Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series)

by Salsbury, JB

  I throw back another shot called a Fireball, something that Mac told me is nothing more than cinnamon-flavored whiskey. Whatever it is, it’s damn delicious and burns all the way down to my stomach. “I’m good.” I bob my head along with the metal guitar sound of a band called Zombie Diet as they play their last song.

  We’ve heard three bands so far, and they’re getting better and better as the night progresses. Of course, that may have something to do with the Fireballs.

  The music stops, and the crowd blares an ear-piercing roar of applause. I shove my fingers into my mouth to whistle, but end up blowing out a silent spray of cinnamon-scented drool. I’m giggling to myself when I notice Raven whispering something to Eve from the corner of my eye. It doesn’t take a sober person to guess what she’s saying.

  Yes, I’m drunk.

  No, I don’t care.

  And yes, it’s because I’m fucking heartsick.

  I don’t have the energy to defend myself, so I continue to rock out in my own little world of self-pity and booze. Woo-hoo.

  The Blackout is packed. Even if Blake did make an appearance, he’d be hard to find in this crowd. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see him everywhere I look. His memory hangs all over this place. From the table I was sitting at when we argued over Metallica, to the wall where he pinned a girl and kissed her so passionately that I felt it from across the room. My chest convulses. Nope, still not numb.

  “Mac. One more, please. Er… make it two.” I leave my two fingers up and point with my other hand to my empty glass.

  Eve shoves a huge glass filled with clear liquid and ice cubes, into my hand. “Here, drink this.”

  I hold it up to my nose and sniff. “What is it?”

  “Water. Drink it.”

  Eww. I grimace and hand it back, making water slosh over the lip. Oops. “No thanks.”

  “You’re going to barf, or pass out, or both. Just drink it.” Eve’s tone is parental and bossy.

  I don’t like it.

  I turn toward her, wobbling on my leopard-print high heels that do wonders for my legs and booty but nothing for my balance. “Stop telling me what to do.” My finger digs into my chest. “I am a grown woman.” I stomp my foot.

  “Eve’s just worried about you. We both are,” Raven says.

  I glare at the girls. “I don’t need your worry. I can take care of my—”

  My ankle twists, and Eve catches my fall.

  “All right, all right. Get off your feet there, grown woman.” Eve sets me back on a stool.

  Shoot, maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I grab the water and drink a few sips but make sure to give Eve a dirty look so she knows she didn’t win. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Not because someone says I should, or tells me—ugh. Whatever.

  “Stop smiling. You didn’t win,” I say, finishing the last of the glass.

  “I know, tough girl.” Eve’s still smiling.

  I take another shot to prove I’m the boss of me but worry that Eve might be right. If I don’t stop, I’m in for a night of toilet worshiping and tile sleeping.

  “Put your hands together, Las Vegas.” The MC’s voice comes through the speakers, turning everyone’s attention toward the stage. “Please welcome Ataxia.” The shouts of the crowd mix with the sound of a single electric guitar.

  We have perfect seats, close enough to see the stage but off to the side to avoid the mosh pit. The sound of electric guitar strums continues in the dark, each chord growing louder and louder as it rings through the room. The energy is contagious, and the three of us cheer and scream like die-hard groupies.

  “What’s up, Battle of the Bands?” Rex’s deep, raspy voice booms through the speakers, and although we still can’t see the band, we know it’s coming from the stage. “Thanks for coming out to support the local music scene.” The guitarist continues to strum a complex and melodic tune. Chills race across my skin, and anticipation has my heart pounding. “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” The crowd screams louder. “Nice to hear you’re excited.” Rex chuckles. The crowd gets even louder. “Before we play our set, we’ve got a special guest who has something to say.”

  Eve and Raven look at me, their expressions mirroring my confusion. Special guest?

  The guitar solo switches to the opening of a song I’ve heard a million times and know by heart. My cheeks stretch into a wide grin, and I bounce in my seat. “Oh my gosh. Bon Jovi! I fucking love this song.” I’m stoked and excited to sing along. I throw my hands in the air and scream, giving in to my inner fan-girl.

  The lights on stage are still dark when Rex starts to sing. I blurt the words I’ve sung a million times, doing a decent backup to—wait a minute.

  That doesn’t sound like Rex.

  The lyrics that roll from the speakers are sung in a gravelly voice that soothes my soul and sets my blood on fire. Seven words into the first line, and the stage lights blast on in a bright, blinding light.

  It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and—holy shit!

  Blake’s standing frontman. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the table to keep upright. I try to blink to clear what has to be a drunken hallucination, but my eyelids don’t cooperate. It’s really him. His guitar hangs low from its shoulder strap while his fingers dance over the strings. And that voice, all grit and silk, pours through the mic and pierces my heart.

  Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You” has never sounded so good.

  My heart shoots into my throat, and I try to swallow back the cluster of emotions choking me. Blake belts out the lyrics like a rock-god in all his glory, igniting the crowd in applause. His arms command the instrument with all the grace of a classically trained musician and all the sexy magnetism of a heavy metal extraordinaire.

  Pride swells in my chest, easing my racing heart. He did it. Being on stage in front of all these people is his public declaration. He’s burying his past and exposing his gift. The one thing he has left. Sadness knocks on the door of my pride, but I tell it to fuck off. I lose myself in the music.

  The song swirls in the air, Rex’s back-up vocals the perfect accompaniment as he sidles up next to Blake. My mind recites the lyrics that the audience sings out loud. And then, as if calling to him with my thoughts, his eyes find me in the crowd. My hand moves on its own and clutches at my throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

  His body shifts slightly until he’s facing me head on. With his eyes boring into mine, he sings two simple lines, two dozen words written over twenty years ago that speak directly to my heart.

  And just like that, I know. More certain than if he came down off stage and told me himself. This is for me. He’s here, singing this song, exposing his one secret, for me.

  Tears fall from my eyes, fast and hot. I push up on my barstool to my knees. He’s still looking right at me like we’re the only two people in the world. My skin tingles all over, and for the first time, I wish one of my favorite songs would end already. My legs burn to run to him, and my arms tense with the desire to hold him.

  And finally, the song slows. I jump off my stool and push my way through the crowd. Even in my heels, I’m still too short to see over the towering heads to the stage, but I continue forward. The song ends and the crowd cheers. What if he goes backstage and I miss him?

  I’m using my hands and my elbows, driving people out of my way. The closer I get to the stage, the rowdier the crowd gets. Moshers throw forearms and knock each other around. One guy crashes into my side and sends me flying into another guy. I careen, the combination of nervousness and booze throwing me off center.

  “Hey, if one more person knocks into my woman, you’ll answer to me,” Blake says into his mic with a snarl. The crowd parts, taking a step back to open a path.

  His woman…

  Righting myself, I trail through the crowd to the stage. And then, he’s there. Black Sabbath t-shirt stretched over the wide expanse of his chest, a kick-ass pair of dark jeans, and his guitar hanging loos
e at his side. I fist my hands, trying to satisfy the urge to run my palms up his chest and into his hair. He jumps down from the stage and takes two steps toward me, then freezes.

  I can’t move. My legs are held captive by his presence.

  “Mouse?”

  I suck in a breath and roll my trembling lips between my teeth. Never thought I’d hear him call me that again.

  He holds his hand out to me. “Come here.”

  I step back. His eyebrows drop low, questioning. He moves one step forward but doesn’t get any closer than the handful of feet that separate us. His gaze flits around the room, then back to me, like he thinks I might run.

  He’s right.

  I reach back, pull off one high heel, and drop it to the floor. He tilts his head, his lips set a flat line. After I drop the second shoe, he drops his shoulders. Defeat.

  And then…

  I run.

  With the force of all my worry, powered by anxiety and days of depression, I slam into his solid chest. He absorbs me in an instant. His strong arms engulf me, lock around my waist, and lift me off the ground. He buries his face in my neck, and I hold him there with all the strength I have.

  “Fuck, Mouse. I’ve missed you.”

  The crowd whistles and cheers.

  A sob rips from my throat, and he holds me tighter. “No, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

  “I thought… I lost… you.”

  “Never.” He sets me down, but I refuse to let him go. He rubs my back softly, encouraging me to loosen my grip. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

  I lean back enough to look at his face. His eyes glisten, and he clears his throat. “Mouse… I love you. I’ve never loved anyone in my entire life. And then you come along, and… my music, my fighting? None of it means anything without you. My life means nothing without you.”

  I jump up, and he wraps me in his arms again. “Don’t let me go, Blake. Please… never let me go.”

  “I promise.”

  “I love you, Blake.”

  His entire body relaxes under my whispered words. “It’s hard to believe you’re really here, like this… I thought I’d never hold you again.”

  Ataxia begins their set, and the small space Blake and I had on the floor closes in with the bodies of excited fans. They erupt as the first few bars of a song blare through the speakers. We get shoved, and Blake sets me down. He takes my hand and leads the way, protecting me with the width of his body, weaving us through the crowd toward the side of the stage.

  I look over my shoulder just in time to see the huge smiles of my friends Eve and Raven, who’ve been joined by Jonah, Mason, and Caleb. Eve gives me a quick thumbs up and a knowing smile.

  They set me up. And I love them to pieces for it.

  Thirty-four

  Blake

  I can’t believe it worked. Part of me expected her to bolt as soon as she saw me. I’d hoped for at least a polite smile and a chance to talk. But she gave me so much more.

  She gave me her.

  A smile curls my lips, and I hold her tiny hand in mine. We move through the crowded bar to a door at the side of the stage. A bouncer stands guard at the entrance to the backstage dressing rooms. Before things go any farther, we need to talk, and this is the quietest and closest place I can think of.

  “Yo, Brick.” I shake hands with the guy who earned his name from looking like a solid piece of concrete.

  “Blake, man. What’s up?”

  “I need a room. Just for a few minutes.”

  “This isn’t a motherfucking hotel.” He looks between Layla and me. “Ah, so this is the girl.” His eyes sweep from her bright golden hair down to her bare feet. “All right, I’ll give you a room, but this little hottie deserves more than a few minutes.”

  Layla tucks into my side, her cheeks pink from Brick’s in-your-face perusal. I tug her behind me to keep her safe from the bouncer’s greedy glare. “Eyes to yourself, Brick.”

  He laughs and steps aside, allowing us to pass. “You need help back there, Snake, just holler.”

  “Fuck you.” I throw my middle finger up over my shoulder.

  “You take your few minutes with him, baby. Then you come back here. I’ll give you hours.” We’re halfway down the hallway, and he’s still talking shit.

  “Enough, dickhead,” I call out.

  Layla’s still laughing when I pull her into a room. The smell of stale cigarettes and liquor fill my nose. I flick on the lights to reveal a faded brown couch, a full-length mirror, and painted black walls. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.

  “Wow, I’ve never been backstage before.” She crosses the room to the couch.

  “Uh, I wouldn’t sit there. Probably all sorts of DNA samples could be taken from that thing.”

  She recoils and tucks her hands close to her stomach. “That’s gross.” Her lips tick with a hint of a smile. “Thanks for the warning.”

  What seemed so natural minutes ago in the crowded club, feels awkward now that we’re alone and faced with all that needs to be said. We stand across the room from each other, electricity charging the air between us.

  She looks amazing. Her tiny body is wrapped in a tight black dress, cut low enough to expose the valley between her perfect breasts. The midnight fabric runs the length of her waist, flaring out at her hips, and ending well above her knees. She shifts on her feet, and I’m reminded that she’s barefoot. Her painted pink toes curl against the filthy concrete.

  “Your feet. They cold?”

  Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “They’re okay.”

  “You want my socks?”

  “No, I’m fine. Really.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  She tugs at the hem of her skirt. “Thanks, although, I can’t take credit. It’s Eve’s. I got ambushed by her and Raven at home, but…” Her head tilts, and she studies the empty wall across from her. “Something tells me you already knew that.”

  Shit, is she pissed? I shrug one shoulder and study the ground. “Yeah. I asked them to get you here.”

  I peek up to gauge her reaction. She’s raking her teeth along her pink-painted lip. Not sure if that’s pissed or not.

  “I had so much to say, but I’m terrible with talking shit out, and with everything that happened” —I run my hand over my head—“I wasn’t sure if you’d listen to me.”

  Her lips curl into a smile, and I swallow back a thick ball of hope.

  “I liked what you had to say. And I really like the way you said it. Not a girl alive would say no to Bon Jovi.” She closes a fraction of the distance between us. “No more music in a closet. Your secret’s out. How did it feel, you know, performing?”

  I nod, my mind reeling in the moment. I’d almost forgotten I’d played in front of a few hundred strangers and a handful of friends. “I did it for you. I knew if I got up there and played, you’d know I wasn’t fucking around. I had to make a statement.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

  My chest swells under the sincerity of her words. But even with her praise, I don’t know the answer to the question that has kept me from sleep and unsettled my stomach. “Do you think that with time, you could find it in your heart to forgive me?” It’s asking the impossible, I know that, but I have to fight for the chance to be with her.

  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “Forgive you for what?”

  “For what… I’ll say it if that’s what you need.” I don’t want to form the words I strangled you. I swallow the bile that surges in my throat. “Is that what you want, Layla, to hear me say it?”

  She takes a few steps toward me. “Blake, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one that owes you an apology. If we’d never met, then Stewart wouldn’t have… it’s because of me that you ended up in jail.”

  “No, that’s bullshit. I fucking…” Shit, why can’t I just say it?

  “You were on steroids, Blake. He baited you.”

  “I could’ve killed you.”
/>   Her sharp intake of breath blares in the silence. “I don’t believe that,” she whispers. “I know you would’ve stopped.”

  She’s doesn’t know that. I was fucking out of it, completely blacked out and raging.

  “Layla, what I did is unforgivable. And Axelle saw the entire thing. Fuck.” I rub my eyes. Reliving this with her is as bad as going through it all over again.

  “You protected us. Came back to rescue us. That’s what Axelle saw. The rest was fallout, and she understands that.”

  “Mouse…” My voice cracks under the weight of my feelings. “I hurt you.”

  She closes the space between us. I grip her waist and pull her close, afraid of losing her when she realizes I don’t deserve her touch. Her fingers slide up my biceps, over my shoulders, and lock behind my neck. I drop my forehead to hers and pinch my eyes closed, absorbing the comfort of her contact.

  “No. You’re the one who got hurt. What they did to you, the things you must’ve been feeling? I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing it sooner.”

  I blink open my eyes to see hers staring back. “You did. You warned me about the supplements, and I was too arrogant to listen. If only I’d paid closer attention.”

  “Blake, we could do this all night. But the guilt? It’s so thick we’d never get through it. Is it possible just to forgive each other and move on?”

  “I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness.”

  “Bullshit. We were made for this moment, Blake. Everything that led us to this here, right now, is what makes us who we are. I forgive you. But will you ever forgive yourself?”

  “I want to. I’m so sick of looking back.” I run my nose along hers. “Where do we go from here, Mouse?” I whisper against her skin.

  Her eyes flutter shut. “Forward. One day at a time.”

  “Together?”

  “Always.” Her lips part.

  Fuck, I’ve missed those lips. “Mouse, can I kiss you now?”

  “I wish you would.”

  Our mouths come together, unhurried. As much as I’d kill to use my tongue and teeth, to drain every ounce of taste from her mouth, I keep it light. My lips work against hers in deliberate, wet strokes. The weight of her head drops to the side, and she opens up to me. I moan against the sweet cinnamon that teases my senses as I reacquaint myself with her kiss.