by Ivy M. Jones
Justin leaps up to the mic to swing it around a few times before blasting into the speakers.
"Thank you New York City!"
The room erupts.
In response to their devotion, he declares, "We love you, too."
There are screams of I want your babies and Marry me from the audience, but Justin ignores them, choosing instead to send a look down at Andy, then quickly back up to the audience.
"So, what do you say we get started? What to play, what to play... Oh, decisions, decisions..." Griffin hits the drums in the rhythm we were all waiting for and Justin and Cy begin to play. In the background, I get some harmony in with the keyboard and then Justin and I come in with the lyrics for Decisions At Dawn.
There is something elemental about the perfection of music. How everything comes together. It's what has always drawn me to music, especially when the rest of the world doesn't make sense.
We pound through three more songs in rapid succession until Justin comes back to grab a bottle of water and I noticed Dean signaling behind the curtain. I nod at Justin, who moves back to the front of the stage.
"So, I guess we get to take some requests from you, Big Apple. Whaddya want?"
There are so many voices all at once, it's intense, but after a few uncoordinated attempts, the crowd gets it together and start chanting Lourdes Gets Me There. Griffin starts us off and we roll into the song. After that, the crowd petitions for The Night of Dreams, which involve my mic being switched to the main so I can take over vocals, while Justin works solely on bass.
Justin starts in with the opening notes and I start singing. The lights change slightly to accommodate the deeper tone of the song and by the end of it, I can hear crying in the audience. The last strains of the song end on a nostalgic note.
Suddenly, the lights flicker on for a moment to notify everyone of last call. I am temporarily blinded, as is everyone else, and I'm just starting to get my bearings back, waiting to have Justin to get the main mic from me, the room silently waiting for the next song.
From the audience, I hear a single voice, loud and clear and speaking directly to me.
"You have to be fucking kidding me, you lying son of a bitch!"
Looking out at the crowd, I finally catch sight of that red ponytail. It's moving closer to the stage, along with its owner, a woman.
She looks like she's going to kill me.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Sarah.
It doesn't even matter that I am half blind and she's calling me a lying son of a bitch. My dream girl is climbing the stage right in front of me. Without thinking, I lower my hand to help her up.
I expect her to slap me. Or maybe punch me. What I don't expect is for her to let me pull her right into my arms and kiss her until we're both stupid from it.
Will Martin guides us into the prep room backstage and shuts the door behind us. I'm sitting on the couch with Sarah over my lap, euphoric. Her hands go up under my shirt and I mimic her, sending my hands to trace the skin at the edge of her bra.
Am I dreaming? I open my lids, looking deep into her chocolate brown eyes while breathing hard. Her fingers tighten against my pecs as she stares back.
"You're a lying asshole. You know that?" Her hips tilt against mine, sliding against my aching length. We've been kissing for maybe a minute and already I'm hard. Oh fuck it. I was hard the second I saw her in that crowd, prowling toward me like she was going to tear me apart.
As I nod in agreement - I am a lying asshole - my hand goes down her pants, flipping the button on her fly to make space.
"You never came back for me," she moans when I graze her clit.
"I wanted to." My fingers glide across her soft folds, feeling the slickness quickly coating them. This is what we know. It might have been eight years ago, but I still know her body. She's fuller, lither, a little more grown-up in some ways, but still my Sarah.
And if I'm right, I can still get her off with my fingers in under a minute.
She was always so responsive. And if she's going to let me go there, I am going to go there.
Her pants make moving my hand harder, stretched tight like they are as she straddles my legs. I push her legs to one side and she falls over my lap exactly as I wanted. With my mouth on hers again, I stroke my fingers over her, my fingertips practically vibrating, I move them so fast. Her back begins to arch and release, though her mouth never breaks away from mine.
Her fingers dig into my skin, one hand at the back of my head, the other on my shoulder. I eat the little pleading sounds she makes with my mouth, sucking them down with my tongue, wrapping her in me.
Her whole body stiffens suddenly and I shoot two fingers into her tight channel, knowing it's what she needs to make her orgasm go on longer, stronger. She twists and bucks while I fuck her with my fingers, recalling each movement from all those years ago, crystal clear in my mind.
We're teenagers again in the backseat of my truck, steaming up the windows as we park in the dirt lot by the lake. I can almost hear the spring peepers in my head as her body calms. I keep my hand in place, just how she always liked. She used to tell me she wanted to keep our connection for as long as possible. There were times after sex that I finally had to pull out or risk an issue with the condom coming loose; she wanted me to stay in her for so long.
Looking down into her eyes, I see her smile dazedly up at me. Her fingers lift slowly from the muscles of my shoulder. Release from the pulled hair of my scalp. She melts into my lap, burrowing down with her ass against my cock.
"I finally found you," she whispers, tracing her fingers over my face.
"You found me."
"I looked for you for years. I gave up five months ago."
I can't believe the luck of it. Not that it makes what I have to say any easier.
"Sarah, you can never tell anyone that you found me."
Her eyes flash wide and her lips part into a little 'o'.
"What? Why? I don't understand. You didn't do anything wrong. You never came back for me, but you didn't do anything illegal."
"That's not the point. I can still be arrested. I know the police were looking for me."
"They never had any evidence. You were just a person of interest."
I lift a brow. "Is that what your dad told you?"
She tilts her head. "Yes. Was there something he didn't tell me?"
I close my eyes and drop my head, shaking it a little in frustration. "Sarah, there was a warrant out for my arrest." I sit back so that she can see my face and know that I'm telling the truth. "Your dad asked you to turn me over, didn't he."
She narrows her eyes in memory, then frowns. "Yes. He did."
"Did you give me up?"
Sliding off my lap, she stands and moves to the couch on the opposite wall, buttoning her pants as she goes, but she doesn't sit. Her fingers pick at an imaginary string in the upholstery.
"I don't think so," she hedges.
"What do you mean, you don't think so?" From behind the door, I hear the guys doing our new cover. It sounds okay, but I'm not about to leave Sarah in here to go out there and try to improve it.
"I mean, my dad asked if I knew where you might be. I told him you didn't have anywhere to go. That maybe you would leave me a note or something at our spot."
I try not to get angry. "Why would you do that?"
I realize my anger has slipped through when her posture becomes defensive and she whips back, "What the hell was I supposed to do, huh? I thought I could help you. I knew you didn't do it. I figured if they found you, they could clear up the whole thing and you could come home!"
Though her hands are on her hips, she looks upset enough to cry, so I try harder to rein it in.
"They wanted to find me so they could arrest me. I ran away that night, so Dear Old Dad used the opportunity to point the finger at me so he could get away. He left me to twist in the wind, Sarah. Do you get that? The asshole that my father was... and your dad still came after me."
"If you wanted me to come back to you, how come it was your dad who answered the phone when I called?"
"What are you talking about? What call?"
"You said you sent your dad to our spot. Out by the lake, right?" I watch her face, but she seems truly confused.
"Yeah, he said he looked but you weren't there."
"He never gave you the note?"
"What note?"
I run my hands through my hair and pull slightly at the roots in frustration.
"I left a note for you. I was going to call the payphone downtown one week later at midnight. I wanted to tell you what happened. I wanted to tell you where I was. I didn't find out until that night about Dad's crime spree."
With a defeated sigh, Sarah slumps into the couch behind her.
"He said he didn't find anything." Her lip trembles.
"And he answered the phone when I called."
"He did?"
I rub at my nose, not sure how to say this. I don't want to hurt her. I have never intended to hurt her.
"He did. He said you asked me not to contact you again. He said you had so much potential and if I really loved you, I'd let you become the woman you were meant to be. He offered to come get me so I could turn myself in, but I got him to admit there was a warrant out for my arrest and I refused."
Through the door, I hear the end of the song and know it will only be a minute or two more until the guys come busting in to see what's going on.
"You have to go, Sarah. I don't know if Zach Coffield is still a wanted man, but I wouldn't let you get involved then and I won't let you get involved now."
Sarah stands, a little shaky on her feet, and turns toward the door that funnels out behind the crowd. With her hand on the door, she looks over her shoulder and says, "It's a little late for that, Zach. I'm a professional hacker. I've broken more laws than I can count trying to find you. And to think," she snorts. "All I had to do was give up. I finally decided to give up the ghost and move to New York for a fresh start...and here you are."
She opens the door and the crowd swallows her before I can say anything in response.
Zach
I drop my head into my hands and the door opens from the stage, my three best friends plowing through, their eyes sweeping the room for Sarah.
Last to enter is Will Martin, our guy at Stellar Services, where they manage everything from PR to production to agents. Basically, he's the guy who runs Dark Fire for us, along with Cy.
"You just missed her," I quip.
"From the looks of it though, you didn't," Cy says, pointing at my face and then his lips.
I wipe the remains of Sarah's lipstick from my mouth with my fingers, but I hesitate. I don't want to get rid of any evidence I have that she'd been here. I resist the need to taste the tang of her pleasure on my fingers.
Cy hands me a tissue. I wipe the lipstick off my fingers but don't throw it away. I pocket it instead, disregarding the funny look he gives me.
"Did you get her knocked up?" he asks, all business.
"The fuck? No." I want to hit him for talking about Sarah that way, but Will stops me.
"Don't get mad at him," he says. "If he didn't ask it, then I was going to."
"She's not pregnant," I growl. "It's got nothing to do with that."
"Do I need to be worried about any blowback?" Will produces a note pad with an attached pen from his suit jacket pocket and gestures with it.
"No." Am I being too naive? Sarah knows who I am. She's obviously upset. One word to the media and the whole thing could turn into a shitstorm of epic proportions.
But then, she'd been looking for me for a reason. She even admitted that she loved me then. I have to hope that she still has some feelings for me that aren't of the I want to kill him kind.
Will gives me a look as if to ask, "Are you sure?" and gestures to his notepad once more.
"No," I say, this time more firmly. "Not from her." Maybe from me, though.
The special knock that Dark Fire uses plays at the door and everyone turns to watch as Cy gets up to let Nicki and Andy in.
Nicki quietly explains to Andy who Will Martin is and when she's done I see Will's mouth open as if he's about to ask me another question.
I head him off. It's time to come clean and, with everyone here, I'll only have to tell the story once. Should an epic shitstorm come to pass, at least he'll have a heads-up.
"My name isn't Zachary Moore. It's Zachary Miles Coffield. I grew up in Lakemont, Pennsylvania. I came to New York City to disappear."
There is silence in the room. From beyond the doors, I can hear the vague noises of shuffling chairs and tables.
"That was my girl from The Night of Dreams. But I never got a chance to go back for her like I wrote in the song."
Will doesn't look happy. I just got done telling him that he didn't have to worry about fallout from Sarah. I suppose I have his disapproval coming.
"You knew," Andy says, pointing her finger at Griffin.
Six sets of eyes flash from me to Griffin.
"We were drunk. We got to talking about how this celebrity life doesn't seem real..." Griffin begins, explaining about the night we got toasted and confessed our biggest secrets to each other in what I only recall as a vague moment I wish had never happened. For one thing, I'd managed to keep my secret from everyone until then- I blame the booze and the fact that I'd just found out my father had been shot and killed. For another, I had to hear about how Griffin had been in love with Nicki for-fucking-ever. And the dude just went on and on. I was ready to drunk dial her for him.
"He mentioned that his life never seemed real and then he's telling me all this shit about how everyone thought he stole a bunch of money from his hometown, so he got ghost. Shit, I don't know, guys. I was pretty hammered. I never really gave it much thought."
I notice he casually left out the part about the two girls having sex on the couch in the same room when this conversation took place. Griffin convinced them to come up to our hotel suite and because I wasn't interested in participating, he then convinced the girls to put on a little show for us.
"Seriously?" Nicki gets all up in his face and I wonder if he's secretly thrilled to have her attention. "You don't think maybe it was important enough to tell us that our friend might be in trouble?"
"Look. Some shit was said in confidence that had NO bearing on how the band would function. And it wasn't gonna change who my friends are or who I care about."
Damn straight, it was said in confidence. The one bright spot from that night was the fact that my secret was as safe with him as his was with me. Meaning, I was ready to take his secret to the grave.
"So, you don't care that the cops could have hauled him away from us at any time over the last few years?" I watch as Nicki tries to inflict bodily harm with her fingernail. Griffin doesn't seem upset by her touching him that way.
Dude is royally fucked if he'll take her abuse just to get her to touch him.
"I care, Nicki. Don’t fucking accuse me of being that big of an asshole. The only reason I didn’t say anything was because it wasn't my secret to tell. And secrets go both ways. We both had things to get off our chest. I'll finish arguing about this with you later, Nicki. But right now, we have some other shit to deal with."
Oh yeah, they'll be finishing that conversation. And from the look on Griffin's face, he really wants to finish the conversation with his tongue in her mouth. I don't need to see that, so I interrupt their thoughts.
"I didn’t do it, but the statute of limitations has expired on the theft I was wanted for anyway. So if you decide to turn me in, you should know that there's no point." I shrug. It's complete BS. I have no idea if the warrant is st
ill valid, but my online research indicated that I'd stayed invisible past the statute of limitations. "Everything else you know about me is the truth. So I'm hoping it means something now when I tell you guys that I need your help."
Sarah
"Fucking asshole!" I scream again. Poor Lucy tries to cover her ears in advance of my screaming, but I keep surprising her.
"Tourette's," she explains to a random group of passing people.
One of the women smiles sadly and nods as if she can relate.
"You know, sweetie..." She slings her arm around me while I pound angry steps into the pavement on our way back to our apartment. "You left Lakemont so you could get away from Zach's ghost there, and you found him here. Maybe you need to leave him for real here to get the closure you need."
"Why should I leave? Huh? It's a huge city. There's a very good chance I'll never see him again." I kick at the crumbling cement of the stairs as we make our way to the main door of our apartment building.
"It was just a suggestion, Sare."
I let Lucy unlock the door and stomp inside, slamming it shut behind me. Looking around, I take a deep breath. I can understand his hesitance to "come out" as it were. He would have to admit the truth to his friends, not to mention dealing with the fallout from the night when he'd disappeared- which might include jail time.
No one wants to go to jail. Really, I've been damn lucky I hadn't been arrested myself in the time since Zach had disappeared. I've broken so many laws trying to hack into his life; I must have pretended to be him hundreds of times, tracking his social security number, personal records, trying to find aliases. I've checked hospitals, morgues and the DMV.
I glance at the corner of my bedroom, where my desk would have gone if I had one. Where my computers would have gone, if I brought them. But I didn't.
Starting over, giving up on Zach, had meant giving up on that part of my life.
