by Sarah Grimm
I’m twenty-three years old and I won’t make it to twenty-four.
Shit.
I’m terrified of dying. There, I said it. What scares me even more is the thought of dying without ever having truly lived. So from now, until the end, I vow to embrace life. To smile through the pain, cramming as much as I can into the time I have left. I will take risks, dance beneath the stars, laugh, love, and cherish every moment. I will face each day with my head held high, focusing on today, not dwelling on the past or worrying over the future. I will LIVE.
Number of days since I decided to live: 1
Number of days until Blind Man’s Alibi concert: 41
Current level of panic: 8/10
TWO
April 4
Late. She was so very late. Most likely too late for anyone to still be hanging around. Too late to get inside.
Emma drove around the parking lot, sneaking behind the row of semis lined up in such a way as to hide the tour buses from view. She parked her truck beneath a light pole and stared at the back entrance.
Men and women moved in and out of the arena, loading equipment into the semis at a pace that made her dizzy—an endless stream of activity as the set was torn down and the show packed up in preparation of pulling out of town.
“What are you doing?” she murmured, barely able to hear her own voice over the music blasting from her speakers. Unless she could get one of these people to summon Gary, her chances of getting inside were slim to none. The smartest thing for her to do was turn the truck around and head home. But the lure of seeing Joe again was too great.
She had spent the entire day thinking about him. In two weeks, she was due to deliver her final design to her very last client, yet she couldn’t concentrate long enough to get any work done. She’d boot up her computer and stare at the screen without seeing it. Seeing instead the look in Joe’s eyes when he’d asked her to come back tonight.
She hadn’t planned to. Not even last night—this morning, she corrected—when she’d told him she’d think about it. She’d never planned to come back. That was, until she’d found herself in her truck heading for the arena.
She had it bad for him. But hell, you only live once, right?
Sliding out of the vehicle, she crossed the parking lot and walked up the ramp, expecting someone to stop her at any moment. Oddly enough, no one paid any attention to her until she was about six feet from the entrance and Gary materialized in front of her.
Emma slammed to a stop so sudden, she stumbled. “Holy… You scared the crap out of me! Do you always lurk in the shadows or is it just my lucky night?”
He grinned. “I’ve been trapped inside all day. Needed some air.”
The temperature was around forty-seven degrees with a breeze cool enough to cut through her jacket, yet Gary stood before her in a short-sleeved tee that hugged his brawn like it had been painted on. Not a single sign he was cold marred his dark chocolate skin. “You forgot your jacket.”
“I did. Perhaps I could borrow yours. Appears it might fit.”
Emma looked down at her outfit. Once the urge to come became too strong to resist, she hadn’t worried over her appearance. Just grabbed her old army jacket and tossed it on over her favorite lounge-around-the-house top—a pale pink racer back tank with twisted shoulders. She’d traded her yoga pants for a pair of jeans and topped off the look with pink Chucks.
The jacket was too large for her, its sleeves hanging to her second knuckle, but it was well worn and as comfortable as any sweater she owned. “It once belonged to my high school sweetheart. When I caught him behind the bleachers with one of the bitchy, popular girls, I kept it.”
“Probably looks better on you, anyway.” His smile widened, giving her a teasing glimpse of dimples. Dimples! “The Buddy Holly’s complete the look.”
“Buddy Holly’s?” Shit, she was still wearing her computer glasses! Pulling them off, she stuffed them in the coat pocket. “I was working.”
“Casual Friday?”
“Self-employed.”
“Ah.”
“I’m a graphic artist. I was working on a client’s design.” Why was she telling him this? “I’m not out to impress anyone.”
“That’s good. Most people trip over themselves to please him.”
Emma frowned. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“He’s a good man. Once you get past the—”
“Narcissistic asshole?”
His laughter was full and deep, easing a bit of her nerves. “That was brilliant!” He was still chuckling as he slipped his fingers into his back pocket and handed her the item he retrieved. “Thought you might like to have this.”
A backstage pass. The plastic was cool to the touch and sported a photo of the band on one side, and their logo along with the words all access on the other. She stuffed it into her coat pocket with her glasses. “Thanks.”
“It works better around your neck.”
“Aren’t you walking me in?”
He tossed her a look that said she was missing the point. His gaze moved from her face to her pocket and back again. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he turned for the door to the arena instead.
“What?” She had to scramble to catch up. Pulling the pass from her pocket, she slipped it around her neck. “What were you going to say?”
They stepped through the back door and started down the hall. Unlike the night previous, when she was too on edge and worried about where he was taking her to pay much attention, Emma took the time to study the man at her side. The first thing she noticed was that he walked silently. As in, she couldn’t hear him move. Not his clothes, his footsteps, nothing. How was that even possible?
He was a good six inches taller than Joe, which put him around six-four, with black hair clipped short—shaved close to his head short—and the tiniest hint of grey in his mustache. His T-shirt was black, as were the cargo style pants and military looking boots on his feet. There was nothing identifying him as part of the band’s security team, not even a pass around his neck. Then again, she couldn’t imagine anyone trying to stop him from going anywhere he damn well wanted to go. There was an air of authority about him and, just in case someone missed it, he backed it up with a whole lot of muscle.
The radio on his belt squawked. “Boss, we have a code one at the stage.”
Gary snatched the radio and pressed the button on the side. “I’ll handle it.”
He stopped before a set of double doors leading to the left and turned to her. “I have to deal with this. Look, you’re going to head straight down the hall and through that door. Take a right and about half-way down the next hall is your destination. It’s a blue door on the left. It should be open.”
“You never told me what you were going to say.”
“What?”
“Outside. The whole backstage pass thing? Why did you give me such an odd look? You see, you just did it again, although that look could be interpreted as frustration.”
His brow furrowed. “I have to deal with the code one. Just head—”
“Down the hall and through the door. I got it.”
“Keep the pass in view and no one will dare get in your way. If you get lost find one of the arena security staff—they’re all in red shirts—they can have one of my guys radio me. Got it?”
“No worries, Shrek.”
He froze with his hand on the door. The look he gave her was one for the books. “Bleedin’ hell. A cartoon character? Why not something like Heimdall? I could deal with being called Heimdall.”
“Who?”
“The guardian sentry of Asgard.”
“Because you’re a guardian of sorts.”
“Exactly. I look like him, too.”
“No, you don’t.”
“The hell you say.”
“You’re much more handsome.”
Gary grinned. “And you’re full of it.” The radio squawked again. “I’m coming,” he mum
bled, pulling the door open. “Shrek. Shit.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Because I’m a grouchy ogre?”
“Because you’re fucking huge and surprisingly charming.”
He laughed as he disappeared through the door.
Emma reached the blue door in no time. It was open, just as he’d said. But unlike last night, this room was full of people. Conversations were going on everywhere, coalescing into a noise so loud she wondered if anyone could actually hear what anyone else was saying.
This was unexpected. A headache had already begun to make itself known at the back of her skull, something she hadn’t worried about when she imagined it would be just her and Joe. But a room full of people would be enough to push her pain to new heights. The noise was going to be bad enough, add to that perfume, cologne, and any lingering odor of cigarettes… Now was the time to decide. Did she do this or go home?
Emma stepped into the room.
She was immediately swallowed, sucked into the mass of bodies talking, laughing, and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. She wasn’t five feet into the room and she’d already been offered multiple glasses of God only knew what. Shaking her head at another offer, Emma stepped to the side and right into someone.
She turned, prepared to apologize, when a female voice full of condescension stopped her.
“Nice outfit. Who exactly do you expect to attract with that?”
Seriously? The little bitch stood about Emma’s height—even with the four inch fuck me pumps on her feet. She was also so damn drunk she swayed, and…wait a second. Emma caught site of the pass hanging around the chick’s neck. Was she for real? Before she could respond, the girl grabbed hold of Emma’s pass.
“Oh my God! Your pass is all access. What did you have to do to get this?”
“Do?”
“What do you want for it?” The acrid scent of alcohol swamped Emma’s senses as the girl leaned closer. “I’ve never gone down on a woman before, but I’d be willing to give it a try if you’d give me that pass.”
Emma took a step in retreat and bumped into someone else. Unfortunately, the girl before her had yet to release her pass, and the move damn near strangled her.
Emma reached out and pried the girl’s fingers loose. The girl released a shriek that caused ears to ring and her head to throb.
“Sweet Jesus,” Emma mumbled.
“Sweet Jesus!” the girl screamed, then lunged.
A muscled arm circled Emma’s waist, lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing, and held tight as she and the owner of the arm stepped out of harm’s way.
Gary swooped in, out of nowhere it seemed, and escorted the girl from the room. Her screams grew in pitch with each expletive that spilled from her lips.
“Sweet Jesus,” Emma repeated right before the heat of the body wrapped around her from behind penetrated. “Put me down.”
“Sure thing, Sunshine.”
Joe.
She spun around as soon as he released her and, sure enough, there stood Joe. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe. Surely it was both criminal and unjust for a man to look so good.
His untucked, green heather T-shirt hugged his upper body, molding the highs and lows of his muscled chest and arms. She wasn’t certain if tonight’s jeans hung as low as last night’s, but a part of her wanted to find out. Would he allow her the thrill of lifting the shirt? Would his arms raise so she could remove it completely?
A flush of heat threaded through her veins. She forced herself to take a step back.
Unaware of the road her thoughts had traveled, Joe gifted her with a smile. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”
“Neither did I.”
His eyes moved over her like a caress, down the front of her body to her feet and back again. Her pulse picked up a notch as he paused on her breasts before returning his focus to her face. He reached out and snagged the edge of the pass hanging around her neck, his eyebrow raised in question.
“Gary thought I should have it.”
“Good man.”
“He said the same about you.”
His eyebrow slid even farther up his forehead. “You asked Gary about me?”
“No. Tell me something.”
“Okay.”
His immediate consent gave her pause. Emma mentally shook her thoughts loose. “That girl’s pass, did I see it correctly? Was that really a blowjob smiley on the front?”
His grin turned wicked. “Those were Steve’s brainchild.”
“Your guitarist?”
“Yes. They are given to women who trade sexual favors—”
“Blow jobs.”
“Usually, yes, for access back stage. I don’t think any of us ever imagined that the women would wear them with pride.”
“Gee, and all I had to do for my pass was make a man laugh. Who is it that hands those gems out?”
“The roadies. It began as a way to let everyone know the wearer made their way behind the scenes not because of who they know, but because—”
“Of who they blow?” Her eyes took in the room and its inhabitants. The women outnumbered the men ten to one, with passes like the one around her neck the minority. Indeed, most were adorned with that disturbing yellow smile.
Emma pressed her fingers against her temples. There was too much noise in this room, too many warring scents, and way, way too many women willing to do just about anything to get the attention of the man standing before her.
“Your world, Joe…” She searched for the words as she did her best to block out those around her and focus solely on him. “Do you enjoy this?”
“Some of the time.”
“And these women…they’re who you…” Jesus. She wasn’t a naïve little girl. She knew the amount of pussy offered up to musicians had to be extraordinary, but to see it firsthand made her stomach turn. “You sleep with these women?”
As if choreographed, a body in a skintight red dress stepped between them and curled itself around Joe. A hand tipped with long blood red nails trailed up his chest, caressing every ridge and outline of muscle in the way Emma had wanted to do not ten minutes ago. The voice that came out of the red dress was a throaty whisper. “Hey there, sexy. If she won’t fuck you, I will.”
Joe struggled to extricate himself for only a short while before a new set of hands pulled the woman off him. Gary, again? Emma didn’t look to see. Instead, she spun and headed for the door.
“Emma, wait.”
She knew he followed behind her, but didn’t slow down. She needed five minutes, just five minutes away from this insanity so she could pull herself together. Miraculously, she was back in the hallway in a few strides.
“Emma!”
A few more and she was at the women’s restroom she’d spotted on her way in. Emma pushed through the door without pause and welcomed the blessed silence. Thankfully, it appeared she had the room to herself. Peeling her jacket off, she placed it near the sink, then leaned her hands on the counter and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She hadn’t planned on coming tonight. Not when, after only a few hours of talking with him, he’d become all she could think about. He invaded her thoughts at the most inopportune moments. She’d tried to work and instead replayed last night over and over in her head—the good moments as well as those first tense moments where everything that had come out of his mouth was sexually charged and tinged with expectation. Now she understood why.
Her stomach rolled, the removal of her jacket not enough to cool her overheated body. Turning the faucet on, she ran her hand beneath the cold water a few times, then pressed it to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes against the knowledge that she really wasn’t much different from those other girls. In all the years she’d listened to his music, how many fantasies had she spun around the great Joseph Campbell?
The door swung open. Footsteps drew closer, bringing with them Joe’s scent. How the hell she recognized his scent after one night was a mystery.
Keeping her eyes closed, Emma ran her hand beneath the water and placed it against the back of her neck again.
“I do not sleep with those women. Do you have any idea how many men they’ve been with before they get to me?”
The thought turned her stomach into a painful knot. “But women throw themselves at you all the time.”
“They do.”
“And sometimes you take them up on their offer.”
Joe didn’t reply until she met his gaze.
“I like sex, Emma. Quite a lot, actually.”
He offered her a bottle of water and she took it, twisted off the top, and drank deeply. “Sometimes you even send Gary into the audience after a girl who catches your eye?”
“You were the first one I ever sent Gary to find.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Not really.” She took another swig of water then held the bottle out for him. His fingers brushed across hers as he took it from her in a move she was certain he’d purposefully executed. “What about passes like mine? Who gets them?”
“All Access? Only friends and family. That’s the Holy Grail there. The only pass that grants access anywhere and is good for every show of the tour regardless of what country we’re in.”
“Don’t you have day passes or something?”
“A guest pass that gets dated and initialed, yes.”
“Then isn’t that what I should have been given?”
He wore the same look Gary had flashed her earlier. “You really are a ray of sunshine you know that?”
“You said that before.” She frowned. “Access anywhere, huh? No wonder.”
Joe raised the water bottle to his mouth.
“You don’t want to know what that girl offered to do to me for this pass.”
He lowered the bottle without drinking. The plastic protested as his grip tightened. “Wanna bet?”
The husky words spiraled right through her. Emma went hot all over.
Joe tossed the bottle into the trash, apparently unconcerned with the fact that it was not yet empty, and stepped closer. Awareness raced from her head to her toes. For a split second, she couldn’t breathe.
