Eleven
Naomi
“Five minutes,” we’re told by someone from the venue. We’ve been waiting almost an hour and I’m dying from nerves. I’ve taken to pacing the small room, trying to keep my arms away from my body to lessen the amount of sweat that’s pouring out of me. I’m a disgusting mess.
I silently thank Stephanie for choosing a fitted tank top in black for me. At least I don’t have to worry about noticeable sweat stains. Oh god. I’m dying right now. I’m not sure I can do this.
The guys have been taking turns trying to talk me down between their pre-show routines. I would have given up after about ten minutes of my incoherent bumbling but they’ve kept at it. In between exchanging wide-eyed glances, of course. I’m sure they all think I’m completely insane. I wouldn’t blame them if they asked me to go home.
“You’re gonna do great. Stop worrying,” Jack says in his fiftieth attempt to soothe me. They’re all being ridiculously understanding. Well, except Theo. He’s spent this whole time glaring at me while he taps his drumsticks on the edge of his stool. I keep seeing him shaking his head at me, and I want to yell at him and tell him to shut the fuck up because that tapping is making it worse. But I don’t give him that satisfaction. I just need to get through tonight.
I guess this is like getting back on the proverbial horse. You’re nervous that you’re going to get thrown again, but once you do it, you get your confidence back, right? I’m hoping that’s how it will be. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever been booed off the stage, I’ve always performed well. But the last time I did something like this was in high school. Most of the stuff I did at Uni was classical. I was part of a string section. And I didn’t have to sing.
Oh god, that reminds me; is my voice warm enough?
“Let’s go,” Theo says, standing from his seat and picking up his sticks as he moves toward me, dipping down to pick up my violin case. “Calm. The fuck. Down,” he growls into my ear, as he hands my case to me.
I swallow the thick ball of saliva that’s lodged itself in my throat and nod at him quickly, our eyes locking as he looks at me intently, his eyebrows raised. I realise he wants some sort of answer. Wait. What was the question?
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him in a small voice, wrapping my sweaty palm around the handle of my case as I take it from him. “I promise.”
He lets out a slight grunt and heads out the door, closely followed by Jack, and Lachlan; who gives me a pat on the shoulder and a few encouraging words.
“Come on,” Marcus says, sliding his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go make beautiful music together.”
When we get out on the stage, I look out and try to find Stephanie and Gary in the crowd. The lights are dim, and in front of the stage are tables and chairs. My eyes find them to the left of the stage, seated at a table they’re sharing with Amy and Erica. They give me a little wave, and I feel glad to have the support of them there.
As I ready myself to start, I take a moment to survey the room. Every table is full, and the standing room on the upper level is jam-packed with people. Matiari sure can pull a crowd.
I let out a slow breath as I hold my bow and violin at my side. This is it. Show time.
My attention goes to Marcus as he clears his throat and leans into the microphone. “Good evening,” he says. Three syllables and the room erupts in cheer, a group of women in the front table practically scream. It elicits a beautiful swoon-worthy smile from our front man. “Thank you, ladies. This first song is called ‘Fragile’.”
I close my eyes and focus on the sound of him strumming his guitar. This song is primarily guitar and gentle drums. The rest of us don’t come in until the chorus, and I don’t sing on this one either, it’s all Marcus.
We only kiss when we’re all alone,
When no one can see us.
I should take you home.
He’s mesmerising. So much that I almost forget to ready my violin when it’s time to join in. Luckily, the sound of Theo hitting out his intro to the chorus snaps me to attention, and I quickly lift my bow, closing my eyes and playing along as he sings.
When you whisper to me,
I want your words to be true,
But you know we can't be,
Not like this. Not like this.
Why did you sing your song to my heart?
When you knew we were fragile right from the start
The moment I play, I’m focused. I don’t miss a beat. I come in and out of the song at the correct places. I let the music flow through me, and marvel at Marcus and Theo’s cohesion. Really this band is the two of them, the rest of us are just here to support their talent.
This past week rehearsing with them has made me really appreciate the minds behind the music. Each note is so careful, so deliberate; each quiet pause adding to the emotion of the song. When I finish playing my part in the last chorus, all instruments stop and Marcus sings the last two lines in silence, finishing with the same music he played for the intro—guitar only, gently twanging out its beautiful melody to an enraptured audience. When he finishes, the audience pauses for a beat before erupting into cheers and applause. I’m smiling so hard I can barely see.
“Thank you,” Marcus says into the microphone. “I’d like to introduce you all to the band. To my left on bass, is Lachlan.” The crowd claps and cheers as Lachlan gives them a salute and a smile, his handsome, dimpled and unshaven face causing more than a couple of girls to whoop a little louder than necessary. I grin when I see him wink and point at a couple of them.
“On the keyboard is Jack.” Applause and cat calls ring out again. Jack holds his hands up and laps up the adoration.
“On drums, is my brother, Theo. He writes most of our songs.”
Theo does a short beat on his drums as the crowd cheers for him. When I look at him, I expect him to have his usual scowl in place. But he’s actually smiling. It’s a good look on him, and I find myself wishing he was happy like that whenever he spoke to me. Fat chance. He hates me.
His eyes fall on me, and I realise I’m staring, caught up in the joy he’s displaying. My heart leaps up in my chest and the air crackles. He frowns, the smile falls from his face and he shifts focus to something on his drum kit that needs adjusting. Wow. He really hates me.
A pang shoots through my torso, starting from my throat then bottoming out in my belly. I look away quickly, embarrassed I was openly gawking, feeling even worse over the contempt he displayed at catching me.
“And tonight, we have someone new for you. The gorgeous woman standing to my right with the fiddle is Naomi.”
Taking a deep breath, I set a smile on my face and nod while the crowd cheers. Their praise washes over me, pushing away that icky feeling in my gut. Stephanie and Gary smile and yell loudest, while Erica and Amy let out loud cat calls and thump their fists on the table. My grin grows until I’m laughing. I resist the urge to look behind me even though I can feel Theo’s eyes on my back. I don’t want to see him scowl and ruin this moment. They’re cheering for me.
“Now, it’s her first night with us. So, you need to let us know if you like her stuff so we keep her. Get on Instagram and tag us in your pictures. Leave us your review in the comments, hashtag ‘Naomi stays’ or hashtag ‘kick Naomi out’. Do you think you can do that for us?”
The crowd cheers, letting us know that yes, they’ll happily rate my performance tonight. #kickNaomiout? Geez, no pressure there.
“I’m sure she’ll dazzle you,” he says in a low voice close to the microphone as he looks directly at me. “Just like she dazzles us.” Something passes silently between us. It’s in complete contrast to what happened before with Theo. Instead of a pang landing in my gut, this one shoots up to my chest. “This one is called ‘It’s a Crime’.”
I love this song. But I’m nervous because it means I’m supposed to sing. You can do this. I close my eyes and listen while Jack plays the intro before Marcus comes in with the first verse. It’s just the two of
them together, piano and voice.
Please get out of the way
This is not what it looks like
I’m in the wrong place
I’m not looking for you
Towards the end of the first verse, Theo comes in with a slow double boom emanating from the bass drum, the signal before I lift my violin and play a few bars before everyone goes silent and I sing.
Please don’t fight… me
This was all Theo’s idea. Instead of having me harmonise with Marcus during the chorus, he felt I should take on the role of the woman the song is about. It creates a more intense emotion as the music lifts and Marcus sings back to me as if we’re arguing.
Don’t steal my heart
When you know it’s been broken
The song continues with me singing, begging him not to fight my advances while he sings in return, refusing to offer his love.
As the music swells, he becomes louder, more insistent, and every tiny hair on my body lifts as we finish together.
I will fight,
I will fight,
I will fight you.
He draws out the last note. And as he finishes, I sing a single word. No
Stepping back from the microphone, I play the final notes in a soulful refrain with Jack on the keyboard. It leaves me feeling as though I just lost something, and I wonder where the lyrics come from. Theo may be an arsehole in person but he's a gifted songwriter.
The crowd cheers again, whooping and hollering at us. As I lap up the attention, I can’t believe I was seriously studying to play classical violin. The applause from a classical theatre is so much more restrained than this and I suddenly understand why a lot of musicians have such big egos. This feeling is amazing.
The rest of our set flies by, and the show is over far too quickly. Before I know it, we’re done and Marcus is taking me by the hand and waving at the crowd as we leave the stage while people congratulate us on a great show as we head backstage. They are so complimentary towards me, and I can’t seem to get the grin to leave my face. Be cool, Naomi.
Yeah. I can’t.
“That was probably the best damn show we’ve ever done,” Jack declares the moment we’re in the back room. “We’ve never had a crowd that excited. We’ve got to keep her, Theo.”
“We’ll see,” he says, no words of praise or encouragement as his eyes drop to where Marcus still holds my hand. I immediately let go, feeling like I just got caught cheating on a test. Will he count that as fraternising?
His dark eyes lift to mine, then he grunts and walks out of the room.
“Yeah. Great show, mate,” Marcus calls after him, making light of what was becoming a tense situation. “You were so good out here.” He places his hands on my shoulders and shakes me lightly. Now I’m smiling again.
“I’m lookin’ at our Insta right now," Lachlan says, his middle finger scrolling up his screen as he sits on the ratty old couch and stares at his phone. “Brilliant show. Hashtag Naomi stays. I've never seen you boys play so beautifully. A woman's touch was all you needed. Hashtag Naomi stays.” He keeps flicking. "There are a lot of Naomi stays here.”
“What about hashtag kick Naomi out?” I ask. “There’s got to be a few of those.”
Lachlan frowns then purses his lips. “There are. But you don't wanna read those. They’re kinda personal and don’t have much to do with the music.”
“If you click each hashtag,” Jack starts. “You can see the numbers. Naomi stays is in the hundreds, and since Erica and Amy just mentioned as in a poll on their story, we’ll get more numbers that way. But so far, you’re a hit.”
“Yay.” I grin outwardly while my mind clings to the fact that some people don’t like me. Why do brains even do that? You’re getting all this open praise and it would rather focus on the handful of shit slung your way than believe you’re actually good at something. Ugh. I need a minute.
“I have to go and visit the ladies,” I announce, grabbing my phone from my bag as I stand to make my way out the door.
“I’ll show you where the backstage ones are,” Marcus says. “You don’t want to go back out to the general area. You’ll be bombarded with admirers and you’ll never get to pee.” He grins then holds out his hand, gesturing for me to follow him.
We head down the narrow hallway, weaving our way past stacks of chairs and other backstage paraphernalia. As we round the corner there’s an open door that, judging by the tiles on the floor in the doorway, leads to a bathroom.
“I’ll wait here for you,” he says in a low quiet voice. I turn to him and smile, ready to let him know that he doesn’t need to. But the look in his eyes has my words evaporating before they’ve made it out of my mouth. “You really were great tonight.” He lifts his hand and tucks a wisp of hair behind my ear.
The gentle brush of his fingers against my cheek causes my eyes to flutter closed for a moment. “You were pretty great yourself,” I whisper, my voice husky and thick as I speak. Old crushes die hard. I can’t help the way I feel around him. The moment he touches me I’m right back in high school, loving every bit of attention he gives me while silently begging for more. I’m not sure I even want it—especially since he dumped me so fast the last time—but he has that magnetism every frontman should have. It's hard to keep my wits about me.
“I’ve missed you.” When he lowers his hand, he brushes his fingers down the side of my face, looking at me intently.
My breathing becomes deeper and I lean towards him, feeling drawn in. I don’t know what I’m expecting here. But it feels like he’s about to kiss me. Do I want that? Before I can decide, he pulls back, leaving me wanting and confused. Just like he did in high school.
Nothing has changed.
My eyes prick, but I fight my runaway emotions with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of company,” I say as I step away, moving towards the bathroom. “Why don’t you head back? I’ll meet you in there when I’m done.”
He frowns a little, but I can see the light in his eyes brighten. He’s ready to party. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“It’s fine. Go. I can find my own way.”
He nods. “Just stay off Instagram,” he says, gesturing to the phone in my hand. “Take one night to enjoy your return to the stage before you let the rest of the world in.”
I lift my phone and sigh. “You should probably take it from me then.” Scrolling through social media is exactly what I was planning to do. I don’t even really need to pee. I sweat so much on stage there's nothing left.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a grin as he takes my phone and sticks it in his back pocket. “See you in there.” He disappears around the corner as I lean up against the wall and roll my eyes at myself. How needy can you be, Naomi? So desperate for validation that I sneak away to scour Instagram, and lean into Marcus like I want him to kiss me. Ugh. I need to get a handle on myself. I used to be more confident than this, but years of coming in second best—with men and in music—have taken their toll. I want to be number one for a change. I want to be loved. And it seems I’m willing to take that adoration from any avenue I can get it. I’m not sure if that makes me pathetic or driven.
After visiting the bathroom and sorting myself out somewhat, I make my way back to the others. As I round the corner, Theo heads towards me from the opposite direction. Fuck. He makes me nervous. I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove myself to him. I nod and smile politely, even though I would rather run and hide somewhere so I don’t have to be subjected to another one of his hooded looks.
“Everything worked well tonight, don’t you think?” I say, feeling trapped into making small talk.
“Yeah, it was fine.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m not gonna fight them over letting you stay if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Oh… I wasn’t,” I splutter, completely taken off guard by his abruptness. I expected a grunt, a nod at best, before he stalked off. “I was just—”
&
nbsp; “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea here.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “I didn’t want you in the band. Even after the reaction out there, I’d still prefer it if you weren’t in the band. But I always do what’s best for the band and the fans. So regardless of what I want, you get to stay. Just don’t mistake my acceptance for want. I’d still prefer it if we found another cute girl to play the fiddle and sing for us,” he explains, his eyes dark and unfriendly. “Someone who has no interest in sleeping with my brother.”
“What? No… that’s not what I…” I struggle to find my words as my eyes prick for the second time tonight. I stop trying to speak and instead search his face for some sort of reason as to why he’s behaving like this towards me. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Look at my face.” He holds his position, uncomfortably close with such angry eyes. I can barely breathe let alone think. “Look at me very carefully. Tell me who I am.”
“I…” I frown, shaking my head slightly. I should be telling him to fuck off, but instead I’m forcing myself to focus, looking over his features while searching my memory. His eyes are dark, almost black. It’s really hard to see where the pupil ends and the iris begins. His hair is also dark—like eighty percent chocolate—and slightly long on top, the bottom half clipped close to his scalp. He has definite features. Compared to Marcus, Theo is all hard lines and angles. But he’s still beautiful, despite the anger he loves to direct towards me.
My heart sighs. Why must hate exist in a person’s heart? In my life, I don’t think I’ve ever hated a single person. Even when I was treated poorly, or dumped unceremoniously, I still couldn’t hate. That emotion simply isn’t in me. It hurts to see it glaring back at me.
Seemingly of its own accord, my hand reaches up, and I lightly touch my fingertips to his dark stubbled jaw. It’s a gesture born of sorrow, but the moment my fingers connect with his skin, a shock flies up my arm. He flinches his head back, confusion flashing in his eyes, briefly dissipating the hard set of his features before he regains his composure and scowls.
Beautiful Series Boxset, books 1-4 Page 92
