Live Your Dream

by BB Miller

  “What? I like it.” Sean takes a loud, crunchy bite of the mystery stew. “A bit on the nutty side, yeah?”

  “That describes you perfectly, moron.” Cam tosses a balled-up napkin at him, as Kennedy takes another picture of our unidentified meals on his phone.

  “And it’s garlic roasted cricket stew with ox heart.” The Brit winks at Cam before chewing another bite.

  “This is going up on Instagram,” Kennedy mutters.

  “Food shouldn’t make this sound,” I add, pushing a congealed bowl of I don’t even want to know away from me. “It’s all squishy.”

  “At least they have fortune cookies,” Kennedy says, pocketing his phone, and reaching for one from the tray.

  “Careful. They might be made from worm larvae or worse.” Tucker leans back against the vinyl booth. He’s as relaxed as he can be given we’re out in public.

  We’re in the middle of Sydney’s Chinatown in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, indulging Sean on his birthday, a celebration that has lasted the entire week. Not a soul has recognized us, and that’s been a welcome change from the sheer insanity that waited for us outside the Opera House at our last performance.

  As expected, having the symphony perform with us at the concert has created a buzz. Nicole Hays, our PR manager, is having a hard time keeping up with the additional requests rolling in from other orchestras around the globe. While I’m sure we’ll be playing with a symphony again at some point, I also know we won’t get into a habit of doing it. That’s one of the things we all love about the band. We’re always looking to push the boundaries.

  “What say we head to the Barfly next?” Sean stretches his arm across the back of the booth, looking like he owns the place. “There’s a medieval-themed burlesque show on. Sort of a Cirque du Soleil meets King Arthur.”

  Kennedy shakes his head. “How do you find this shit out?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Kennedy scowls at Sean. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  “Aw, did the lovely Abby put the kibosh on your extracurricular activities?” Sean nudges him in the shoulder.

  “No. I can do whatever the hell I want.” Kennedy tries to push Sean away.

  “Mhmm. Sure you can.” Nothing like stirring the pot, and Sean does it better than anyone.

  “This wouldn’t by any chance be a nude show, would it?” Kennedy asks, his interest now piqued.

  “It’s the Barfly, genius,” Cameron chimes in. “What do you think?”

  “Come on now. It’s not a bloody brothel. It’s a critically acclaimed show. All artistic and everything. You may get inspired to write a new song.”

  Kennedy scowls. “By medieval acrobats? What, something like ‘I’m not your knight in shining in armor, but I’ll slay your dragons anyway’?”

  Cameron laughs, motioning to the waitress for our check.

  “See?” Sean grins. “You’re already inspired.” Then he narrows his eyes at Kennedy in warning. “I put up with all of your shit every damn day.” He slaps his palm on the table, causing the plates to rattle. “It’s my birthday and we’re going, so suck it up.”

  “Holy shit, he wasn’t kidding,” Cameron mumbles as we’re escorted into the darkened bar area by a tall, pencil-thin blonde decked out in a sequined armor plate who calls herself Lady Inverness. Trumpets herald our arrival.

  Lady Inverness motions to a table near the crescent-shaped stage where two women wearing next to nothing are suspended and spinning on wisps of sheer fabric that hang from the ceiling. Kind of reminds me of the footage I’ve seen of Pink’s last concert in a naughtier sort of way.

  Sean plants himself in a chair that looks like a throne at the head of the table. “Did you know about this?” Kennedy asks Tucker, who folds his arms across his chest.

  “Not much goes on with you guys that I don’t know about.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to know some of your secrets.” Cameron slaps Tucker on the shoulder and sinks down into a chair near Sean.

  A round of drinks arrives by a waitress whose outfit resembles Maid Marion if she were a porn star. She seems a little starstruck by the group of us, giggling away at everything Sean and Cameron say. With a shaky hand, she lowers a different glass with two straws in front of Kennedy. He leans back from the table as if it’s about to burst into flames, glancing at Tucker with concern.

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that this will always be a fight for Kennedy. Going to bars and watching everyone drink can’t be easy, especially when it was our norm for so many years. “It’s okay, mate. I got you and Three virgins,” Sean announces, and Kennedy visibly relaxes. “You can thank me later.” Sean raises his goblet, and Cam chimes in with a toast.

  “To the annoying Brit. You don’t turn thirty-seven every day, but apparently this week is an exception. May the next thirty-seven be even half as interesting as the first.”

  “Grasshopper? Helllooo?” Sean tugs the chair out from under my outstretched legs, bringing me back to reality. We’re on the stage, taking a break from sound checks, and my focus has been all over the place. In addition to missing Tess, Tom mentioned yesterday that he had to get locks installed on his office at the group home because someone had rifled through some of the staff and volunteer files. He doesn’t know who did it, but I’d be lying if Zach wasn’t top of mind.

  “Sorry, what?” I give my head a shake and find the rest of the band looking at me like I’ve gone crazy. It feels like I have in a way. I’m lucky if I’ve had a couple of hours sleep over the past few days, aided by the nightmares that seem to be back with a vengeance. I’ve also picked the worst time in the world to try to quit smoking. I absently rub the patch on my arm. Damn thing.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sean twirls his drumsticks in front of my face.

  “It’s the time zones.”

  “Mhmm. Would this be the Tess Zone? Anyone else been deep in that particular zone?” Sean teases.

  “Can’t say that I have, but it looks to be a very nice zone indeed.” Cameron lifts his guitar over his shoulder. “Although why she wants your extra-small kind of attention, I’ll never know.” It’s been like this for a couple of days. I know now I’m never living down that box of extra-small condoms she sent me. I thought maybe they had forgotten about it, but then it started.

  A couple of nights ago, a pack of extra-small Spiderman underwear in my hotel room with a note from the Brit: Thought you could use these. Then on stage, Cameron announced to the Melbourne audience that they were taking up a collection of extra-small condoms for me. Next concert, I spent most of the time dodging foil packets from the crowd. Fuckers. It would be funny if it weren’t directed at me.

  “You can all fuck off. What were we talking about?”

  “Encore for tonight,” Kennedy answers. “Paying tribute to Australian rock and roll royalty?”

  “AC/DC. See? I was totally paying attention, Gramps.”

  Sean heads with Cam and one of the roadies back to his drum kit. “When’s the last time you talked to her?” Kennedy asks, taking one of the chairs beside me.

  “Yesterday. Not for long though.” I rub the back of my neck, looking out to the empty stadium.

  “It’s not easy. I get it, Matty. These other two don’t have a fucking clue, though.”

  “And I’m awful with time zones. Half the time, I feel like I’m waking her up or something.”

  Kennedy pulls his phone out and taps the screen. “Nic set me up with an app. So I’ll always know what time it is in San Fran.”

  “Shit. I need that.” I lean over, taking a look at his phone.

  “It’s seven thirty at night yesterday if it helps. Sounds like a good time to call her.” He takes a long pull from his energy drink.

  I’ve never really thought about time before, how it can fuck with your head. It’s yesterday where Tess is. “How do you do it? Seriously. She feels a million miles away.” And now, I’m sulking.

  “Well, she kind of is.”

 
; I scowl. “Not helping.”

  “I send Abby stuff, deliveries of shit she’s not expecting, videos of places we go. We Skype, Facetime, text. My phone bill is insane, but it’s worth it. I don’t want her to feel like I’m drifting, you know? It’s hard work, but if you think she’s worth it, you’ll do the work, man.”

  A few hours later, I’m pacing like a caged animal backstage, my heart thundering a frantic bassline against my ribs, listening to ring after ring. My calls went to voicemail earlier, and the sound of her cheery voice only notched the growing ache in my chest higher.

  Where the fuck is she? I should know better than to have expectations. We never set any times in stone when we’d connect. I highly doubt that she’s waiting around for my call, nor should she be, but that doesn’t stop worst-case scenarios from flying through my mind.

  “Matt?” Finally, I hear her voice, soft and filling up the empty spaces in my heart, and I can breathe again.

  “Tessa.”

  “I was going to call but—”

  “But what?” I lean against the wall. Roadies dart around me as they prepare for the concert.

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “You could never be a bother. Thought I made that pretty clear.”

  “I know.” Unbearable, awkward silence is all we’re giving each other in the place of all the things we want to say.

  “It’s weird, right? I don’t want it to be weird,” I say quietly.

  “I don’t either. It’s just hard when you’re there.”

  I bite back a groan. “You don’t know the half of it.” She laughs, and I grab onto the glimmer of hope.

  “You’re hard, are you?” Her voice lowers as if she doesn’t want anyone in earshot to hear what she’s saying.

  “All the damn time. But just because I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” she admits, and I shut my eyes, letting the words sink in.

  “Can’t wait to see you. Taste you again. Fuck, I need that.” I clutch the phone tighter, hearing her breath hitch. “Cherry fucking almond, right?”

  She laughs. “It’s bourbon flavored today.”

  “Fuck. I’m already drunk thinking about it,” I grumble. “It’s only a couple of weeks, and I’ll be back. Think you can wait that long for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I can hear the teasing tone of her voice.

  “The concert is streaming tonight. You gonna watch?”

  “Yeah,” she breathes.

  “Good. ’Cause I’m playing for you.”

  Tessa

  My phone alarm blares from the bedside table in Abby’s guest room. She and Kennedy are looking for somewhere in the city to move into together, but for now, she’s still in her old apartment. I grope wildly and silence the damn thing, my nerves jangling and body protesting. It’s two a.m. and too freaking early. I smile to myself as I hear Abby’s grumbling from her bedroom down the hall. Glad to know I’m not the only one who’s having trouble waking up. But I know neither one of us would miss the only streaming concert Redfall has on this leg of the tour.

  “Hey.” She yawns. “I’ll get the coffee started if you fire up the laptop.” I nod, and she staggers into her small kitchen as I head to her living room. As I log in to my laptop, I find that excitement is quickly replacing my tiredness. How can I sleep when I know he’s playing for me?

  A grin eclipses my face when I think about his sultry promise. God, how can just a few words from him, the sound of his voice, give me such a thrill? It’s incredible to think that this man, this frustratingly complex and brilliantly talented man, is thinking of me somewhere on the opposite side of the globe.

  I hope he knows I’m thinking about him, too.

  “Here you go.” Abby joins me on the couch and hands me a steaming cup. I thank her and eagerly take a sip, savoring the heavenly aroma. “I’d like to say this is the last time I’ll ever get up at such a godawful time to watch one of Kennedy’s shows, but it would be a lie,” she says with a wry grin. “Thank God the rest of the tour will be in better time zones.”

  “No kidding.” It’s been hard to wrap my head around the fact that not only is it tomorrow night where Matt is, but it’s also summertime. I’ve been bundled up in sweaters and he’s wearing Tshirts.

  She observes me over the rim of her mug. “They’re lucky we love them.”

  I snort and cough through my mouthful of hot coffee, barely able to keep from spewing it across my computer. “I don’t love him … them … whoever.” Ignoring the way my heart suddenly pounds, I busy myself with typing in the website for the concert stream and try to appear unaffected. I fail miserably.

  “Right,” she drawls, unconvinced. “You’re just up with me in the wee hours, sacrificing a good night’s sleep and job productivity for the sheer fun of it, not because you’re missing your man and want to see him do his thing for thousands of people.”

  I sigh in resignation. “Okay, I’ll concede to the missing him part because, well, it’s pretty obvious. But as for the rest.” I fiddle with the power cable to give myself something to do. Loving Matt isn’t something I really want to think about right now. I’m still getting used to being in an actual relationship. “Can we just watch the show?”

  “Sorry.” She nudges my elbow. “It’s just that you’ve been different since you met Matt. I mean, I know some of it is that you’re putting a lot of energy into your new job, but it’s more than that. I don’t think a job alone could make a person glow like you have been lately, no matter how good a job it is. It’s nice to see, that’s all. I’m happy for you.”

  Smiling shyly, I glance up at her. “Thanks. I’m still not quite sure what I’m doing with him, but I’m not going to waste any more time questioning it and just see where it takes me.”

  “That’s all any of us can do, I think.” Her wistful smile speaks volumes as the camera pans across the packed concert hall, the fans chanting for the show to start. “It’ll be easier when he’s closer to home. Kennedy wants me to join him for the Canadian shows after Christmas.”

  “Really?” I quickly go over the upcoming schedule in my head. “Do you think you can swing it?”

  She shrugs. “Probably. If I can, I’ll see if there are some donors I can connect with while I’m there. If not, I’ll take vacation days. The place can survive without me for a couple days.”

  Not long ago, it never would’ve occurred to my boss to take a few days off for her own enjoyment. Abby’s work ethic is legendary around the office for a reason. That was before she started dating Kennedy Lane. She certainly isn’t slacking now, but it’s nice to see her relax and enjoy life more.

  “You should think about coming with me,” she suggests, but before I can answer, she hops a little on the sofa and waves excitedly at the screen. “Oh! Here we go! Turn it up.”

  I gasp when the band takes the stage. “Matt cut his hair!” Instead of the floppy grown-out Mohawk he’d been sporting when he left, the result of an ill-conceived bet he’d lost with Cameron, his blond locks are now close-cropped. It makes his lickable jawline more prominent. He looks good. Really good. Like, good enough that I want to—

  “Oh, for the love of,” Abby mutters, snapping me out of my lustful thoughts. “I should’ve known he took it.” I glance over to see her biting her lip and staring hungrily at the screen. Kennedy is wearing a long red silk scarf looped loosely around his neck that I swear I’ve seen Abby wear in the office.

  Based on the look on her face, I don’t think I want to know where that scarf has been.

  The concert is fantastic, as expected. It’s amazing to hear them with the symphony backing them up; the sound is brilliantly rich and full. The guys are on fire and have the crowd eating out of their hands. It feels strange to watch such a spectacle on a seventeen-inch screen.

  I can barely take my eyes off Matt. He’s wearing tight, faded blue jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose the intricate swirls of ink on his forearms. Whenever th
e camera cuts away from him to show another member of the band, I catch myself leaning forward with my fists clenched, willing the shot to return to him. The intensity in his eyes as he looks straight into the camera during his close-ups takes my breath away. He positively owns his section of the stage and sometimes strolls over to interact with either Kennedy or Cameron. The energy between them is palpable.

  And then it’s over. After the second encore, the guys take a final bow and head backstage, waving to the crowd. Abby and I both slouch back against the cushions as if someone cut our strings. “Holy shit,” she murmurs. “I’m as tired as if I was on stage with him.” I hum in agreement.

  “Hey! Let’s send them something. Come ’ere.” She grabs her phone and we snuggle together to take a photo. I laugh when I see it; we’re a couple of tousled bedheads with not a speck of makeup, wearing the oversized Redfall tees we slept in, slivers of skin showing here and there, and grinning like idiots. Glamazons, we’re not.

  When I receive it from her, I quickly send it to Matt with a caption: Just a couple of groupies here.

  “Okay, let’s hit the sack. Morning will be here too soon,” she says decisively, and I shut down the laptop. Just before we part ways, her phone chimes with a message that makes her blush. “Uh, sleep well!” She gives me a little wave and a goofy grin before shutting herself in her bedroom.

  Back in the guest room, I stare at my phone for a while, until it’s obvious he’s not responding. Or, maybe he just doesn’t keep his phone with him like Kennedy does. I settle down under the covers with a sigh. Just as I’m about to drop off, my phone, which I discover is still clutched in my hand, chimes with a message.

  Matt: No groupie has ever looked as good as you. I miss you.

  I miss you too. You guys were incredible tonight.

  Matt: It felt pretty incredible, too. I’m glad you liked it. It’s late there, baby. Go to sleep.

  I grin at the screen. Do you really want me to?

  Matt: No, but I’m surrounded by people and can’t get away to do what I want to do with you. So, sleep.