Forever Red

by Carina Adams

  I’d never heard so many people screaming and whistling. I moved my free hand to my ear, trying to block out some of the deafening noise. It didn’t help, though, and they only got louder as the man of the hour walked on to the stage. He held up his hands, laughing and eventually, they quieted down. A little.

  “Hello, New Hampshire!” he hollered, making everyone clap, including my friends. “I don’t know if y’all know this or not, but I spent some of the best years of my life not far from here.” More screams. Why in the hell were they excited about that? “I’m glad y’all could come hang out with us tonight.”

  More whistling from the man behind me. I fought the urge to turn around and shove his fingers down his throat. I could see the headline now, “Nate Kelly’s Crazy Fan Attacks Fellow Concert Goer.” I groaned, knowing that was just my luck.

  “Some of you may have heard we’re playin’ a little show tomorrow night.” Yes, more hooting and hollering. Nate laughed. “Usually, on the night before a big gig, we get together and fool around, just making music. So tonight’s gonna be a different kinda show. I figured if we were just gonna do what we normally do, why not invite some of our biggest fans to join us?”

  I glanced at Nina, sure she’d be taking offense to Mr. Whistley behind us, but she was leaned forward, elbows on her knees, actually paying attention. Traitor.

  “Tonight, you’re not gonna hear many of our songs, and we don’t actually have a playlist.” He pointed backstage to someone. “We’re driving my manager crazy. She likes to be prepared.” He turned back to us, so confident and completely sure of himself. Dressed in a pair of blue jeans, black work boots, and a long-sleeved gray shirt – the sleeves pushed back to his elbows so we could see the colors from his tattoos – he didn’t look like a country star. And he sure as hell didn’t resemble the intense man I’d just faced off with backstage. “But you’re gonna get to hear our favorite songs and see what it’s like to be at one of our jam sessions. You ready?”

  Cort and Cora clapped excitedly, hollering, “Yes!” along with the rest of the venue. Ooooohhhhh. And they wanted to come for me, did they? Traitors. I was surrounded by traitors.

  “Let me introduce you to my band.” Nate turned toward the side of the stage once again. “This man has been with me since the beginning, and you’ll see his name right next to mine on many of our songs ‘cause he can write lyrics like nobody’s business. On lead guitar, Mr. Rebel Carter.”

  A beautiful man with dark blond, shaggy, shoulder-length hair that was covered with a black knit cap, and a swagger that was probably melting a thousand pairs of panties, bounded onto the stage. He didn’t look like he was at a country concert, either, wearing black leather pants, with a plain black shirt tucked into the front, and the same boots as Neil. His tattoos weren’t as obvious as Neil’s, but I could make out a word down one forearm and a few small images on his other. He looked so familiar that I would have sworn I’d met him before.

  “This man,” Neil continued, “can do things with his hands ladies”—he sighed—“things that would make you scream his name for days.” He laughed. “On the fiddle, Rhett.”

  The man that walked on stage next was shaking his head, face split into a mega-watt grin. This one didn’t look like a rock god, though, wearing a brown plaid shirt, jeans, and sneakers. I knew that Neil had never fit the mold with the giant, ten-mile high cowboy hat and matching boots, but I’d never really thought about his band.

  Next came the drummer, Billy Brown, wearing jeans and a plain black tank. One by one, he brought out his band, saying something about each, and each one got just as many screams as the one before. Just when I thought he was done, Nate held up his hand one more time.

  “Last, but not least, on steel guitar, my little brother, Noah.” A young man in black jeans, a white shirt with a black leather vest over it, and black wristbands, slowly walked into the spotlight.

  I felt my eyes grow wide when I saw him. Last time I’d talked to him, he’d been a kid. A kid that liked to hug his big brother’s girlfriend too often, but because he had such a cute dimple and was so damn adorable, I couldn’t say no. Holy Hannah, that little kid had grown up.

  He waved quickly to the crowd and sat down behind what looked like a weird piano. Neil continued, a little quieter this time, “This is his first tour with us and he’s just gettin’ used to being on the road all the time. Poor Noah had a rough night. He’s still a little”—he looked at the audience and whispered—“hung-over.” Everyone around me chuckled. “So we thought we’d ease in to it with a nice, slow, quiet song.”

  Neil turned, nodding at the drummer. Then he started pounding a steady rhythm, slowly increasing his pace, getting louder. Noah shook his head and flipped his brother off, making everyone laugh before he joined in on Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On a Prayer.”

  I’d heard Neil sing a million times, most of his songs were played on repeat on my iPod, but there was something amazing about watching him perform live. His voice, the way he moved with his band, and the way he interacted with the audience was mesmerizing. He’d always been gorgeous, but up there, he was breathtaking. There wasn’t one woman in a five-mile radius that wasn’t in love with him right now.

  The songs – most of them classic rock or top country – were perfect. He had a backstory for each one, whether it was one of his grandfather’s or a nod to the state he loved so much, and his band seemed to be having as much fun as he was. When they performed “Sweet Home Alabama,” every single one wore a smile. This concert was – as Cora had predicted – the perfect present.

  They played “Good Golly, Miss Molly” with a country twist to get Molly back on stage. She came, giggling so much she couldn’t sing with them. Then the two performed “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” getting very cuddly on stage. It was no surprise; I’d read the rumors about the two of them just a few weeks ago. But there were always rumors about the ladies in his life.

  Molly was adorable, even though she was nothing like the girls I’d seen him with in magazine photos. She was shorter than the women he tended to date, had outrageous blond ombre hair, and was covered with ink from head to toe. She seemed like someone real, someone that I would actually like, unlike the rest of his dates that had a fakeness to them that seemed to jump off the page.

  Watching her up there with Neil, though, the way he touched her with familiarity and the private looks he gave her killed me. It was stupid and completely childish because I knew he wasn’t mine anymore. We’d heard them exchange, “I love yous” earlier, but seeing them together hurt.

  After they said goodnight, the entire place – including my friends – jumped to their feet, screaming and stomping, begging for an encore. After what seemed like forever, Neil came back on stage. “All right, calm down, calm down.” He laughed into his microphone. “My guys are exhausted. Will it be okay if you just get me?”

  It took a few minutes for the crowd to calm down again, but in that time, someone brought him a stool and an acoustic guitar. And a beer. Well, that’s something you don’t normally see at a concert. He took a long pull from the bottle and then started strumming, playing a few of his own songs, pausing mid-verse every now and then to hear his fans singing the words back to him.

  Then he sang Don McLean’s “American Pie” in a way that gave me goose bumps. He closed his eyes, never opening them, not even when every single person at the concert joined him in the chorus. It was easy for most of these people to forget that Neil was so much more than a pretty face or the bad boy singer; he’d gotten his start writing songs for some of the biggest stars of our generation and playing his guitar in a different band. But the man sitting under the spotlight was channeling old school C.C. Kelly.

  As soon as the last note was played, the lights went out. I heard some people stir, gathering their belongings, getting ready to leave in hopes they could escape before the masses exited. The majority of us sat still, completely in awe. Neil was a great performer, working the crowd in a way t
hat made them leave the concert thinking it was the best one they’d ever seen. But that last song? That was pure magic.

  I leaned forward, ready to get the hell out of here, but stilled when I heard the notes. The song was too familiar, one I didn’t want to hear tonight and had been relieved when he hadn’t played it. The lights lit up the stage just as the drummer started to pound the familiar beat. His entire band had come back for this song.

  “Everyone says I should give it time, that my love for you will eventually fade.

  But, they don’t understand. I still cling to every single memory we made.”

  I tried to tune it out, instead, focusing on the man singing the song he’d written for me. I knew the words by heart, but it was the pain that oozed from him that got to me. I wasn’t the only one bothered, either. Every girl here was swooning.

  As soon as it was over, they were on their feet, screaming again. “Thank you,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m glad you enjoy my heartache.”

  “I love you, Nate!” one girl yelled over everyone else.

  “Aww, honey, I love you, too!” He smiled. “I don’t talk about it a lot, actually. Ugh…” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his beer. “That song was written for the girl that got away. She devastated me, actually.” He laughed and lifted the bottle to his lips once more. “Her birthday is in a coupla days, and since she’s here tonight, I was hoping you’d help me sing Happy Birthday.”

  Everyone looked around suddenly. Everyone. As if the woman he was talking about would have a giant glow-in-the-dark arrow over her head. Hell, even I glanced around to make sure there wasn’t a spotlight on me. There were three sets of eyes bugging out of their heads, staring at me as if I was a complete stranger.

  I shrugged, trying to convey to them that I would tell them everything later. Then I did the only thing I could do. I listened while thousands of people sang, wishing Nate Kelly’s darling Red a Happy Birthday.

  The passes around our necks did more than just get us premium seats and meet and greets. They got us a private exit directly to the limos, bypassing thousands of other attendees. We didn’t talk much while we hurried behind our usher. I knew it was coming, probably as soon as they had me away from the crazy fans, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  I was right.

  “You’re Red? Holy fucking shit balls, CeCe; you’re Nate Kelly’s goddamn muse! How could you not tell me that?” Cort screeched as soon as our driver shut the door behind me.

  Cora was glaring at me so I looked at Nina, hoping to find a friendly face. Instead, she shrugged. “I might not know who in the hell Red is, Ce, but it would take an extremely idiotic person to miss the fact that there is something you aren’t telling us. Shit, my freshmen would pick up on it and half of them think global warming means it isn’t going to snow anymore.”

  I chuckled. This whole night had just been too much and, suddenly, I was lying on my back, clutching my sides and trying to stop the maniacal laughter coming from my mouth. Nina laughed with me, but the other two did not look impressed. I was apparently on the naughty list. The thought made me giggle even harder, and I fell to the floor.

  “Oh, sweet Lord! Are you drunk?”

  The voice was one I hadn’t heard in forever, and it, mixed with the condescending tone, sobered me immediately. I pushed my face off the carpet and flipped my bangs out of my eyes, hoping that I really had lost my mind. Nope. The Hummer’s door was open and a very agitated, very pregnant Nikki Kelly stood on the other side, glowering at me.

  I shook my head as she lifted herself into the vehicle, never taking her eyes off me. “It is you.” Adjusting herself in the seat, she surveyed my friends before turning back to me. “I wasn’t sure if it really was you or not. Molly told me that a stunning redhead stopped my brother in his tracks and that she thought she recognized you from the pictures, but I needed to see for myself.”

  She wasn’t bitchy, just abrupt in a way I would expect from a protective older sister. I wanted to ask what pictures she was talking about, but I let it go. Instead, I forced a smile at the woman I’d once considered a friend. “It’s been a long time Nik.” She nodded in a way that said, “yeah, not long enough.” I ignored it because I felt the same way. “How are you?”

  “Pregnant.” Her eyes moved from my face down to my hands as if she was looking for something. “Do you have children, Lia?”

  “No.” I glanced down at my bare hands, realizing she was looking for a ring. “I’ve never been married. Not that I couldn’t have a baby without a husband. I mean, there are plenty of amazing single-moms in the world. I’d love to have kids. I love kids.” I was babbling. Even though she was one of the least threatening people in the world, Nikki made me nervous.

  “Hmm.” She looked at me as if I were nuts. Turning to the other women in the vehicle, she leaned forward and held out her hand to each. “Nikki Woods.” She explained, “Sister of the star, wife of the bassist. Manager of both. Woo me!” She held up her hands, cheering sarcastically. “Oh, yeah.” She put her hand over her giant belly. “Add super bitchy mommy of the family’s newest drummer to the list.”

  I couldn’t contain my smile. “Congratulations.”

  She waved a hand in my direction. “I’m here because I wanted to see if my brother was having a psychotic break… or if those imbeciles put ‘shrooms in his salad again, which I can see they didn’t.” She rolled her eyes. That was a story I wanted to hear. “And because my boss”—the way she emphasized the word made it clear she wasn’t here on her own free will—“would like to invite you to his show tomorrow night.” She pulled an envelope out of her pocket. “Here are four tickets to the concert, plus accommodations for the four of you at—”

  “We’re good, thanks,” I interrupted.

  Nik looked confused. “Wha—”

  “We cannot accept Neil’s – shit!” I was never going to get his name right. “Nate. I meant Nate.” I sighed. “Please tell Nate that we said ‘thanks’ but that we cannot accept his gift.”

  “Why in the hell not?”

  “Uh, yeah. Why can’t we?” Cort asked. “We don’t have—”

  “Clothes,” I snapped, cutting her off. Apparently, it was my new thing, never letting anyone around me finish a sentence. “It’s a long trip home and it would be too hard to turn all the way around and come back tomorrow. So we’d have to stay tonight and we don’t have clothes.”

  My friend’s looks ranged from confused to perplexed. They’d thank me later.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want you to have to do something as strenuous as spending six hours in a luxury vehicle.” Smoothing down her skirt, Nik pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket and started typing. “So, to make sure it’s more convenient for you”—her pissy tone caused me to smile in agitation—“we’ll put you up tonight as well. As for clothes, I’ll make sure that someone takes you shopping.”

  I shook my head to object, but Cora beat me to it. “Thank you for the wonderful offer, Nikki. Please tell your brother that we enjoyed his concert very much, but we have plans and cannot accept the tickets.” My best friend left no room for argument. “Now, we have a long ride home and the four of us are exhausted.” She was clearly dismissing Neil’s sister. “It was nice to have met you.”

  Nik turned to me once more, an odd look on her face. “Lia”—this time her voice was soft, almost pleading—“an offer like this will only come once. Think about what you’re turning down. You’ll regret it.”

  I snorted. “I have more regrets than most people, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to be one of them.” I sat straighter, pulling my shoulders back. “We said our goodbyes, Nik. And he got to humiliate me in front of an entire amphitheater. I think it’s best to leave it at that, don’t you?”

  She searched my face for a nanosecond before nodding and leaving the vehicle as quickly as she’d entered it. I fell back against the leather seat, suddenly worn out. Cora left her seat and slid into the one beside me. “We nee
d alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol,” she said, and I could only nod.

  Cort talked our driver into stopping at the first convenience store he passed and she ran in to grab the much-needed booze. After she passed out the bottles of Smirnoff Ice, we kicked off our shoes and got comfortable. It was a long ride home. And I had a story to tell.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ~ Nathaniel ~

  I was fucking exhausted. It made no sense because I’d had an early night the night before and had slept in that morning. Hell, the concert hadn’t even lasted that late. But for whatever reason, I was drained.

  I made my way backstage, stopping and talking with every radio show host that pulled me aside. I wanted nothing more than to go to my trailer and crash, but these guys helped make me what I was and there was no way in hell I was going to ignore them. It took me longer than I wanted, but almost an hour and a half after I walked off stage, I opened the door to the room where my band waited for me.

  I paused for a second, glancing around the room. Five years ago – hell, even just two years ago – this room would have been filled with laughter, loud music, and half-naked ladies. Okay, mostly naked women. Now, there was a peaceful quiet that greeted me.

  My friends were sprawled out, lounging around the room. Some were talking to each other, beer in their hands. Others were sitting close with their girlfriend or wife, sipping on soda or sparkling water. Fucking sparkling water. I shook my head, chuckling to myself. We’d become a bunch of pansy ass preppy boys.

  Next thing you’d know, we’d be sitting around in skinny jeans and loafers drinking Zen tea and talking about our feelings. Okay. So I had kicked my three-hundred dollar a week coffee habit by turning to green tea, but no one here needed to know that. But I’d walk around buck ass naked in front of the paparazzi before even attempting to squeeze on a pair of girly-boy jeans.

  Grabbing a bottle of water – the good ol’ fashioned, non-seltzer kind – I made my way to the back corner. It was the darkest part of the room so I wasn’t surprised he was there. I felt bad for the kid; really, I did. I’d been there more times than I wanted to remember. He’d held it together for our set like a fucking pro, even when he had to run off stage and hurl into the trash bin.