Cherry Beats

by Vicki James

  The moment the words: Youth Gone Wild fell from the singer’s lips, the screams were deafening.

  I froze when I truly realised what was about to happen. I was going to see Presley for the first time since I’d walked away.

  “Hey,” Molly hissed in my ear. I hadn’t realised she’d grabbed hold of my elbow and was tugging me to her until she was right there, pressed against me. “Hey. This is it. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “No,” I mouthed, eyes wide as I stared up at the stage.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s up?” Bourbon asked, moving to the other side of me.

  “She’s freaking out.”

  “Was always gonna happen,” Bourbon exhaled as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and caged me in.

  “Tess, just remember one thing, okay?” Molly said, dragging my attention to her face.

  “What?” I asked carefully.

  “He wants you here.”

  I blinked wildly, and she copied Bourbon by curling her arm over my other shoulder until the three of us were in a line, each of them keeping me protected.

  He wanted me here.

  He sent the tickets.

  He sent me his letters.

  He’s respected me by leaving me alone and not forcing me into anything.

  He’s…

  Holy shit.

  He’s walking out on stage right now.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “How’s everyone doin’ tonight?” Rhett cried, his whole body leaning back as he tipped the microphone to the sky before he popped himself back upright and began to walk down the T-section of the stage that led into the depths of the crowd.

  We were only a few rows of standing people away from him when he reached the end. So close to Rhett, yet so far from Presley.

  Presley.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  The crowd were going crazy for the frontman. All I could see was the shining star at the back, twirling his drumsticks around in his hand as he pushed down a couple of times on the drum pedal, testing out the bass drum by his feet.

  There were fewer times when Presley looked better than when he was on stage. He was born to be behind those drums. His hands were created to manipulate those sticks between his fingers. His arms were moulded to create music.

  The bright lights were mainly on Rhett, with just a little ball of yellow light illuminating Presley on his raised platform at the back of the stage. He was so focused on the task at hand that he never looked up into the crowd once. A part of my heart dropped, knowing he wasn’t seeking me out. But what did I expect? For him to follow Rhett, take out his binoculars, ask the technicians to light up the whole crowd so he could find me? And what if I was a no show? Did I expect him to make a fool of himself by trying to find me, only to be disappointed when he realised I wasn’t there?

  You’re more selfish than you ever thought, Tessa Lisbon.

  “He looks sad,” Molly said into my ear.

  “Do you think so?” I asked, my lips barely moving as I stared at him, rising onto my toes when the crowd began to get crazier thanks to whatever the hell Rhett was saying.

  “He hasn’t looked up once, Tess. He keeps tucking his hair behind his ears like he’s lost.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’ll tie it up soon. He always does. When he sees the crowd for the first time properly, he makes sure he’s sat down, and that’s when he pulls his hair back, ties it up and smiles at them all. It’s like a little move he does to introduce himself to the show.”

  “I forget how well you know him sometimes.”

  “So do I,” I whispered, watching him, unable to take my eyes off the tight muscles of his tanned arms. The way the vest he wore hung so low under his armpits, revealing the tight band of muscle over his obliques.

  Look up. Look up. Let me see your eyes.

  “Who here has seen us play before?” Rhett asked the crowd. They responded with enthusiasm, their cheers growing louder and louder. “Fuck, that’s a lot of you. Way to go, MK Bowl. We love your loyalty.”

  The crowd cheered again, and I blinked, taking in Rhett’s words with my ears while my eyes got drunk off of Presley.

  Look up, goddammit.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Rhett laughed. “You may have seen us before, but…” He spun on his heels, turning to face the direction of us. “I can promise you, you’ve never heard us the way you’ll hear us tonight.”

  The audience lost their damn minds, and people behind us began to push and shove to get closer to the band and the stage.

  Youth Gone Wild weren’t just popular. They were idolised. Worshipped to the point of insanity.

  Bourbon and Molly held strong; their legs firmly planted on the ground so we didn’t get bashed around too much.

  “Show us what you got, Rhett!” a woman screamed only a few people down from me. It made me turn to look at him for the first time. Rhett looked good. Buzzed up, but good. His hair was a styled, shaggy mess, and his dark features made his eyes pop on that stage. He was laughing, and suddenly, his attention zoomed in on where he thought he’d heard the woman jeer. Rhett scanned the people around me, and he grabbed his crotch with his free hand, his eyes alive with devilish intent as he spread his legs and raised a brow. “I’ll show you what I’ve got, sweetheart. The question is… can you handle it?”

  The moment he said those last four words, his eyes found mine in the crowd.

  For a single heartbeat, we stared at each other.

  Me, wide-eyed and waiting.

  Rhett, clearly surprised as he narrowed his gaze and let his smile turn into a cock-sure smirk.

  “Because if you can’t handle it, you really shouldn’t be here,” he said into the mic, his brow raised as he stared at me.

  He was pissed, too. I got it, but that didn’t stop me from lifting my beer to my lips with one hand, using my other to flip the bird right at him as he stared at me, waiting.

  Rhett threw his head back, his laughter breaking free before he raised the microphone to his mouth again and screamed out in true rock star fashion, “Let’s set this place on fire!”

  My heart beat wildly in my chest as I turned back to look at Presley.

  He was bent over, fiddling with something I couldn’t see. The cameras chose that moment to zoom in on him, and the second Presley West filled up the screens on either side of the stage, the crowd wasn’t full of cheers, it was full of ear-piercing screams that made me wince as I watched him.

  It always went this way. Presley knew when the noise was for him.

  Straightening himself back up, he pushed his hair back with both hands, and we watched as he tied it up on the top of his head with ease, his arms back, muscles flexed for all the thousands of fans to see.

  I remembered the taste of that skin.

  The way those muscles felt wrapped around me.

  My legs tensed, my thighs desperate to close together to handle the jolt of electricity I felt down below.

  Presley finally looked up, unleashing his bright blue eyes and charming smile on the crowd, taking my breath away.

  The crowd were, as Rhett had wished for, on fire. Big D, Hawk, and Coops began strumming on their guitars, each of them walking around the stage with pre-show grins on their faces.

  The cameras were still focused on Presley when Rhett Ryan ran up to his raised platform, leaned over and whispered something in Presley’s ear. At once, Presley’s jaw tensed—his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes and began to search a crowd he couldn’t really see.

  That’s right, king. I’m here. Let me watch you play.

  Rhett slapped him on the shoulder and jumped down to his position at the front of the stage, and then the band began to play. Presley’s shoulders went from rigid to loose as soon as the music began, his focus shifting to the one thing he adored more than life itself—the music.

  He was all limbs and precision, his focus undeniable as he became the god everyone wanted to bend the knee
for in front of thousands of strangers. They played their one and only Youth Gone Wild song first, and even though my insides were upside down and turning to mush, I still couldn’t help but move my body to the music. Molly was dancing wildly on one side while Bourbon tapped his foot and nodded his head to the beat on the other. I was somewhere in between, sporadically unable to stop myself from singing along only to see a close-up shot of Presley’s face and to being pinned to the spot, unable to move from the way he made me feel.

  Smooth Hair

  Sparkling Eyes

  Doesn’t look bad

  But she’s full of fuckin’ lies

  Sings like she’s an angel

  Wraps you up inside

  Makes you think you’re worthy

  Lures you in to say, ‘you’re mine’.

  Her bright red light

  It makes you blind

  Her taste ain’t sweet

  Her soul ain’t kind

  She’ll fuck with you

  Just wait and see

  Boy, you’ve become the Devil’s doormat

  And she’ll crush you ‘til you bleed.

  Presley’s scowl of concentration was in place, his sticks hitting the drums with a power I’d never seen from him before.

  “Woooooo!” Molly cheered. “Fuck, yeah, Presley! Tess, he’s insane!”

  I turned to look at her, watching as she became a fan in front of me, and I knew, right there and then, that if I hadn’t had that night with Presley, I’d have been the same way. I’d have been another face in the crowd, seeing him for what he was, and not what he wasn’t. I wouldn’t think about anything else other than his music and how lucky his lover must be to lie down beside him every night.

  The song came to a finish with a dramatic end solo from Presley that had sweat dripping from his forehead before he wiped it off with a small towel.

  He looked up, gasping for breath, his lips parted as he aimed his focus in the general direction of us.

  “He’s looking for you,” Molly cried when she leaned in closer.

  “I know.” A small bubble of laughter escaped me, and the cravings I felt for him took over my body.

  Next they played Def Leppard’s Rock! Rock! (Til You Drop) and made it sound better than the original. Rhett’s voice spun around Milton Keynes Bowl like a Chinese Dragon, curling and weaving its way over the crowd, dragging the women in and making the men wish they were him. Presley couldn’t help but smile as he tore into the beat. Those arms and shoulders I loved so much working overtime.

  After that, they played Mötley Crüe’s Dr. Feelgood, sending the crowds into an absolute frenzy. Bourbon and I were jumping around more now, taking in the music and the mad skills of Rhett who seemed to be able to change his voice and adapt it to whatever the song demanded of him. Presley was in the zone, and Big D, Hawk, and Coops had huge grins on their faces as they jumped back and forth across the stage, enjoying the very second Rhett shouted, “Guitar!” at them, setting them free to do some particularly awesome solos each.

  Then came Led Zep’s Rock and Roll, and I couldn’t take my eyes from Presley for a second as I imagined how he must feel up there on that stage playing the same beat as his ultimate hero had once done. He was John Bonham for a few moments, and all the world could see how well he handled it.

  He could handle anything.

  They performed their own, grittier version of Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain and blew the metaphorical roof off.

  They did the same with Five Finger Death Punch’s Gone Away, allowing Presley to slow down as he looked out while playing, his beautiful lips parted, his breath gasping for air and eyes begging for something before he built up to the end and killed it yet again.

  “Tess!” Molly shouted at me.

  “Yeah?” I called back, unable to look away from the stage.

  “If you don’t marry that man, can I?”

  Nervous, giddy laughter poured out of me as I raised my hands in the air and began to punch them along to the beat. “Over my dead body, Molly.”

  “Murder has never sounded so appealing.” She grinned.

  “You guys having fun out there?” Rhett rasped into the microphone as he brushed his hair back and panted for breath. “I can’t hear you!”

  He worked the crowd like they were puppets and he was their master, pulling the strings. They laughed when he wanted, and they screamed at his command. Women were combusting as they tried to get closer to him. There was no arguing that he was born to do this. Just the way Presley was born to sit behind those drums and collect those beats before tossing them out to his audience.

  I watched as Presley took a drink from a bottle of water, pouring the rest of it over his head and shaking it out to cool down. I’d never wanted to be a droplet of water more before in my entire life.

  “Not that my bandmates need any introduction, but let’s take a moment right here to let my boys catch their breath and say hello. Behind me on the right, we have our rhythm guitarist extraordinaire, the second and only… Mr Bradley Coops Cooper!”

  Coops stepped forward, eyes focused on his guitar as he strummed out the rhythm of Youth Gone Wild’s song Little Luck, finishing with a flair I hadn’t seen from him before.

  Next up was Hawk, demonstrating his lead guitarist skills that made his fingers fly across the strings.

  After that was Big D, the bassist of all bassists, stepping forward with his giant hands to strum out Queen’s Another One Bites The Dust.

  “And this man needs no fuckin’ introduction, right?” Rhett roared.

  The crowd seemed to rise, their voices, hands, praise, and enthusiasm like a tidal wave of appreciation that was rolling towards Presley.

  I watched as he leaned into his microphone, a soft smile in place and said, “Hey, MK Bowl. What’s up?” as cool as a damn ice statue that had the ability to melt panties.

  “Presley! Presley! Presley! Presley! Presley!” they all began to shout.

  “All right, calm the fuck down.” He smirked.

  “Cool it, MK Bowl. Like that prick needs a bigger ego than he already has,” Rhett chimed in, earning a playful boo from the crowd before Rhett turned back to Presley and sighed into the mic. “Take it away, king!”

  The man I loved spun his sticks in his hands and let them come crashing down against the drums. He was gone, in another headspace, when I realised what he was playing live for the very first time.

  Led Zeppelin’s Moby Dick. The solo section. The bit he held sacred in his heart.

  Goosebumps erupted all over my body.

  The crowd silenced as he introduced the slow rise of the rolling beat, showing off his flair with a spellbinding subtlety that had the audience drooling as they watched him play. It was then I understood how much Presley was like that drum solo. Slow to build, his presence there, but you didn’t quite know the power of it until he’d built it too high, too fast, too wildly, and it all came crashing down on you in time for the guitarists to join in with him at the end, and the music set your soul alight.

  He performed it more perfectly than he could ever understand, and the minute the band came to a stop together, the crowd went wild, thirsty for more, more, always more.

  “He’s quite the showman, right?” Rhett asked the people.

  “Excuse me… Rhett?” Presley said smoothly into his microphone, twirling a single drumstick in his free hand when he reached up to hold the mic and pull it closer to his mouth. The cameras zoomed in on his face, and I could see every line, crease, and bead of sweat there, as I shared those blue eyes with thousands upon thousands of people. “Aren’t we forgetting someone?”

  Rhett spun around, his game face on. “Erm… I don’t think so.”

  Presley rubbed his lips together and stood from his stool, pointing his drumstick at each member of the band, feigning concentration. “One, two, three, four… five,” he said, pointing the stick at his own chest. Presley’s smirk grew as he leaned into the microphone and cast his eyes in the direction we we
re standing in.

  Oh my…

  “There’s definitely someone missing,” Presley added.

  “Damn, brother. Is this where you bring another girl out and declare love for her?”

  The crowd laughed, and I felt my face fall, my chest tightening as I looked ahead.

  Please, no. Please… no.

  Presley scrunched up his face, wrinkled his nose and shook his head, making himself look too goddamn adorable. “Nah. Maybe I could confess my love for a man, though.”

  “How the fuck could I forget?” Rhett slapped a hand to his forehead before turning back to the crowd. “We’ve got a sixth member of the band here with us tonight. Do you guys wanna meet him?”

  I glanced at Molly, then at Bourbon, my scowl in place as I tried to understand what was going on.

  “I said… do you guys wanna meet him?”

  Presley dropped down behind his drum kit, and I heard the guitar kick in just a second before Presley brought his sticks down, and the familiar sound of Summer of ‘69 made the arena roar to life.

  From the left of the stage came a figure I never thought I’d stand in front of in my life.

  Bryan.

  Fucking.

  Adams.

  I gasped—the sound so loud I was sure everyone could hear it. My hands flew to my mouth, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

  Bryan Adams ran to Rhett, reaching out to shake his hand eagerly, while Presley played away in the background, his tongue poking out, trapped between his teeth as he stared our way. He couldn’t see me, I knew that much, but he could feel me, and he sure as shit knew what this would do.

  “Ladies and gents, boys and girls, scoundrels and dirtbags… it’s the one and only Mr Bryan Fucking Adams!” Rhett screamed.

  I couldn’t hear anything that was said. I couldn’t do anything but focus on Presley as tears filled my eyes. Not even my hero could make me look away from the man I loved.