, I estimated I had just under three minutes to get water and hustle my ass backstage.
I pushed my way to the bar and waved at the bartender when it was my turn. “Water, please.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just water?”
I nodded and thumbed over my shoulder. “I’m performing.”
The bartender nodded, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and placed it in front of me.
I opened my wallet. “How much—”
The
bartender waved my money away. “Performer’s first drink is on the house for tonight.”
“Oh, thanks.” I tipped back the bottle and gulped the cool liquid down. Just in time for the performer onstage to finish her last long note.
Shit. I had to get backstage.
I spun and gasped.
Danny stood in front of me, his blue eyes dark under the dim lights, shadows cutting lines across his chiseled, stubbled jaw, looking every inch the indie rock star that he was destined to be.
“A duet, huh?” he said, sneering at me. “I guess he finally convinced you to date him, then. How quaint.”
I wanted to yell at him that Ethan wasn’t my boyfriend. I wanted to just plain yell at him for being such a fucking ass. For getting in my way. For making me go last. For making me sing.
But another part of me—the fucked up masochistic part of me—was just happy that he seemed to notice me again. Being ignored by him for all these weeks left me feeling colder than when he sent a blast of his arctic hate towards me.
Speaking of hate, Danny seemed extra hate-y towards me tonight. Hate-y. Was that even a word? It was now. Danny embodied it with his clenched fist and murder in his eyes and the way his jaw ticked, indicating he was clenching it.
“You followed me all the way here to tell me that?” I snapped.
“I came to the bar to get a drink. You happen to be in my way.”
“Well, you…” I spotted Ethan waving at me like mad from near the stage. The next performer was already setting up.
Shit. I should be backstage already.
A sudden thought struck me. Danny was arguing with me on purpose to make me late. So he could take marks off me. Anger coiled underneath my skin.
Bastard. No fucking way was I letting him do that.
I forgot the insult I was ready to hurl back at him and shoved past him without another word. I swear I felt disappointment roll off him.
I shoved him out of my mind. Well, as much out of my mind that he could be shoved when he was in the same room as me. I always had that sensation of awareness across the surface of my skin whenever he was near.
I hurried to Ethan, muttering my apologies, and he and I rushed backstage through a door at the side of the roped-off area.
I barely had time to warm up my voice as I faced a dark corner and hummed through scales. Thank God I thought to tune my guitar before I left home.
I felt Ethan’s hand on my shoulder. “You ready?”
I nodded, wiping my palms on my jeans. Ready as I’d ever be.
Onstage, the heat of the lights was like the midday sun. I sat on the chair in the centre of the stage, sweat already pooling in the small of my back, and unzipped my acoustic guitar out of the case.
I heard a few gasps from the students near the front who were close enough to notice what kind of guitar it was.
But I wasn’t watching them, I was looking at Danny, sitting on the edge of the booth, his long, strong legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed, his arms across his chest making his biceps bulge and the material of his black long-sleeved shirt stretch.
His eyes fixed on the guitar.
For a second I thought I saw a flash of something. But it was gone before I could decipher it.
I settled the 1936-42 Martin D-42 into my lap, ran my fingers over the Brazilian rosewood face. It was weighted perfectly and fit into my arms like an old lover.
I heard the whispers of some of the other students. I wondered for a second if I made a mistake bringing this guitar here. From my scuffed shoes and second-hand clothes, I shouldn’t be able to afford a guitar this costly. I couldn’t afford a guitar this costly. I couldn’t even afford the modern Martin D-42s, which hadn’t been made with this expensive wood and cost ten times less than this one.
I usually took my practice guitar with me so I didn’t have to worry about it being stolen. But it sounded nothing—nothing—like this one.
Nothing sounded as good as this guitar.
I wanted to sound amazing tonight. I needed to sound amazing. I would take any advantage.
Ethan caught my eye from where he stood in front of the microphone and nodded.
I let out a long breath, trying to loosen the tightness in my throat.
Tried to calm the banging of my heart.
Here goes nothing.
I began to play the opening strands of “Sorry” by Justin Bieber—a pop song, except I had rearranged it with a bluesy twist, a compromise between Ethan and me.
Ethan began to sing. I closed my eyes as I let myself get carried away by the music, pretending I was singing along to the radio in my room back in Limerick as I harmonized with Ethan.
It worked.
My voice was still quieter than it could be, softer and more hesitant, but it was enough when I placed a microphone in front of me. It was enough to blend in with Ethan’s clear, crisp voice as he took centre stage.
Ethan and I had practised every evening in the lead-up to the open mike night, me singing backup. I thought that it might help with this stage fright I’d suddenly developed around a certain someone.
My heart began to slow, hypnotised by the steady, slow rhythm of the rearranged song.
Ethan sounded good.
We sounded good singing together.
And when it was time for my guitar solo, my fingers flew across the strings as if it was a part of me.
I opened my eyes as I plucked the last note on the guitar. We sang the last chorus a cappella. I stared into the crowd, deliberately not looking at Danny. But I could feel his eyes on me.
I could feel him under my skin.
My throat tightened in a spasm and my voice warbled before dying completely. Ethan flinched but he kept singing, improvising a short freestyle and holding the last note as if he was meant to sing it alone.
There was a short pause. Then the crowd erupted into applause.
Ethan grabbed my hand in his and pulled me to my feet, giving me a quick hug before bowing to the audience. I bowed alongside him, my insides giddy.
I’d done it.
I’d sung in front of Danny. Sure, it was as a backup singer. Sure, my voice gave out partway. But I’d done enough to secure a decent grade.
Our fellow students swarmed us with congratulations when we exited backstage before they headed to the bar for a well-deserved drink. Even Veronica shot me a curt “well done” before slinking off.
I glanced around for Danny out of habit and was disappointed when I couldn’t see him. Damn me for even caring where he was.
Ethan wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a hug. “You did so good, Ailis.”
A steady pride thrummed through me. I squeezed him back. “You, too.”
He pulled back. “I’m going to grab us a drink. What do you want?”
I didn’t usually drink. But hell, one or two to celebrate sounded great.
“A gin and tonic, please.”
Ethan kissed my hand and winked at me. “Coming right up, my lady.”
He ducked under the rope and disappeared in the crowd.
“Backup vocals, Ms Kavanagh?” Danny’s voice cut through to me.
I spun to see Danny standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, a glare marring his beautiful face. Where did he appear from? And where did everyone else go? Somehow, he and I were the only ones left in the roped-off section.
“Is that all you’re aiming for in your career?”
I stiffened. Once again, Danny had found the softest, most vulnerable part of me, and dug in.
I was not good enough. My voice was not strong enough to take the centre stage, to be a star. I was not talented enough.
I shoved these thoughts aside.
“You said that we should sing if we could,” I said. “I sang.”
“You were barely background noise,” he snapped. Composing himself, he spoke in a calmer voice. “You disappoint me. I expected more from you.”
His words stabbed me in my chest, overriding
every other positive congratulation I’d received as if they’d never been given.
Why was it that the only opinion that mattered was his?
Tears pricked my eyes. I spun and ran from him, heading for the bathrooms, almost knocking over the ropes in my haste.
The toilets in this pub, like so many old pubs, were downstairs. I’d made it down the stairs, the temperature getting cooler as I descended. I was almost to the toilets when an arm grabbed me and yanked me into a room.
I was in a storage room, stacks of toilet paper in one corner, a metal cage surrounding crates of alcohol taking up most of the room. The music from above muffled.
Danny stood before me, a look of fury on his face made demonic by the shadows cast by the sickly single bulb that hung naked from the low ceiling.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You need to stop running when shit gets hard. When you hear things you don’t like.”
“I’m not running,” I lied. “I just…needed the bathroom.”
Danny gazed across my face as if he hadn’t heard me, a serious look clouding his features, making his blue eyes seem almost black.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I blinked against this sudden change of topic. “Who?”
“Pencildick.”
“His name is Ethan.”
“Whatever. Is he?”
I thought about lying to him and saying yes, but I was never good at hiding things from Danny; my thoughts, my feelings, my heart.
I lifted my chin. “Why do you care?”
He laughed in my face. He fucking laughed. “Very fucking good question.”
His eyes were wild. He looked almost out of control.
Realisation hit me like a sucker punch. “You…You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of him?” He let out another curt laugh, this one sounding torn. “Who the fuck is he? I am Danny fucking O’Donaghue. I have no reason to be jealous of anyone.”
“Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”
“Dump him, Dearg.” He took a step towards me.
“Why?” I backed up out of instinct. My back bumped against the cage in the storage room.
