by Vicki James
“It kills me that those people are your family,” Molly said from her position next to Bourbon.
I was leaning over the bar, my body weight resting on my forearms when I looked up at her. “They’re not bad, just blinkered.”
“You still won’t let anyone say anything bad about them, will you?”
“What’s the point? It makes me feel like shit. Like I’m dishonouring who I should be as a person rather than what I feel for them. And it doesn’t magically transform them into people I want to be around. Plus, I have my own family. People I chose. People I love. I have you guys.”
Bourbon and Molly looked at each other with a knowing expression on their faces. The two of them were standing the same, their arms folded across their chest and their legs crossed at the ankle as they leaned against the back shelf.
“You said she’d say that,” Bourbon told Molly.
“You owe me a tenner.”
“You owe me for all those damn broken bottles.”
“Don’t start with me now. You’re not my dad, Dad.”
I laughed as I watched them both, another wave of relief washing over me at knowing that if I did go away, and if I did drift off around the world to discover myself and be selfish again, they at least had each other.
“I’m going to miss this place.”
They turned my way, their smiles fading. I hadn’t even realised I’d said those words aloud until it was too late.
“You don’t have to go anywhere, dolly,” Bourbon told me.
“I do. Hollings Hill is all I’ve ever known. The minute I stepped out of it and went to all these new places in Europe, I forgot who I was and how to act. I became some mute version of myself, always worried she was about to get dropped from Cloud Nine. I need to see more and not feel guilty for living.”
Bourbon studied me. I knew there were a million things he had to say. Instead, he let his soft, familiar smile grow, and I thought I saw a twinkle of moisture gather in his eyes. “I hope my daughter grows up to be half the woman you are.”
“With you as a father, she’s going to be a million times better.”
“Don’t stay away forever.”
“This place is my home. You guys are my home. Even when I’m not here, I’ll never really leave you.”
“Where are you going to go first?” Molly asked quietly.
Before I could answer, there was a hard knock on the glass doors of BB’s. All three of us turned to stare at it, wondering who the hell could be there so early in the day.
I saw a motorbike and a man dressed in leather. He had a small envelope in his hand as he flipped up the visor on his helmet and waited as the three of us turned to exchange questioning looks.
“I’ll get it,” I told them, a nervous flutter coming to life in my stomach.
Opening the door, I took the biker in, glancing up to stare at his face. I would have put money on it being the same guy who asked me to sign Presley’s jacket, all those years ago.
“Can I help you?”
“I have a delivery for a…” He paused to glance down at the letter again. “Mr Bourbon? Is that his real name?” he asked, looking up at me in confusion.
“No.” I laughed. “His real name is—”
“Let’s not go there, Tessa Lisbon!” Bourbon shouted from inside BB’s.
Widening my eyes, I smiled a flat smile at the biker. “Sorry. Secrets need to stay secrets.”
“Sure. Sure.” He handed over the letter, and I turned it over in my hands. “Hey. Don’t I know you?”
I looked up and waited.
“You’re that chick Presley West got to sign his leather jacket.” He pointed a finger at me. “I remember you now.” His smile disappeared suddenly. “Holy shit. You’re that girl he took on stage and declared his love for, aren’t you?”
“I—”
“Awe, man. Way to go.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, his excitement returning as he nodded his head like some leather-clad spaceman with that helmet on his head. “Hey, next time you see him, tell him I love his song Dirty, Dirty, Hurt Me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” It was impossible not to smile around the guy. “Do you have anything for me to sign?”
He pulled a little black device out of his jacket and held it out to me. “Just give it a squiggle with your finger here.”
“You don’t look like a guy who uses the word squiggle,” I said, feeding off his energy.
“I have three sisters. I may look like a meathead, but I know every My Little Pony from growing up.”
“Good knowledge to have.” I chuckled, handing the device back to him. “See you later.” I reached to grab the door, only for the biker to step forward and stop me.
“Are you two still a thing?” he asked.
I stared into his eyes, the only part of his face I could see.
“We’ll always be a thing.”
“Cool. Tell him I said hi.”
“Sure.” I smiled, not wanting to disappoint him.
Satisfied, he left, and I turned back to Bourbon and Molly, handing over the envelope to the man himself while I went back to leaning over the bar.
Bourbon turned it over in his hands, and with no delicacy at all, he ripped it open before pulling three tickets out and holding them up.
“What are they?” Molly asked, snatching them off him. Her eyes widened instantly. Her cheeks flaming before she pushed herself off the back shelf and held them up in the air, fanned out.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked her.
“Tickets. To. Fucking. TriFest, baby!”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She smirked.
My heart raced, and my skin tingled. “Who is that from? Who sent it?”
Bourbon was pulling a letter out of the envelope, his eyes squinting as he opened it up and took it in.
“Someone called Dicky Bennett,” he said roughly.
Dicky Bennett? Why was he sending tickets to Bourbon?
“What does it say?” I dared myself to ask.
He cleared his throat and began to read it out loud. “Mr Bourbon, if that’s your name. I’m sorry, but that’s all we know you by. Enclosed are three tickets to this year’s TriFest, where Youth Gone Wild will be headlining along with fourteen other international bands and supporting acts. Presley West requested you be sent these as a gesture of gratitude for all you and your establishment have done for him and the band in recent years. If you require backstage passes and VIP access, please call me on the number at the bottom of this letter, and I’ll have them shipped to you right away. He’d also like to request that you save one of the tickets for a Miss Tessa Lisbon, if she does so require one. If she doesn’t wish to attend, feel free to use them as you please. He’s also arranged for extra security to man your doors if you need it. Mr West is very aware of the attention Hollings Hill is receiving at the moment, and he’d like to do everything in his power to protect it and the people who are important to him. Feel free to call me on the number below if you have any questions. Regards, Dicky Bennett.” Bourbon looked up at me, seeing the tears that had collected in my eyes.
“Presley West is one smooth bastard,” Molly whispered.
“Tess…” Bourbon began, his head tilting to one side as he stared at me. “You have to talk to him.”
“I know, B. I know.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “He deserves to know where I stand now.”
“This would be a perfect time to say what you feel face to face,” Molly chipped in, waving the tickets around
Turning to her, I huffed out a laugh. “Then I guess the first place I’m going on my adventures is TriFest.”
“Fuck, yeah!” she squealed.
I let the thoughts of Presley on stage wash over me, knowing that I needed to see him do his thing…
Just one last time.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Fuck me!” Molly gasped as we walked through the entryway to TriFest, out into the open field cra
mmed with thousands upon thousands of fans. We were at Milton Keynes Bowl—a venue shaped like an actual bowl, where music enthusiasts lined the base and the hills surrounding the stage, and where Mötley Crüe’s Wild Side played through the ground’s speakers. The beat of Tommy Lee’s drumming had my head moving to the music and goosebumps springing to life over my arms and legs.
“And suddenly, I feel old,” Bourbon muttered beside me, making me smile as I stared at the dark stage, where roadies were pushing equipment along and getting ready for the first set of the night.
“You need a young woman,” Molly told him. “When you’re practically a grandpa, you need a fresh piece of meat to keep you feeling like you’re not getting a bald patch.”
Bourbon felt the back of his head. “What the hell, Molly. I don’t have a—”
“Gotcha!” she laughed, turning to grin at him before she pushed in between the two of us and linked her arms through ours. My stomach was fluttering—the thought of Presley being so close to me, making me want to simultaneously run to him and stay frozen on the spot.
“He’s here,” I whispered to no one in particular.
“Do you think he can see you?”
“Yeah, sure. He can see me standing here in a sea of thousands.”
“You never know. He could have a cracking set of binoculars on him.”
“Shut up, woman,” Bourbon sighed.
I looked at my two friends. Bourbon was dressed in his usual attire. Those heels on his boots, blue jeans, and a chequered shirt with a T-shirt underneath. Molly had gone all-out boho, with a long, summery, pale blue dress on that made her seem like she was walking on air. She had a wreath of delicate flowers around her head. Me? I was the same as always, only today I was wearing a trilby hat and a pair of sunglasses to hide behind, as well as cut-off jean shorts, my Docs, and my trusty Bryan Adams T-shirt, which I’d drowned in my favourite perfume. You know… just in case I did see Presley.
Did I want to see him? I couldn’t decide.
Mentally, I was becoming stronger day by day, while undeniably missing him more than I could explain. My body ached, physically ached, for him. Sometimes, I’d sit on the sofa with my lips parted, and my eyes closed, imagining him coming closer to me and pressing his soft, sweet mouth against mine. The smell of whiskey made my skin prickle, too.
I’d made memories with him that would last me a lifetime. Whether there would be any more involving him was yet to be determined.
Scaredy cat.
“Come on. Let’s get the drinks in,” Molly said, leading the way down the hills of the grassy bowl. Bourbon and I followed, each of us navigating our way down the pathways and through the crowds until we came to beer van. Molly ordered, doubling up on the drinks so we wouldn’t have to spend all day and night queueing, and when she called me and Bourbon over to grab our drinks, we did as we were told.
“Get over there,” she whispered, gesturing to an empty space farther to our left.
Bourbon led the way this time, each of us carrying two drinks, before he turned and looked at Molly with a raise of his brow. “Right here, your highness?”
“Don’t be facetious.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Well, you can’t be blessed with looks and brains, Bourbon.”
He grinned brightly, his eyes widening as he looked at her with surprise. “I knew you had a thing for me really.”
“Busted.” She laughed and rolled her eyes before she moved closer to me and leaned in. “Did you see those girls behind me in the queue?”
I glanced behind us, not really noticing anyone. They all looked the same. Everything seemed to be a little foggier these days, the only things standing out being anything related to Presley goddamn West.
“Who?”
“Those three girls who were dressed in Youth Gone Wild T-shirts. One of them had Presley’s face plastered all over her chest.”
Uch. “Cool.” I nodded slowly.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here? His face is… everywhere.”
“His face is everywhere no matter where I go or what I do. It’s a king’s world.”
“Do you think anyone has recognised you yet? From all the social media and newspaper stuff?”
I glanced around, not seeing anyone in particular looking my way. “If they do, I can deny it’s me, right? I don’t think anyone will expect me to be anywhere other than backstage if they think I’m here at all… which they wouldn’t because I’m not who they care about in all of this. If women have Presley’s face on their chests, I’m pretty sure they’ll love the fact that we’re no longer together.”
“You just let me know if it gets too much and you need to get out of here.”
“Wait. I thought Molly Baines was firmly camped in Team Presley.”
“No, baby girl. I’m renting space in Team Tessa. I just happen to think Team Tessa and Team Presley go quite well together.” She smirked.
It was my turn to roll my eyes, and I turned to look back at the stage with a smile on my face. We were here. Presley wasn’t far away. Now I had to figure out how the hell I felt about that.
The three of us were on the flat ground section of the bowl, right in the middle where the super eager fans were pushing to get as close to the T-shaped stage as they possibly could be. The hills surrounding us were filling with parties of people pitching their places for the entire day and night. The air hummed with excitement and noise. The sun shone brightly—not too hot, not too cold—making it the perfect atmosphere for a day filled with music.
And maybe a little lusting after the most-wanted man on the planet.
Butterflies fluttered their delicate wings in my stomach, making me press a hand to it and take a breath every few minutes.
“I wish we’d taken him up on that offer of VIP passes,” Bourbon said, while I stared at the stage in front of me. “Remind me why we’re out here with the minions when we could be back there with music royalty.”
“Back there, it’s a business. There’s no magic. Out here it’s a show. I want to see the show. I want to see him do his thing without him knowing we’re here.” I turned back to Bourbon. “I want to see him without the circus around him. That’s when I’ll know.”
Bourbon’s eyes searched mine. “Dolly, you already know.”
“Thank you,” Molly whispered.
“For two people who lecture me so much about going after what I want, you sure would think you’d have your own love lives sorted out first.” I smirked.
“Oh, don’t you do that,” Molly warned.
“Typical Tess. Always deflecting,” Bourbon said through a smile.
“I’m just saying.” I shrugged and took a casual sip of my beer, eyeing them the whole time before I lowered my plastic cup and rubbed my lips together. “There’s a therapist thirsty for each of us out there somewhere.”
Molly laughed. “Show me a therapist who can handle my life, and I’ll probably fuck the therapy right out of them just to prove a point.”
“Jesus,” Bourbon laughed, and I couldn’t help but follow.
The next thing we knew, the sound of a guitar coming to life made the whole venue roar. The people on the hills began to stand and cheer. The people around the stage raised their arms in the air, leaned back and cried out in joy.
We spun around to see the first band’s name light up the giant screens on either side of the stage. Front Row Frogs were an up-and-coming American alternative rock band who were making a name for themselves. I loved some of their songs, and seeing them walk out on stage made every part of my body tingle and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. There’s no feeling quite like seeing your favourite musicians standing only a few meters away from you with their guitars, drumsticks, and microphones in hand.
There’s no feeling quite like knowing that, for a few hours, you’re going to be able to forget about your problems, reality, the bills you pay and the work you hate, because those guys up
there are going to make you lose yourself to the music.
There’s no feeling quite like being at a concert you didn’t know you needed.
Music saves lives, and right there and then, even with a slightly fractured heart and a nervous flutter in my belly, the first strum of Front Row Frogs lead guitarist’s thumb, and I was lost to every lyric.
It made waiting to see Presley without dying of nerves an actual possibility.
Six hours later and the sun was fading fast, the lights of the stage drowning out the ocean of music lovers to emphasise the talent up there on that stage.
Thirteen bands had been and gone. We’d drunk beer, eaten pizza, danced until it felt like our arms were going to fall off, and we’d laughed more than ever before. This unusual trio of friends, somehow so comfortable with each other, had crossed the line into family now.
The alcohol had helped settle the nerves in my stomach, and at some points, I’d even allowed myself to forget why we were really there.
Band number fourteen, Sugar-Coated Sinners, said their thank yous to the crowd. The lead singer was tall, with long, black hair that fell down past his shoulders. It was a sweaty mess as he pushed it back from his forehead and raised one arm in the air while he used the other to hold the mic to his mouth. Even though there were two giant copies of him on the screens at either side of the stage, I chose to focus on the real-life figure in front of me… even if he did look small from where were standing about twenty rows back from the front.
“MK Bowl, you’ve been fuckin’ amazin’ tonight, man!” he cried out, waiting with expert timing for the crowd to cheer. They did, and the guy smiled brightly, the energy feeding off him from the performance of his life. They’d covered The Who, Backstreet Boys, AC/DC, Royal Blood, and Whitesnake—the last one in particular making me go wild.
“Me, along with the rest of Sugar-Coated Sinners, can’t wait to rip this shit up with you again sometime.” The crowd went bonkers again, and I watched as the drummer stood from behind his kit, and the other men took off their guitars, each of them making their way to the front of the stage to join their frontman. “You guys are in for a fuckin’ treat next. Do we have any Youth Gone Wild fans out there? Damn right we do! Get your freak on, folks. This stage is about to be set on fire!”
