“I took you to the hospital.” Austin looks at my chest while drawing an invisible heart with his finger. “I think the ‘saving you’ part is all in my head.”
I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. “Did you tuck my hair behind my ears that night?”
“I did, yes.” He brings his gaze back to mine. “I wanted to remember your face.”
“I knew—when you did that after your set at The Underground. I could feel that you’d done it before. It was surreal. Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?”
Austin takes a breath, releasing it as he lifts his eyes to the roof of the van. “I don’t know. I wanted to see if this connection was real—and not some kind of obligation because I helped you.” He laughs. “I mean, I didn’t even do anything. There’s nothing to be repaid for. I just—”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to say that.” He shakes his head and casts his eyes downward.
“I’m alive because of you, Austin! That’s not something we can push aside.” I take his face in my hands and lift his head so our eyes meet. “Thank you for saving my life. And for encouraging me and listening to me. Thank you for always making me feel good about myself. I’ve never had anyone treat me the way you do.”
As soon as I say it, I curse myself. Why do I keep playing the pity card in front of him? That’s not me. I’ve never been that person. I’ve always focused on accomplishments and being strong.
Confidence is not only the number one rule of dating, it’s the number one rule in medicine. Confidence, not cockiness. Making someone feel like you’re the most in-demand person and they’re lucky to have you.
Who am I kidding? I have zero confidence with men. Even after months dating Austin, who hasn’t given me any reason to doubt how he feels.
But leave it to me, at the lowest point in my life, to keep digging into a dark hole.
“How is someone like you attracted to someone like me?”
The light that’s been on Austin’s face, since he told me how he feels about me, dims. “What in the world do you mean?”
I open my mouth, but he continues without letting me answer.
“What do you mean someone like me, Liz? A loser from the wrong side of town, who sold pot in middle school to afford instruments, and barely graduated high school?”
“No. Austin—”
“Why the fuck would someone like you—a beautiful, smart doctor—want to be with someone like me? I don’t have a safety net, Liz. I’m an uneducated guy with no money in my savings account and zero job skills. If music doesn’t work out, I’ll be sweeping floors and stocking beer coolers at The Market for the rest of my life.”
“It’s a job that pays your bills. There’s no shame in that.”
“I know, I—” Austin closes his eyes for a beat and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he says, “Can we just enjoy this time with each other, Liz? We’re two imperfect people who found each other. I’ve had an amazing time with you since the very first moment we met. Being with you makes me happy. You make me feel. You lighten the darkness inside me. You make me want to be a better person—because of the good I see in you. And because of all the good I know you’re going to accomplish in your life. You’re saving lives—and I’m writing songs.”
“You’re saving lives too, Austin. I know that for a fact. I’ve read the posts on social media about how your music has affected people. About how your music has saved them—and I know it because I’m one of those people, Austin. Open Your Heart saved me, too.”
Now that I know the story behind the song, that’s currently holding steady at Number Three on the Billboard Alternative chart, and tearing up Satellite radio, I feel empowered to tell him how much it resonates with me.
“I can’t even explain how much that song means to me. From the very first time I heard it, I felt like it was for me. It grounded me. Listening to it brought me back to life over the last few months. Or maybe it brought me to a new life?” I pause. “You saved me. You changed me. You helped me figure out who I really am and what I can give to this world.”
“I didn’t—” Before he can dismiss my feelings I interrupt him.
“I love you, Austin.”
Out of any moment in my life, this is the moment I should be making eye contact with someone. I’ve never been so sure of my feelings. Not since I decided that I wanted to be a doctor. That I wanted to make a difference.
And yet, I can’t look at him because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.
“What?” he asks, lifting my chin with gentle fingers.
“I love you,” I repeat. This time I say it louder while looking straight into his eyes.
“Fuck, Liz!” he exclaims.
I’d be offended, except there’s a huge goofy grin on his face. The grin of a kid who seems flabbergasted to hear that a girl loves him.
“You’re telling me this in the back of a smelly tour van?”
I laugh, understanding why he’s amused, but he still hasn’t acknowledged my declaration. And though I feel completely confident in my words, I’m getting a bit worried that he doesn’t feel the same.
It’s weird, because I’ve never said it to anyone outside of family and a few close friends before. I’ve never been so anxious waiting for words before.
He grabs my hips, then moves one hand to my heart, then brings them both up to cup my face.
“I can’t—I—fuck! Just hearing you say that is amazing. I love you, too, Liz.”
Relief washes over me. Each word a new wave of acceptance.
“I almost don’t want to fuck you like a groupie in the back of the van anymore.”
“Really?” I ask. “Because that’s exactly how I want to celebrate this moment.”
Austin cocks his head, not taking his eyes from my boobs, which I’ve just remembered are still bare and basically in front of his face.
“As long as you’re cool with it.” He lifts his hips—and me—off the seat and reaches between us to shimmy his shorts down enough to release his cock.
I bite my bottom lip at the sight—hard and thick and so ready.
“You look like a kid in a candy shop, Liz.”
“You’ve got something very lickable right there.”
“You can lick it later, babe. Right now, I want you to take me deep. I want to feel your pussy squeeze my cock as you ride hard.” He reaches into the crevice, where the seat back meets the bottom, and pulls out a condom.
I push one leg of the boxers aside and lift myself up so I can slide onto him once he’s sheathed. As I lower myself slowly, Austin releases a low moan.
“I fucking love you,” I tell him. It’s the only response I have. It’s the only truth I know right now. My career—as I know it—is over. My life, which has been planned out for years, has suddenly come to a complete standstill. I don’t know who I am or how I fit into the world anymore.
The only thing I have is this moment with Austin.
17
Austin
It’s fucking festival day.
Our first festival and we’re scheduled to be on the main stage. Our time slot is 3:30, but still—main stage. The excitement has my stomach flipping out. So much so that it woke me up at seven and I haven’t been able to get back to sleep. Instead, I’ve checked social media, gone down the rabbit hole of videos on YouTube, and watched the girl I love sleep.
It’s taken every ounce of self-control I have not to wake Liz. We were up late last night and today will be long and hot, so I want to let her rest. But I also have all this energy that I need to get out, and fucking her would be the perfect way to do it.
Excitement trumps nerves on the scale of how I feel about today. I know from being at festivals as a fan that people camp out all day at the main stage so they can be front row for the headliner. Nothing about that sounds fun for me as a concertgoer, but as a performer I appreciate that we’ll have guaranteed people upfront. I’m more interested in seeing how many people, out of tho
se who wander from stage to stage, come over to see our set. I hate that I’m even thinking about it, because I have no control over it, but I do.
We’ve got a few interviews scheduled with radio stations before we have to head over to the festival. I’m on my way to meet the guys in the lobby.
“You sure you’re okay with hanging out by yourself for a bit?” I ask Liz for the second time this morning. She’s got to be annoyed by how nervous I am. I’m annoyed with myself.
“I’m positive,” she answers, opening her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Austin. I’m good on my own.” She hasn’t gotten out of bed yet.
I cross the room and plant a huge kiss on her lips. “I’m off. Text me if you need anything, okay?”
“Go get ’em, babe! I’ll see you soon.”
I wink one last time before leaving the room. Time to light Atlanta on fire.
* * *
Once the band before us is finished removing their gear from the stage, we’ve got twenty minutes changeover time to get our stuff set up. That’s a lot less time than we have at a normal show. Thankfully, our tour manager and crew have it down to a science. Still, twenty minutes means all hands on deck and Tim is nowhere to be found.
As Nelson works on my amp, I adjust my mic stand to my height and look out over the crowd to see if I can spot Tim anywhere. When I drop my eyes to the crowd that’s gathered already, I see Liz. I haven’t seen her for a few hours. We had some interviews and a meet and greet before our set, and she wanted to walk around and listen to other bands while we completed everything we needed to do.
It’s refreshing to have an independent girlfriend who can entertain herself when I’m busy with work. But seeing her standing there front and center, bouncing on her toes, makes my heart soar while grounding me in the moment.
“Hey, babe. I like your dress,” I say raising my hands to make a heart shape in front of my chest.
Her cheeks flush pink and she lifts her hand in a shy wave.
“I better get more than that when we go on,” I tease.
“Austin!” Someone yells, which starts a stream of shouting.
“We love you!”
“Please play Open Your Heart!”
Just as I give the crowd a smile and thumbs up, Tim stumbles across the stage, tripping on a wire as he approaches his spot.
“What the fuck, man?” Fozzie yells.
“Yeah! I’m good. Let’s go!” He claps his hands, then picks up his guitar and attempts to lift the strap over his head. It gets caught on his head first, then his ear, then it slips from his hand and crashes to the stage. “Fuck.”
Both Nelson and I rush to him immediately. It’s almost a hundred degrees today and we’re all sweating like fucking pigs, but Tim’s face is ruddy and red; he’s sweating profusely. He sniffs. There’s no doubt that he’s on some kind of drug. I don’t know what it is and I don’t care. We don’t have time for this shit. Not today. Not on a stage this large with a crowd that gets bigger and bigger with every minute closer to the start of our set.
Why didn’t we fire him before coming to this festival?
“What’s up, Tim?” Nelson asks. “What’s going on, man?”
“Nothing. I’m good.” He stoops to pick up his guitar and loses his balance. I reach out and catch him before he hits the ground. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he slumps in my arms.
“He can’t play like this,” I say, panic raising in my voice. “Fuck! Call Jimmy over.”
“Jimmy!” Nelson calls to our assistant tour manager. “Jimmy, come over here.”
“Yeah?”
“You still know bass for all the songs?” I ask.
He nods. “Absolutely.”
“Can you play bass for this set?”
He nods again. “Anything you need, man.”
Anything I need? I need someone to smash their fist into Tim’s stupid, fucking face. But that won’t solve anything right now.
Instead of voicing my violent thoughts, I clasp Jimmy’s hand and pull him in for a shoulder-bump-bro-hug. “Thanks, man. I appreciate you.”
Nelson turns around. “All good, Foz?”
“Yup.” He gets up from his drums and heads off stage.
Nelson and I help Tim offstage, leaving Jimmy to finish checking the sound with Clint, our audio engineer, who’s at a sound board, which is under a tent about seventy-five feet from the stage. I’m so thankful to have the experienced crew that we have. The mild panic attack that has my heart racing could be a million times worse. Knowing these guys have the experience to handle this kind of shit brings my anxiety down a notch.
If I’m completely honest, I thought our set was fucked when we had to bring in Jimmy last minute. Not because I didn’t have faith in his ability, I know the guy is a talented musician and has played with us during practice and soundchecks. I was worried about throwing someone—anyone—on stage and how that would affect the vibe. Would I be worrying about him the entire forty-five-minute set? Did anyone in our fan base notice us escort Tim off the stage? Should I say something?
All of my worries wash away during our opening song. Jimmy’s huge smile and easy interaction with the crowd are the keys to his amazing stage presence. I’m already impressed, but I could literally kiss him when he walks over to me so we can play and sing side-by-side, just like I would do with Tim.
By the second song, the crowd is jumping and dancing, and the only thing running through my mind is killing this performance. Instead of dwelling on the almost disaster, I use every ounce of anger and frustration I had before our set started and transform it into positive energy. Shit is always going to come up; I’ve gotta be able to roll with the punches.
We’re all buzzing hard-core after our set. The crowd was bigger than I ever expected, and the energy was completely off the charts. I’m humbled by all the people who knew the songs. Our debut album isn’t completed yet, though we do have an EP on streaming services and audio versions of our songs on YouTube that get hundreds of thousands of plays, so I guess it’s not unlikely that people know our stuff. It’s just crazy to me.
When I get to my phone, there’s a message from Liz waiting for me.
Liz: You were amazing out there! I’m so proud of you, Austin!
Me: Thanks, babe! Thank you for your support and for being right in front, rocking out with us. Seeing you gave me so much confidence. I appreciate you so much. I love you.
Liz: Love you, too.
Me: We’re gonna be a few more minutes. Have some stuff to take care of. You okay?
Liz: Take your time. I’m good. I’m watching Joywave right now.
Me: Cool. I’ll text you when I’m on my way and we can figure out a place to meet
up. Cool?
Liz: Absolutely. See you soon. Love you!
Me: I love you, too.
I thank my lucky stars again that my girl is independent and strong. I can’t even imagine being at this festival with some of the girls I dated in the past. The clingy ones who would’ve absolutely freaked out if I’d said I had stuff to do with the band. I’m not a complete asshole; in a case like that I would have known beforehand and made sure she had a friend with her to keep her occupied. But I don’t even have to think about it with Liz. She does her own thing and understands that this is my job—and my first priority.
“Austin!” Nelson calls. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, spinning around as I shove my phone in my pocket.
Within a few strides I’m at his side. Fozzie flanks his other side. Strength in numbers. My stomach is tied up in knots. All the shitty things Tim’s done roll through my head, accumulating like a snowball of anger. Even when it’s justified, it’s not easy to fire someone. I have no clue how people do this for a living.
“You want me to do it?” Nelson asks.
Yes. I think to myself, but I know that I have to be the one that kicks Tim out. Well, Fozzie and me.
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the back. “W
e got it.”
“Should’ve fucking done this months ago,” Fozzie mutters. I understand his frustration completely.
“Yup, I agree. But we didn’t and here we are.”
“After you guys tell him, I’ll have Clint take him back to the hotel and get his shit,” Nelson says. “Want me to book him a flight home?”
“Why should we waste that kind of fucking money on that fucker?” Fozzie blurts, kicking a clump of dirt as we stride across Atlanta’s Piedmont Park to the exit where a few guys from our crew took Tim after our set.
“So you want to kick him out of the band and then drive home in the van with him tomorrow? Hungover and coming down from whatever the fuck he was on?”
Thank god for Nelson and his level head. Forget the fact that a same-day or next-day plane ticket is gonna cost a fuck load of money we don’t have to spend.
“Yeah, that’s not an option,” I say. “It sucks, I know, but we chalk it up as a necessary business expense and move on. The price of a plane ticket is worth never having to fuck with him again.”
Kicking Tim out of the band goes a lot better than expected, but I’m chalking that up to the fact that he’s barely coherent and can’t comprehend anything we say. Still, we did it. Will we have to follow up? Yup. But I can wash my hands of him for the time being and enjoy the rest of the day. I only watch for a second as Clint leads Tim out of the exit and leads him down the street.
Jimmy, who disappeared while we were talking to Tim, nudges me with his elbow and hands both Fozzie and me a can of ice-cold beer.
“Thank you so much, man. For everything. You saved us and you fucking killed it today,” I say, taking the beer.
Jimmy’s kindness reminds me again how grateful I am to have the awesome crew of guys we have on our side. A day that could have been a complete and total disaster went off spectacularly. The universe was on our side.
Time to find Liz. I dig out my phone and shoot her a message, asking where she is. She answers with the name of the set she’s watching, so I head over to the stage. When I arrive at the back of the crowd, I scan the area, looking for her.
OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1 Page 19
