Band On The Run

I'm Still Standing

"Having to actually make plans with you freaks me out," I said thoughtfully as I took a cautious sip from my mug. And promptly burnt my mouth.

Will snorted loudly, almost burning himself with the tea in his own mug that sloshed dangerously. He wisely set it aside, allowing it time to cool down. "We make plans all the time, what are you talking about?"

"We have plans made for us," I corrected right before I burnt my tongue again. Clearly I wasn't as sensible as him, or maybe I was a glutton for punishment because I just took another sip. "And then we just hang out before or after. Now that Mark's stopped all publicity for the foreseeable future we're forced to make plans. It's weird."

"I'd like to point out that we lived together – nobody made plans for us then."

I rolled my eyes blatantly. "Yeah, so we just hung out all the time because we lived together. And after that we were always touring or recording or rehearsing. It's just different now that we have to call one another up to see if we want to get coffee or else we wouldn't see each other."

"I miss that apartment so much sometimes," he admitted, almost wistful. "I know it was a pure piece of shit, don't get me wrong, but man, I think those were the golden days."

It was a sentiment I couldn't help but agree with. Whenever I thought back to those days the memories were always tinged in gold. Many a fight had been had in that apartment with the peeling wallpaper with its thin walls that shook with our stereo, but those were never the moments that popped to mind. It was before the drugs had really taken a hold, before Will and I really had seen any money, and long before those endless tours.

I remembered Seth eyeing it up skeptically when he'd helped me move in, but to his credit he'd never said a word against it, understanding that living in such a place was important for me. I remembered staying up way too late with Will, lying in his bed as we stared up at the water spot on the ceiling and said any thought that popped into our heads – all our dreams and fears and childhood traumas, every second of it bonding us together. I remembered Jake gravitating there, even though he had a trendy apartment in Midtown. And I especially remembered the parties we used to throw there.

Not every second in that place had been perfect, but I had no interest in remembering those times. My time with my band had enough bad memories – I was far more content to think of the golden days as if they were an old time movie in my head. I felt like that was a nice change of pace for me. Especially if those days were over now.

"They were golden," I agreed, sharing a private smile with my very best friend in the world.

He returned the look and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

After a long pause, Will cleared his throat purposefully, almost like he was hiding being choked up. Then he took a sip from his tea, and said, "I thought you might bring Nick along to this coffee date."

"He got in pretty late last night," I returned with a little shrug. "He looked pretty worn out; they had them running that treadmill in LA with no breaks. This morning he didn't even move when I got up, so I figured he probably needs some sleep."

Will made a sympathetic noise, busying himself by looking down at his mug.

Thoughtfully I chewed on my bottom lip, thoughts running through my brain as I looked at my friend who was specifically not looking back at me. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but I just couldn't help myself. So acting way too casual about it, I let my eyes drift out the window to look at the grey street outside and said, "So speaking of LA –"

"Nope," Will said firmly.

My eyes flew to him, and I couldn't help the fact I looked affronted by the interruption. "What?" I asked, more defensive than I should've been. "I was just going to ask how Claire's doing now she's back in California."

Will eyed me up knowingly, but he still relented with a little sigh. "Claire is good; she's busy doing publicity shit of her own for a movie that's about to be released. If you want to know any more you should just call her, she'd love to hear from you."

The fact that I knew she would've been happy to hear from me made me grimace slightly. I could just imagine the brightness in her voice when she realized it was me, always the definition of genuine, and it made my stomach clench with guilt. I was going to develop an ulcer soon.

I averted my eyes down to my drink and started, "And what about –"

"Nope," Will repeated, just as firm as before. "Call Claire and talk to her if you want to hear about her. And if you want to know about Seth, you need to talk to him. I'm not going to be the go between like the old days."

"I just wanted to know how he is," I returned, a bit sharp as I looked up from my drink.

"Talk to him, he's around," Will said steadfastly. "Whatever you guys are fighting about now, you know all you have to do is say one word and he'd go wherever you are."

That information did nothing to help me. I already knew he was around; he was being presented that award tomorrow night. What I wanted to know about were his plans after the award show, but it didn't look as if Will was willing to spill a word.

Leaning his elbows on the table, he leaned towards me, almost conspiratorial. "So are you going to tell me what you guys are fighting about now?"

"The same things we've been arguing about since I was eighteen," I answered by way of not giving an answer. "Some things never change."

Will rolled his eyes dramatically. "Some things do change, though. You're not eighteen anymore, Seth isn't twenty one – everything's different. You don't follow him around with stars in your eyes, and he doesn't act as if the very fact is killing him."

"Jesus," I said, taken aback enough that I leaned away from him. "I see you never learned to soften a blow."

"Ah, but I know you, you've never respected a soul who wasn't straight up with you."

The look I sent him was withering, but it didn't even cause a flicker of doubt across Will's face. "I appreciate some decorum," I said primly.

Yet that just had Will grinning broadly back at me. And I couldn't help the fact that I relented, shoulders slumping slightly, as I raised my eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. So he didn't bother to say another word on that subject, instead choosing to ask, "Have you picked your song yet?"

That wasn't exactly a welcome subject either, and I winced obviously. "Nothing feels right," I complained.

"Tomorrow night you have to get up on stage, and not only present Seth an award, but you're the last in a group of people playing songs in his honour. And you have to do it in front of a crowd, not to mention all the people that will see it live on their TVs. Keely, you have to pick a song already."

"Do you think I don't know that?"

At my nasty tone, Will heaved a gigantic sigh, dropping his forehead into his palm. "Seth still hasn't given Mark a list of the three songs that he's going to play," he told me, finally letting go of a little piece of information. "I think the man is about to have a nervous breakdown."

A frown appeared on my face instantly, and I asked, "Seth?"

"No, Mark of course."

"I did notice that he seemed a bit tense lately," I admitted as I took a sip from my coffee. It was finally a tolerable temperature.

"That's the understatement of the century," Will pointed out incredulously. "Maureen and co are being relentless and they're in meetings every day. He's got the award show hounding him about you and Seth, organizing the after party and plane tickets. It's a miracle he hasn't broke and murdered us all by now."

"There's going to be an after party?"

It was Will's turn to fix me with a scornful look. "Is that really all you took from that?"

"No one invited me to an after party," I pouted.

"If you think you're not invited you're a stupid as the tabloids like to say," Will said nastily.

"Meow," I replied calmly. "I was talking to Mark yesterday and when I asked him what I could do all he said was pick a song and write a speech. And I didn't have the heart to tell him that those things might be the only things I can't do for him."

Again Will leaned towards me, forearms flat on the table, and said not so gently, "You agreed to it."

My mind flashed back to a broken glass and the Velvet Underground, but I refused to acknowledge the memory, which had become a habit in the past two weeks since the fight. It was all too easy when Seth was nowhere for me to find. "I know that, but it's harder than you would think to write a speech about how brilliant your ex is."

"I hate to repeat myself, but you agreed to it."

"I know," I mumbled tiredly. "It's just hard. All of the songs I think work either make it sound like I hate or love him."

Will sent me a sly little smile and asked, "Are there any songs that do both?"

Despite the previous drop in mood, I found myself laughing at him, and just shook my head lightly. I was about to ask him for advice on writing a speech, but then the cell phone in my pocket started going off. I knew it was Nick from the Beatles song that rang out around us. Two of us riding nowhere, spending someone's hard earned pay.

A frown came onto my face instantly. He knew I was going to coffee with Will then heading to sound check, and when I'd left him he'd looked ready to sleep for another twelve hours. Not much could've changed in the last hour.

"Sorry," I muttered to Will before pressing the phone to my ear. "Hey, what's the occasion?"

Nick didn't waste time on any pleasantries, getting to the point immediately by saying, "You need to come home right now."

Usually I would've argued with him, told him how that would be rude and I would be late for my sound check slot if I went back to the apartment. Yet Nick never sounded like that when he spoke to me. His tone was tight and worried. So I supposed whatever we usually would do didn't apply here.

I sent a confused glance in Will's direction where he eyed me with a questioning look, but all I said was, "Okay, I'm on my way."

The phone call hadn't even disconnected before Will asked, "What's going on?" I could only imagine the concerned look on his face mirrored the one on my own.

"I don't know," I admitted but I was already standing up, throwing my leather jacket over my shoulders. "Whatever it is, it's serious. The only time Nick has sounded like that was after he punched Seth."

"Well, if he's punched Seth again, I'm sure Seth deserved it."

The laugh I gave was short and distracted, but I agreed audibly with him before pressing a kiss to Will's cheek and rushing out of the cafe.

My mind couldn't help but race the whole way back to the apartment building. Thankfully it was a short drive and traffic seemed to be on our side, but it didn't help all the scenarios I was building up in my head. And every idea that popped into my head became more absurd with each passing moment.

By the time I was bouncing up and down in the elevator on my way to our floor I was internally cursing Nick. Why couldn't he have just told me what was going on? It would've saved me from growing the ulcer exponentially in the short cab ride.

I burst into the apartment, a mess of frazzled nerves that were prepared to absolutely lose their shit on Nick for making me feel this way.

Then I stopped short in my tracks when I caught sight of him standing between the entryway and living room. His hair was gently mused, eyes slightly red as if he'd been awoken from a nap, and he was still in the soft grey sweatpants and blue tee that I'd left in him. It wasn't any of that had me coming up short, though. No it was the fact that his eyes were wide in confusion as they fixed on me and all the blood drained from his face.

Unable to stop myself from blurting the first thing that came to mind, I asked, "If someone didn't just get killed in some horrific way, I'm going to kill you."

Instead of saying anything, Nick just stepped aside to reveal a man standing in the living room.

There was a split, very shameful, second when I wondered who the stranger was standing smack in the middle of my life. Then I blinked and saw all the subtle changes that had thrown me.

He still had that wiry look about him, perpetually on the edge of being skinny yet still outrageously strong, but he looked small somehow. How was that possible? In a small New York City apartment and he looked smaller to me than ever before. There were more lines on his face than I remembered, and his hair was entirely grey now, no lingered peppered with brown like the last time I'd seen him. But his eyes were the same sharp blue. I doubted that would ever change.

At first glance there was nothing of me in the man standing in Nick's living room. Except that I knew better; one just had to look a little closer. I was there in the posture; shoulders caught right between being defiant and slumped as he still held onto the weekend bag, slung over one shoulder. It was as if he didn't know if he was going to have to make a quick getaway.

Yeah, there I was.

My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, but I still managed to speak up in a thick voice, asking, "Dad?"

Frank Staub just looked back at me, the eight foot distance between us feeling as monumental as the states that had been between us for the past five years. The only members left of a family clinging to their own coasts.

"Seth called me," Nick explained quickly, placing the blame as far away from himself as he could manage. He'd always been a smart man. "He woke me up and asked for him to let him in so I told him that you weren't here so there was no point. But he already knew that. He dropped off your dad and left, just like that."

The gaze between my dad and I finally broke when he looked to the side to eye up my boyfriend appraisingly, clearly not appreciating being talked about as if he wasn't in the room. "And why were you still in bed at noon?" he asked in his gruff was that was foreign and familiar all at the same time.

Nick blanched.

"I have to go," I blurted, finally managing to find my proper voice. "I'm already late for sound check."

"I'll go with you," Frank said, turning his no nonsense gaze onto me.

I just nodded mechanically.

Although I couldn't feel my knees anymore, it turned out that I could still walk, even if it did feel awkward like I was just learning. At the sight of Nick's anxious expression, all I could do was squeeze his arm absently as I passed. It was as if I suddenly didn't fit inside my own skin. As I walked out the door, I heard Nick negotiating my dad's luggage from him, sounding flustered. He wasn't used to parents not loving him at first glance. And my dad loved nothing at first glance.

My dad caught up with me in the elevator.

And he automatically copied my position, leaning against the back wall with hands gripping the metal rail – I wondered if that was a conscious decision. We both looked forwards stubbornly. Neither of us touched a button, we just waited until the doors slid closed and the elevator remained stationary.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a harsh voice as I stared towards the doors without blinking. "And what are you doing with Seth of all people?"

"He called me and asked if I wanted to come out to the city," Frank answered in a measured tone.

"So you could watch him get a lifetime achievement award?" There was no helping how incredulous I sounded.

When he replied, my dad sounded almost thoughtful. "You know, he left that part out."

"You hate Seth."

My words came out as an accusation, but this time I'd meant them to, and my eyes burned from the pressure of the stare.

"I never hated that kid," Frank disagreed, even as ever.

"I beg to disagree," I said sharply. The words felt so cutting it was a miracle my mouth didn't bleed from spitting them out. "But that's not the point. Why are you here? You don't talk to me for five years then you show up because my ex, who you despise, calls you up. In what universe does that make any sense?"

Frank just replied, "You never called either."

That was finally enough to break me from the stare, and I turned my burning eyes on him. A lesser person would have flinched away from the expression. "I was twenty one the last time we spoke," I snapped at him, "I was a child. You were my father."

With my gaze fixed on him, I was able to see Frank cringe at the accusation, physically affected by the words. Yet oddly it didn't give me any joy that the words I was spewing could hurt my father like that – there wasn't even any satisfaction. The guilt was suddenly written all over him, and I thought it should've given me some sort of vindictive pleasure. Instead it just made me feel hollow.

"I know it was my fault," Frank admitted with his eyes downcast to his shoes. "I said terrible things to you the last time I was here, and I was too ashamed to call you afterwards."

"Ashamed?" I asked softly.

His chin rose and for a split second I thought I saw a sheen of tears in his eyes when he looked at me. Then he blinked and they were gone. "Of course I was ashamed, and by the time I swallowed my pride your number and record label had changed, you didn't live in the same apartment and all your friends that I knew had gone."

I swallowed as I stared back at him. Maybe it was seeing the father that had always done his best to pretend as if emotions didn't exist my entire childhood show emotional vulnerability, but I found myself replying in kind. "I was ashamed too," I confessed, "All those things you said about Seth and I turned out to be true. I didn't know how to face you after everything you said would happen did, and I'd fought you so hard about it."

"Those things weren't true, Keely," he protested.

Yet I shook my head as I pushed up from the wall, pressing the button that would take us to the lobby. "How can they not be true when they happened? Seth was just another addict, nothing I did was going to save him, and he did leave me high and dry."

When the elevator jerked us into motion, Frank opened his mouth as if he was about to argue with me. But the just as suddenly the elevator halted, door sliding open to let an older lady shuffle in with her umbrella. And he wisely closed his mouth again.

The moment the woman walked into our elevator I knew the conversation was over, my father instantly clamming up. Showing emotion to me had been a lifelong process for him, let alone showing that to a stranger. And I was only happy to oblige him in the silence. Enough had been said already in my opinion.

It was only when we were sitting semi uncomfortably in the cab that he asked gruffly, "So what is it we're doing?"

"I've got to sound check for a song I haven't even picked yet," I said shortly.

Instead of commenting on the clear bitterness of my tone, Frank just replied mildly, "Okay."

The cab ride was almost eerie. I had to keep glancing to my side to prove to myself that my dad was actually sitting on a cracked seat of the cab and this wasn't all just a very vivid dream. If I hadn't been so worried about being caught looking foolish, I would've punched myself – even then I knew that would be a step too far.

And my father just sat there, shoulders slightly hunched as his eyes took in the scenes rolling past the windows. He looked absolutely content. Not a care in the world.

Of course I knew it was all an act.

Still I wasn't about to call him out on it, no matter how silly it was him, a man in his sixties, to act so nonchalant when reunited with his estranged daughter. No one was that cool, except perhaps Seth. But we had a cab driver only a foot in front of us. We'd never been a chatty family in private, and that was before any information about my private life could be sold to the highest bidder.

So we spent the drive to the venue in a typical Staub family silence, and we were desperately late by the time we arrived. There was no time for idle chatter as we were hurried through the back doors. Although I did have to inform them that the man with me was my father, and firmly let them know that under no circumstance was I going to ask him to wait outside. They might have argued more if we hadn't been so late. As it was they just traded sidelong glanced with each other before waving us on.

As we were led from the maze of bustling back stage activities into the main venue, my eyes skimmed over the countless round tables with chairs stuck all around. They were no decorations or table clothes set up yet. The room felt cold and empty. But I barely had a chance to glance around at the set up before an exasperated voice piped up.

"Oh, decided to grace us with your presence, have you?"

Unable to help it, my mouth twitched into a smile at Mark's loud comment and my eyes flicked towards him, finding him on the stage with a clipboard in his hands. Instantly I changed course, heading straight to my manager. "Oh, well," I replied offhandedly, "You know what I'm like."

"Unfortunately I do," Mark answered with a sigh.

There was a snarky comment ready on the tip of my tongue as I hopped up the side stairs to the stage where he stood with idle sound guys and stage crew. However I swallowed them when I got close enough to see Mark clearly. He looked absolutely exhausted. His gold rimmed glasses only amplified the dark bags beneath his eyes, and his face looked as if it was now cemented into a pinched expression. He had the look of a battered man prepared for a dispute, and I couldn't exactly fault him for that.

The instant shame I felt for keeping him waiting surprised even me. I knew he'd been overworked lately, but I hadn't seen the effects of it firsthand. Between meetings with Maureen and UAE, helping organize Seth and I for this award show, not to mention he was still having to work on rescheduling the end of my tour, and of course staying on top of the press concerning The Spares. It was too much for four people, let alone just him.

"This is my dad," I said, bypassing any sass and getting right to introductions, "Frank Staub."

Mark sent me a taken aback glance, clearly thrown off by my restraint – it was an alien concept for me, after all. Still he managed to gather himself well enough to turn his attention to my father. "Yes, we talked on the phone quite a bit while trying to get him out here," he said before sticking his hand out for my father to shake. "It's nice to meet you in person finally, Frank."

Not letting my dad get a word of greeting in, I zeroed back in on my manager with suspicion, holding back the urge to slap their hands apart. That would be a step too far, even for me. "You were the one that arranged him being here?"

"Seth gave me the list of the people who he wanted flown out," Mark answered calmly as he dropped my dad's hand. "I'm just the guy that makes things happen since you all are useless at the merest thought of organization, except for Jake, of course."

My mouth fell open, obviously affronted.

"Speaking of useless," he continued on, not letting me get a word in, "Have you picked your song yet?"

Quickly I shut my mouth.

I must've had a look of shame about me, because Mark's face somehow pinched even further. "Keely Staub, you are going to be the death of me," he muttered with great feeling. Tucking the clip board under his arm, he used both hands to start rubbing his temples as if I'd given him an instantaneous headache.

"It's actually really hard..." I trailed off my explanation when he fixed me with a hard look.

Mark heaved a huge sigh. "You and Seth are absolutely useless," he repeated his point from before darkly. "Two musicians that will never shut up with the song lyrics and music bingo bullshit, but can't even pick songs to play."

Beginning to become offended again at the mutinous mutterings, I glanced towards my father, hoping to share a reproachful look aimed at Mark. Instead I found his blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

Afraid that they might gang up on me if my father could get a word in, I spoke up indignantly, "I'll play a song; I just don't know which one yet. "

"The whole point of picking a song is so I can tell the event coordinators," Mark pointed out condescendingly. His eyes were now closed as he pressed his fingers so hard into his temples that I could see read marks starting to appear. "Now I'm going to have to go deal with that, and they're going to try to hand me my own ass. Not to mention, you're already late for your time slot and now you have to sound check with all the instruments."

"All the instruments?" I asked, interest peaked and pretending not to hear all his attitude.

"Yes, all the instruments. I'm not taking any chanced with you lot, no 'Oh, I need the 1928 Gibson blah blah blah' at the last minute. I got Seth to choose any possible guitar that you guys might want; we even brought in a piano if you're feeling it. You and Seth will just have to share like big kids this time."

"We share all the time," I argued

He just made a big show of rolling his eyes.

So I huffed loudly. "Well, do you want to get off my stage so I can start this goddamn sound check already? You're complaining that I'm late and keeping me from playing all in the same breath."

Mark didn't bother to grace me with a response. Instead he just gestured for my dad to follow him, already walking to that side staircase where'd we come from.

Frank sent me a questioning look to which I just gave a nod. We might have gotten over music being a tragic point between us back when I'd been a teenager, but I doubted it would ever become a great love of his. I knew he liked to watch me perform, he'd told me as much years before. However I couldn't imagine he would take great joy from watching me fumble around during a sound check, constantly stopping to talk to the sound guys and rarely making my way through an entire song.

No, it was better if Mark could distract him. And I was grateful to him for taking the initiative to do so, even if it had come with rather a lot of barbed attitude. Hopefully my dad's stubbornly quiet calmness would rub off on my manager. He seemed like he needed to smoke a joint and sleep for five days.

As promised, I began to work my way through almost all the instruments on the stage. I didn't bother playing the drums or bass, though. Seeing as I was performing solo tomorrow night it didn't feel very necessary. Still I eyed them up suspiciously. I might've thought they were from other artists playing before me in the night, but they were clearly from the warehouse, I wasn't that oblivious. It did make me wonder if Seth was planning on playing with someone that wasn't me. And I couldn't help the burn of betrayal in my gut at the thought.

Hoping to douse the emotion, I distracted myself with moving around to all the guitars that he'd got Mark to bring from the warehouse. I even played Sam Cooke's Bring It On Home to Me on the piano, though I very much doubted I would choose to it on the night.

The guitar had always been my instrument of choice, no matter how long I spent honing skills elsewhere, and I gravitated to them. Playing my way through whatever songs popped into my head, I all too quickly began to forget that I was in a venue with countless people backstage listening to me. They all faded away from my consciousness. I didn't even think about where my dad and Mark had gone to. Instead I got lost in the action of playing the guitar.

And I got the most lost with an acoustic Fender strapped over my shoulders, eyes closed as I sang the Joni Mitchell song into the microphone.

"Just before our love got lost you said, 'I'm as constant as a Northern Star.' And I said, 'Constantly in the darkness, where's that at? If you want me I'll be in the bar.' On the back of the cartoon coaster, in the blue TV screen light, I drew a map of Canada. Oh, Canada. With your face sketched on it twice."

My voice came back to me sounding almost haunted, reverberating through the empty hall and chairs right back to me as my fingers played the song almost subconsciously. But I let my eyes flick open in time to sing the chorus. "Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine. You taste so bitter and so sweet. Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling. And I would still be on my feet. Oh, I would still be on my feet."

Movement at the back of the hall caught my eyes, having grown accustomed to the lack of crowd before me, and I found myself peering back there. But it was so far away I couldn't make out just how many people were stood back there, let alone who they were. So I tried to push it away from my mind as I sang, "Oh, I'm a lonely painter. I live in a box of paints. I'm frightened by the devil, and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid." The people in the back of the hall moved forwards out of the shadows, and I realized that it was in fact three people. "I remember that time you told me, you said, 'Love is touching souls.' Surely you touched mine. 'Cause part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time."

In unison the figures continued walking forwards as I shifted on my feet, working my way through the chorus. I had only been barely paying attention to them before I recognized Seth standing in the middle, and the rest followed. The only thing that kept me from being knocked into the past was the song I was in the middle of playing.

I couldn't help but wonder if the nostalgia of seeing my dad was playing tricks on me, making me see beloved faces from my past. But they were standing there; solid and real. There was a mop of bronze curls on the person to Seth's left and to his right stood a man with shortly cropped blonde hair and a wide grin on his face.

Instantly it felt as if my stomach fell out from me, and only then did I stumble over the chords I was playing.

Without truly thinking about it, I sent a quick, almost embarrassed, glance to Seth at my mistake. Maybe it was a hold up from all those years in the studio with him berated me for the barest of slip ups. And he just stared right back at me, nonplussed, hands stuffed deep inside his pockets as if it didn't matter at all to him.

It probably didn't, but it mattered to me, and I found my back straightening, refusing to stop the song. "I met a woman; she had a mouth like yours. She knew your life; she knew your devils and your deeds. And she said, 'Go to him, stay with him if you can. But be prepared to bleed."

With the people standing with Seth, I should've been mortified at the frank vulnerability that always came with a Joni Mitchell song. Oddly, I didn't feel that. In fact, I didn't even look at them again as I sang, my eyes staring boldly right at Seth. It was like I was daring him to contradict me and the song I was playing.

"Oh, you are in my blood. You're my holy wine. You're so bitter; bitter and so sweet. Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling. Still I would be on my feet. I would still be on my feet."

I finished the song as a point of pride, but that was about all I could manage. There were two more guitars I was yet to play, but I couldn't have cared about them less right then. I only took enough time to put the acoustic guitar back onto its stand neatly before I took off, not even bothering with the stairs at the side of the stage, instead hopping right down off the edge of the stage. Only my years of practice leaping into crowds keeping me on my two feet.

Seth obligingly took a step back as I tossed my arms around both Colton and Marco, dragging them into my sides, willingly or not.

Tears were threatening to overwhelm me, but for the first time in what felt like forever they weren't a result of being sad or frustrated. Instead it was just the sheer elation at seeing the boys again. The goodbyes I'd shared with them were the healthiest I'd ever had in my life. Maybe that was why I never really considered that I missed them terribly.

Almost by accident, my eyes flicked up to meet Seth's gaze and for a split second we shared a look close to understanding. He'd obviously been in contact with them – they were his childhood friends after all – but he'd told me years ago how he used to turn to talk to them only to be met with air. The Spares might've been the band he'd always wanted, but NSR were always going to be his first, and none of us could replace his boys.

The emotions that I knew were showing plain as day across my face proved more than Seth wanted to deal with. His expression slid into something closer to impassive and then he backed away another step before turning away fully.

Thankfully it was in that moment that both Marco and Colton squeezed me back tightly enough to restrict my lungs from pulling in a full breath. And I couldn't help the fact that I laughed, the sound coming out almost wet. I'd forgotten about the fact they had a sixth sense for comforting me when Seth couldn't or wouldn't.

"I almost thought you guys weren't real," I admitted in a thick voice. I pulled back fractionally and pressed a kiss to Marco's forehead before I let both of them go.

I paused, looking between them, taking in the wrinkles that had started in our years apart and the fact Marco was even sporting a couple flecks of grey hair around his ears. Beyond that, they looked exactly like the boys that had foolishly left Seth and I to our own devices eight years ago now. It might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Watching them, I curled my hand into a fist and without hesitating, punched Colton solidly in the shoulder.

"Jesus!" he yelped. "What the hell was that for?"

"I've got shit to get into with you," I said accusingly, pointing a finger in his face. "Seth gave you up. But Marco, Marco is perfect."

"I am perfect, aren't?" Marco said almost dreamily.

That had me giving up on any attempts to be tough, and grinning broadly, I instead wrapped my arms around Marco's waist tightly. I had to keep touching them, if only to prove to myself that they weren't figments of my imagination. In a move so natural that no one would have guessed that we'd only seen each other a handful of times since he'd gotten married, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders snugly.

Heaving a great sigh, Colton reached up to rub his shoulder while eyeing me reproachfully. And only then did I realize that I'd been wrong in my assessment that the only thing that had changed them was time since NSR had broken up.

Marco might've gone through the biggest life style change, being a teacher with a wife and daughter these days, but all he had was some grey hair and a few more wrinkles. Colton on the other hand wasn't the boy that had left all that time ago. When I'd first met them, they'd burnt with such energy that they might as well have been their own self sustaining suns, always making up for Seth's darkness. And then Marissa had died.

Colton looked more like that man I'd met at her benefit than the boy that had left us. He didn't burst with enthusiasm like he used to, as if he just couldn't contain his excitement at the most mundane things. The smile he sent me now was rueful, not like the ones that used to take over his entire face.

That boy I remembered had died with Marissa, leaving a man behind that was half a stranger to me.

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't physically attack me," Colton said primly. "And imagine that we're having a lovely reunion."

Making sure to make the movement as dramatic as possible, I rolled my eyes to the vaulted ceiling. I'd seen him and the other boys do much worse to each other in fun, let alone with a point. I was prepared to tease him mercilessly – how could I not? – when I saw my father coming up behind him and I let go of Marco, straightening up like I'd been given an electric shock. That in itself wouldn't have caused me to pause, except for the fact that the person accompanying him was not my manager.

This time I didn't think I was imagining her. Even when we'd been on good terms, a part of me had always been rather terrified of her.

Anxiously I glanced around, though I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Help? An escape route? In the end my eyes found Seth where he'd retreated from me onto the stage, but he wasn't paying attention to the coming disaster. No, he was speaking with Mark as he slipped a guitar strap over his head, his shirt riding up with the action, showing a slip of skin above the belt he wore with his jeans. Mark was probably giving him the same telling off that he'd given me – at least that's what I hoped.

Not seeing how I could very well get out of this, I glanced at the boys who had been watching me knowingly and in unison they sent me sympathetic grimaces. Dragging in a breath to steel myself for what was coming, I focused back on Linda.

The lyrics of the song that I'd just sang echoed in my head as our eyes met.

I met a woman; she had a mouth like yours. She knew your life; she knew your devils and your deeds. And she said, 'Go to him, stay with him if you can. But be prepared to bleed.'

The nerves at seeing Seth's mom had my stomach pinched and curled upon itself in nerves. She'd always been overly protective over her son, admittedly for very good reasons, and though our relationship had started rocky, she'd warmed to me over the years. That was before we'd very publically crashed and burned. We'd had no reason to talk to one another since then. There were no hints to be found on her face about her feelings towards me – she had that talent of being able to hide any emotion under a blank expression.

It was something that Seth had inherited tenfold from her. His steel and protectiveness had come from her that I knew from experience but he was a spitting image of late father; tall and dark while his mom was tiny and fair. Well, except for the mouth, they shared that just like Joni Mitchell had written.

When my dad and Linda came to stop in front of our little group, and I only had eyes for her, meeting her impassive look with a fearful one of my own.

I couldn't help but remember Linda asking me plaintively not to hurt her son and I felt a pang.

It was far too late for that now. We'd hurt each other too many times to count by now.

Then Linda did the one thing I didn't expect, she took the last two step forwards and pulled me down into a hug. I couldn't help the fact I stiffened instantaneously. My eyes immediately flashed to Seth and found that he was paying attention after all; stood still as a statue with the black Gibson attached to him in front of the microphone stand. The movement of the stage crew bustling around behind him made his motionlessness all the more apparent.

Coming back to myself, I awkwardly returned the pressure, hunched over to her height. Thankfully she let go and I was able to disentangle myself quickly, never having gotten used to the affection of anyone's mother, let alone Seth's.

However she didn't let me pull away fully, holding me in place by my elbows even a familiar chord progression started, echoing from the speakers around us. She gave a sent me a smile that was small but honest and she said, "You look good Keely, I'm glad."

I couldn't look away from Linda's pale blue eyes even when Seth's voice added to the guitar. "New York surprised me. Twenty one and I need something, to pick me up out of, the company I run with. And Emily just phoned for me to smoke with her. And on her furniture, discuss how love has been."

"You look good too," I said, terribly ill at ease in my own skin in front of the woman. And Seth's voice didn't put me at ease while caught in her eyes.

"I must admit, I think I lost my way a bit. 'Cause six days in, I swear I lost my baby. But then I wrote two tunes that, yeah. To kindly drag me out from nowhere, and pay for all my cigarettes. And whatever it took to keep you off my mind."

Gently tugging my arms out of grasp, I forced an apologetic smile on my face and tipped my head in the direction of the stage. "I just have to talk to Seth quickly," I said by way of an excuse. "It was very nice to see you, though."

Not meeting anyone's eyes because I was sure the guilt would be written all over my face despite the short interaction with Linda, I spun around to face Seth on the stage. His knees slightly bent, he was watching the group as he sang and our eyes met bluntly across the empty space between us.

"New York surprised me. Twenty two and I need something, to keep me inside of, the company I run with. And Emily just phoned for me to smoke with her. And on her furniture, discuss how love has been."

And I hesitated there.

Really I didn't need to speak to Seth like I'd said previously, it had been the only thing I thought that could excuse me from the situation. And now I realized I was going to have to speak to him. We'd spent the last two weeks very pointedly not speaking, letting our last interaction be shouting and broken glass. The last thing I wanted to do was speak to him, sure it would not end well. But I also couldn't turn back around to our parents and friends.

"I must admit, I've been known to lose my way a bit. 'Cause six days in, I swear I lost my patience. But then I wrote two tunes that, yeah, they kindly dragged me out from nowhere. And paid for all my cigarettes, whatever it took to keep you off my mind."

Straightening my spine, I started towards the stage, this time taking my time to walk up the side stairs. And all the while he watched me obviously, angling his body to follow my path up. "They kindly dragged me out from nowhere. And paid for all my cigarettes, whatever it took to keep you off my mind."

As I walked across the stage Seth turned abruptly away from me and the microphone, stalking away to drop the guitar back in the stand.

"What are you trying to do?" I asked in a quiet voice, not wanting my words to carry.

Seth spared me a careless glance over his shoulder before picking up the acoustic that I'd been playing minutes before. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said as he plugged a chord into the guitar.

I got the feeling that he was trying to dismiss me and whatever conversation I wanted to have, but I dug my heels in. We'd started this and I wasn't about to walk away now. "I get flying the boys and your mom out," I continued, crossing my arms in front of my chest stubbornly, "But my dad? What are you playing at?"

Scraping a hand over his face and up into his hair so the ends shot up, Seth expression was drained, eyes dark and almost sunken. "You can blame me for a lot," he said grimly, "And I can take it. But I called your dad and he flew out, no questions asked. So if your relationship with him is ruined, that's on you, not me. You've got to stop blaming me for things that aren't my fault."

"I don't blame you," I started hotly.

"Could've fooled me," Seth shot back.

My eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't say a word to me for weeks; did you expect me to fall at your feet thanking you? I'm not the type."

"Oh, I know exactly what type you are," he replied scathingly.

"What the fuck is that –"

I was quickly silenced by a hand on elbow, and found myself the focus of Mark's pointed look that he sent to Seth afterwards. "Your families are here," he said in a low voice, but it was firm. "Let's not make a scene, okay?"

Seth scoffed, but instead of replying, he just started playing a new song as he turned his back on us in order to walk up to the microphone.

Feeling the sting of the action, I wrenched my arm from Mark's warning grip, ignoring the imploring look he was sending me behind his glasses. I knew he was right. It was the only thing that was keeping me from marching after Seth and letting loose the bubbling anger in my stomach. This was my fault now?

Then Seth looked angled back so he could meet my eyes as he starting singing the Lumineers' song. "On the last time we met, your love was dead. You held my hand, bit your tongue. Shut me out, spilled my blood, all around."

Our gazes held, both hot and furious as he moved into the chorus. "Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you. Yeah, I took the poison praying you'd feel it too. You held your punches back, and I left the room. Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you."

I could feel my jaw jumping from the way I had my teeth grinding together to keep my mouth shut, and yet we still didn't look away from one another.

"All alone, your ax fell. We dragged you down, gave me hell. Made your bed, now you sleep, on your own. Guess we'll see. Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you. Yeah, I took the poison praying you'd feel it too. You held your punches back, and I left the room. Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you."

There was almost a satisfied expression on Seth's face as he looked back at me. It was his turn to throw a punch at me, I supposed, he was the one with the microphone.

"I know that you tried, but you're no friend of mine. Falling apart, you played it the best, a dame in distress," Seth sang, eyes boring into mine like knives. And I felt my own narrow in response. "Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you. Yeah, I wrapped my neck and prayed that you'd feel the noose. I saw the restaurant table for two. Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you."

Unable to hold my tongue any longer, I asked loudly to be heard over him, "Do you really hate me this much?"

It was enough to make Seth recoil, but only slightly and his hand never faltered as he played the song. Clearly I wasn't about to get any more of a response than that, so I spun away, walking quickly out of the hall, away from all the prying eyes. But more importantly, I was putting in all the space I could between Seth and I.

Still his voice trailed after me, haunting. "Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you. Yeah, I took the poison praying you'd feel it too. You held your punches back, and I left the room. Yeah, it wasn't easy to be happy for you."

*

My dad had followed me after the scene at the venue, but thankfully he didn't ask me about it.

No, we spent another quiet cab ride back to Nick's apartment, although my mind was full of far more things than just my father now. I couldn't help but marvel at just how well Seth and I still knew each other, despite the years of absence that stood between us. We always knew the perfect song that would hurt the other the most.

Thankfully my dad had visited the city a thousand times before, excusing us from doing anything too touristy. He only wanted to be around me. At the same time he didn't need me to talk to be comfortable, perfectly content with letting me stew in my own thoughts that were racing all over the place. It shouldn't have been that much of surprise that he understood that instinct. Not only had I got it from him, but I'd spent more than half my life with him.

No matter how long we were apart I knew my dad would know exactly who I was, right at the most basic levels. I'd come from him after all.

With more time to mentally prepare himself, Nick was far more presentable when we got back, the exact type of boy you'd want to introduce to your father. He'd even gone to the store to buy stuff so he could cook us dinner, apparently not impressed with the fact that all I had in the fridge in his absence was half and half and oranges.

Dad still only eyed him up appraisingly, not showing his thoughts on him either way.

I just walked into kitchen to pour myself a giant glass of wine, not really answering when Nick asked how sound check was and if I'd picked a song yet. Thankfully he'd run to the liquor store as well filling up on bottles of malbec. I had a feeling we were going to need it. When I held up the bottle to my dad he just nodded quickly and I poured him a similar glass to mine.

Yeah, we were going to need it.

It turned out to be more than a pleasant night. Nick cooked while my father and I sat in the chairs at the island, slowly beginning to learn about each other again, filling in all the gaps that had grown between us. The shyness began to give way with more glasses of wine. And even Nick seemed to have managed to charm my father, though I wasn't sure if that was because of the wine as well.

Either way when my dad patted Nick's shoulder soundly before we sat down to the meal it made my stomach warm in a way that definitely wasn't from the wine. Dinner ended up lasting longer than I was used to, more glasses of wine being played as we chatted over the playlist I'd selected on my phone that was playing gently over the speakers, quiet enough to for conversation but never allow silence. It was a playlist I'd created long before, saved onto my phone, made for polite company.

Afterwards we helped clean the kitchen, Lou Reed taking a turn over the speakers, but I didn't get the feeling we were helping overly much. In fact, we were probably just getting in Nick's way. My knowledge of the kitchen was rather limited. He more put up with us, though, just smiling as he made conversation, quietly going about fixing our mistakes.

It didn't take long for us to retire to the living room, and Nick excused himself not too long after that. He gave my hand a sure squeeze as he said something about being all thrown off from doing the media circus in LA and needing to go to bed. I knew better, though. After saying goodnight to my father, he sent me a pointed look that melted into a warm smile. It was more than enough to be sure that he was giving us room to talk, get to know one another for the first time in years, and he knew that would be easier one on one.

That boy was too damn thoughtful for words.

My eyes trailed after him until he was out of sight and I turned my gaze back to my father.

He was lounging in the arm chair, limbs loosened from the wine, with his socked feet up on the coffee table. His eyes were hooded, looking tired, but I couldn't blame him for it. It would've been quite the day for him between travelling, reuniting with his wayward daughter, not to mention the food and alcohol on top of it.

Only then did I notice the half smile I'd been wearing from watching them, and I tucked my feet underneath myself, settling back against the pillow on the corner of the couch. I wouldn't be surprised if Frank nodded off right then and there. It would only be too reminiscent of my childhood, finding him asleep in the living room. I'd never seen him look so relaxed in the city. Whenever he'd visited before he'd always been tense as if he knew there was a bomb ready to go off beside him, his frown lines deeply set on his forehead.

That smile faded from my face when I realized that maybe it wasn't the city that had put him on edge, it had me. Or maybe more to the point, the way I'd been.

"I'm surprised you didn't want to hang out with your friends tonight," Frank said, finally breaking the silence that had descended upon Nick's departure. His words had me snapping out of the spiral I'd sent myself down, and I blinked, finding that he was now looking back at me. "They said they hadn't seen you in years."

A small smile touched my lips at the thought of Marco and Colton, but I took a sip of wine before the expression could turn sad on me. I was determined not to be sad tonight. "It's been that long since I've seen you," I pointed out.

"But I'm an old man these days," he returned. As if to illustrate the point, he stretched with a groan. "I can't keep up with you kids, you could be out with them now."

I just gave a little shrug. "They're Seth's family," I told him, ignoring the definite note of melancholy to my words. "I'll see everyone tomorrow at the show."

At that Frank made a noise that I knew to mean understanding, and we lapsed into silence again.

However this time it didn't last as long.

"So did he tell you?" he asked, fracturing the stillness.

I was to thrown off by my dad acting so out of character that I didn't even bother to guess what he meant. "What?"

"Seth," Frank explained, almost grudgingly. It was like all the sudden he had a problem saying his name. "Did he tell you why he wanted me of all people here?"

I nodded.

"And?"

Not seeing that there was any way of getting out of this conversation, I sighed and took a gulp of wine, keeping my eyes pointed downwards. "He wanted to prove me wrong," I answered reluctantly.

"Wrong about what?" he asked, beginning to sound impatient.

"He thinks I blame him for the state of my relationship with you, or lack thereof, I guess."

Frank was only quiet for a short second. "And do you?"

With a heaving sigh, I raised my eyes to meet my dad's, finding him watching me closely. So much for not being sad tonight. "No," I confessed softly, "But it's easier to blame him in the middle of an argument than admit that I was the one who was wrong. I was the one who was a coward, not him."

"So he invited me out here to win an argument?" This time Frank's question could only be rhetoric as he frowned.

I took another sip of wine, and said, "It tracks."

"Maybe you should tell him what you just told me," he said.

My eyes almost bulged out of my head, and my hand stilled, holding the glass of wine in front of my face. He had taken to looking down at his own glass, avoiding my gaze. Maybe it was a time honoured aversion technique of the family. "Are you being serious right now?" I asked incredulously when I realized I wasn't going to get his attention any other way.

Frank drained the generous amount of wine in his glass way too quickly for comfort before he looked at me. And he just said, "Deadly."

"Since when do you care about Seth's feelings? You hate him."

"I don't hate him," he said, answering too fast for it to be the total truth.

My eyes narrowed on him, and I couldn't help but scoff, "Yeah, right."

With an empty wine glass dangling from his fingers, Frank pressed his free fingers to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "Okay, maybe I did, a bit," he divulged unwillingly. "But I can't imagine any sane parent loving the boy that gets their daughter strung out and then abandons them with the consequences."

Surprisingly the admission had my hard gaze softening, and all the sudden I was seeing the grey hair and deepened wrinkles on his face with a new appreciation. It wouldn't have been easy watching that from afar with only the press as an indication. Sure, it was harder living it, but I knew from experience how difficult it was watching someone in the middle of a breakdown be torn apart by the gleeful press.

"That's not what happened, dad," I told him gently, turning my own wine glass between my fingers. "That whole disaster was as much my fault as it was anyone else's; there were two of us in that relationship."

"That kid was never easy to talk to," Frank said gruffly, going back to staring at his empty glass. "He was always so inside his own head, like no one could hold his attention, and he could barely bring himself to try. And all you did was love him. I never really understood it."

Absent mindedly I bit down on my bottom lip, watching him closely. "So if you dislike him so much, why do you want me to make up with him?"

"I don't think I went as far as to say make up," he pointed out, finally glancing up at me. It was amazing how after all this time; it still felt familiar to be caught up in that ice blue stare. "It seems like you've carved out a pretty good life for yourself without him. All I want is for you to be settled and happy. But if your guys' performance earlier was any indication, I don't know if you can be fully happy until you get closure."

I wanted to argue that I was happy, thank you very much, but the words couldn't even form on my tongue.

So instead I just put on a rueful smile, and asked, "Since when are you wise?"

*

The next day was chaotic to say the least, but that was to be expected with me to say the least. Nick was supposed to arrive at the show with his band, so he ended up leaving my father and I to our own devices, which was probably the first mistake.

Actually, no, the first mistake was drinking so much wine the night before. I was fine when I woke up, having far too much experience drinking plenty more than that. My father on the other hand, he looked like a nauseous ghost getting off the couch in the morning. I got the feeling he didn't do too much drinking these days. So that was our first set back, and many came after that.

It was cliché, but getting dressed was hard. I was presenting an award to a rock star that was well known to favour jeans and leather jackets, but at the same time it was an award show with a red carpet. And I wasn't used to picking out clothes for shit like this anymore. Mark had taken up just sending clothes and ordering me to wear them whether I liked them or not, and, man, did I appreciate it in retrospect. Apparently he was too busy right now to do such trivial things.

If it hadn't been for the fact Mark had sent a town car to the apartment building, we might've missed the whole thing. Well, I would've made it just in time to do the presentation at the very end of the night, but Mark would probably murder me. With us pulling out of all interviews and performances as The Spares until the lawsuit was settled, he wanted to take full advantage of the night.

As it was I kept the car waiting while my dad yelled that we were late and I was trying to finish doing my eyeliner in a way that was halfway passable. I was beginning to realize that having my dad around made me feel like a teenager again, especially when I shouted, "Give me a minute!" at him.

It took me more like fifteen, and he grumbled for all of them.

In the end I stumbled out the door after him, pulling Doc Martens on clumsily as I went with a leather jacket in my arms.

Chaos.

And it didn't end there. My dad had never come with me to an event before, the cameras blindsided him, and in turn I found myself seeing it through his eyes in a whirl of shouting and flashes. So with a few deep breaths, I held onto his arm tightly and towed us down the carpet, moving far too fast. I only answered the questions that I deemed passable, and those were few and far between. My voice was tight and I found that my heart was racing in a way it hadn't for years at one of these events.

All the while I found myself wishing that any of the boys were here. I thought that having a calming presence would do dad and I a world of good. As it was we only had each other to hold onto, both wearing eerily similar expressions, switching between forced smiles and a stony looks.

When we finally got inside Mark was waiting to usher us inside, all the while muttering about us being late. And still the tight feeling around my throat didn't leave.

However when we got halfway to our seats, I found myself freezing up. We'd already passed tables full of people that called out greetings to me that I'd been more than happy to call back to, even though some of them were no better than strangers to me. Yet when we got towards the stage I caught sight of all the people in the world that mattered to me in one place.

My attention was caught first by Nick; he was at a table full of his band mates and their respective partners, all of them looking sharp in formal wear. Jackson leaned in towards my boyfriend wearing a wry smile and he said something that made Nick burst out in laughter, eyes crinkled and the drink that he'd been about to take a sip from forgotten in his hand. It made all that anxiety build up from the red carpet of hell melt away into a warm sensation in my chest.

Then I caught sight of the table right behind Fly Way, and that warmth iced over. Maureen was here. It shouldn't have been such a surprise – she was everywhere in the music scene in this city – but the image of her still caused my chest to tense as if expecting an ambush. And maybe that ambush came when I noticed she was flanked by Jordan and Robert. They were speaking, though it didn't look exactly friendly. Maureen was sending him distasteful sideways glances. I couldn't find it in myself to blame her for that, still no love for the man that was always trying to throw his weight around with me. Jordan looked fascinated in the conversation, leaning around her in a show of eagerness that earned him a reproachful look from Maureen.

Finding that ball of anxiety that had released at the sight of Nick came back tenfold, I turned my gaze away from them quickly, my heart racing in my throat. And I found Seth.

He'd barely dressed up for the occasion, clad in dark jeans and a black button up that was pushed up to his elbows carelessly, leather jacket slung over the back of his chair carelessly. As I watched he leaned forwards, propping his elbows on the table with a cigarette between his fingers that was burning dangerously as he gestured about.

Will was sitting immediately across from him, and though I couldn't see him roll his eyes, I knew that he did as he tipped his head up to the ceiling. Jake was just wearing a broad smile, slumped back in his chair. Then there was Marco who was laughing wildly while Colton had a hand covering his face. Linda, on the other hand, was frowning, her eyes tracing the path of the smoke in her son's hand.

My throat was suddenly exceptionally dry.

I hadn't even realized that I'd stopped walking, letting my dad and Mark get ahead of me. So I had to raise my voice for them to hear over the loud chatter in the room. "I should probably go back stage to prepare."

Both of them spun around to face me. And while my dad looked none the wiser, Mark fixed me with an incredulous expression, apparently able to see right through the excuse.

"I'll be back in no time," I told my dad before anyone could say a word. "I just need to get my head together."

"What?" Mark asked disbelievingly.

I didn't bother to wait to give him an explanation, turning on my heel and heading to the side of the stage where we'd entered just the day before. The security at the doorway didn't hesitate in letting me through.

Right as I was hurriedly walking down the hall there was announcement for everyone to take their seats as the show was just about to begin. I heaved a sigh of relief. No one would be coming after me for at least a couple minutes, reined in by politeness keeping them to their seats. Well, Seth probably would've gotten up in the middle of someone speaking, but I couldn't imagine he would come after me now.

There was a designated area for me, though it was more like a dressing table than a room, and multiple people attempted to send me there when I got into the thick of backstage. But people were bustling through, preparing to go on stage, makeup being fixed quickly and someone's shoe was already broken. It was easy for me to slip past them, leaving the opulent draped velvet walls until I was on the outskirts, surrounded by stark dark walls where no photographers would venture to for backstage shots.

If anyone came to look for me it would take them a while to sort through all the chaos, and I couldn't imagine there was anyone that could really direct them to me.

In my hiding space I could just barely hear what was happening on stage. It kept me somewhat informed in what was going on, hearing awards be presented and musical acts taking the stage. Surprisingly I wasn't even the smallest amount sad to be missing the performances, my thoughts too consumed in what was ahead of me.

Yet I couldn't even bring myself stay still for a moment, instead beginning to pace anxiously up and down the short amount of hallway available. My thoughts were racing around my head almost too quick for me to follow.

I'd known that almost every industry person I'd met in the last ten years would be here tonight, but they didn't matter to me as much. The idea of going up and just saying whatever came to mind in front of a bunch of people that were barely acquaintances had never bothered me before. Even not having a plan for the song shouldn't have been a big deal – I did shit like that all the time.

On some level I must have understood when I'd seen Colton, Marco, and Linda yesterday that they would be here. But somehow seeing them sitting in their seats all together was different. And it was especially different when they were combined with my boyfriend and his band only a table away, not to mention my band and my father. The act of seeing them all there had thrown whatever confidence I'd had in myself out the window. How could I have been so naive to think that I'd be able to just figure it out as I went?

And I wasn't even the one that they were here to see.

They were here to watch Seth accept an award. Whatever bumbling dedication I did really had no effect on why they were here, except of course Mark was hoping to use this as a band aid for the damage I'd caused in going to see Maureen. And still it wasn't the publicity that had got me all worked up. I'd come to terms with the fact I was never going to win in the public eye – someone was always going to have a problem with me. I wasn't the first woman to be treated that way, and I doubted I would be the last, however sad it was. All I could do was keep my head up and not let whatever tabloid treatment I got effect me.

It was the idea of going in front of all those people and having to say something about Seth and play a song dedicated to him. They all loved him. Colton and Marco were his brothers, blood or not, and however oddly nice Linda was yesterday, if I did something wrong I had no doubt she would come for my throat.

Then there was Nick, what could I say about my ex boyfriend that was sincere in front of my current boyfriend without hurting him? What about Jake and Will? They'd been through everything with us, and now they knew about the heroin addiction. I wouldn't be able to look at them and lie. Of course there was my dad. However calm he was trying to be about Seth, I knew he still held a grudge for what the breakdown of our relationship had done to me, no matter how I tried to convince him that Seth and I were equally at fault for it. And Maureen, how could I look at her and try to wax poetic about what an amazing song writer Seth was when she was trying to take it all away from him?

With a groan, I dropped dramatically against the wall, letting the back of my head knock a bit too hard. The start of a head ache was beginning to pound behind my eyes. What had I gotten myself into? It had sounded so easy when Mark had asked me to be the one to hand the award over to Seth.

And still the biggest problem of all was Seth himself. How in the fuck was I supposed to talk about what he and his music meant to me, all while looking down at him where he would undoubtedly be staring right back up at me, knowing that he was about to leave me again? This was going to be going out into millions of televisions in the world, not to mention the people in front of us, and how was I supposed to be truthful when I knew that no matter what I did, someone was going to get hurt?

"You know it's pretty damn cold out?"

Seth only rolled his eyes, nudging me along with a pointed nudge with his elbow, his hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Never one to give up on a point I was trying to make, I pressed, "Why on earth would you want to walk the Brooklyn Bridge at three in the morning in March?"

"Had to sober you up somehow," he replied cheekily, a rueful smirk curving his mouth. The wind coming up from the East River had whipped past us, causing his cheeks to get slightly pink, making him look as if he'd just walked off a set where they'd touched him up. And his hair was even more perfect than ever, truly windswept. It was actually quite annoying that had could look so handsome in this situation when I knew what I looked like.

My skin was probably a bright red by now to match my hair, which was currently tangled and knotted from the moisture in the air, constantly getting in my eyes. I looked like a lunatic in comparison to him. We'd only just left the bar in Red Hook, and being out here was a shock for the system, making my cheeks burn with heat while the rest of me froze. I'd been pleasantly buzzed and warm inside.

So I just eyed him up with narrowed eyes. "Well, I feel quite sober now, and I don't think I like you that much anymore."

When I went to spin away from him and march back to the Brooklyn side of the bridge, Seth reached out and grabbed me by the arms before I made any progress. I kept my hands stuffed stubbornly in the pockets of my jean jacket that was doing nothing to keep me warm.

"I have a plan," he told me in all seriousness, looking down at me.

The somberness to his eyes had any plans of leaving him out here on his own dying right then and there. And was it any surprise? I would follow him anywhere – that was pathetically obvious by now. Swallowing dryly at the intensity in his hazel eyes, I asked, "A plan?"

"Yeah," Seth replied before glancing up and down the bridge to find no one approaching us, probably because they were smarter than us. "We should be far enough out now." Giving no more warning than that, using the hands still gripping my arms, he spun me towards the chain link fence so he was behind me.

Instantly I began to shake my head. "Oh, no, no, no, we can't do that here," I hissed hurriedly.

Yet Seth just scoffed behind me. "Keep it in your pants, Rebel," he teased me, sounding way too amused by my reaction. And then I felt the tug of the zipper on my backpack before he reached inside it.

I frowned at that, it wasn't like I kept anything interesting on me. It was a bit of a mess so I could never be a hundred percent sure what was there, except that my wallet and song books were always at the ready. What did he need in there? Then I heard him zip it back up neatly and spun around to face him.

That's when I saw him holding the award he'd accepted last week when we'd flown out to California for the Grammys. Even in the dim lighting I could make out the words on the plaque: Best Rock Album – Sons of Silence, NSR. Seth had it gripped in his one hand while the other ran through his hair, his expression twisted up for only a moment. Then he looked up at me, dimple flashing as he smiled, and lobbed the award into the darkness of the East River.

"What the fuck?" I asked loudly, the words reverberating around us as I spun around. Grabbing the chain link fence, I tried to peer over to see if I could see the splash but I couldn't make out anything. "That was a goddamn Grammy Seth! What is wrong with you? You've never won one of those before and you throw it into the river? Oh my –"

I probably could've ranted for hours, but I was cut short when Seth once again reached out and spun me towards him. But this time he didn't bother to explain. Instead his hands went to cup my neck and he kissed me soundly.

In my surprise I didn't have time to shove him away, and I reacted the way I always did when Seth kissed me, I melted against him. My hands went to grip his elbows as his lips moved against mine, subtly pushing forwards until my back was against the fence. And when I was suitably breathless, he pulled away a fraction.

"It doesn't matter," he said simply.

"It was a Grammy," I answered weakly.

But Seth just shook his head, still smiling slightly. "Awards don't mean a fucking thing, Rebel," he said with all the sureness in the world. "They'll give them to anyone and never to the people that really deserve it."

Unable to give up completely even though he'd taken the fervour out of my argument, I shook my head slowly. "But you did deserve it."

"All that matters is being honest," he told me, thumb brushing along my jaw as his eyes searched my face. "And I was never honest in that band, never real, so I didn't deserve it. The band was cursed."

That was enough to give me back a surge of my original attitude, rolling my eyes obviously. "A curse? Give me a break; even you aren't that dramatic."

Seth just laughed loudly, answering, "Actually, I think I am, did you not see that throw?"

Not giving me a chance to reply, he pressed a kiss to my forehead and I thought I could actually feel the warmth of contentment radiating off of him and infecting me. Then he pulled back fractionally, tucking my hair behind my ears in an attempt to keep it out of my eyes and smiled broadly down at me.

I thought briefly that I would've happily lived in this moment for the rest of my life. Sure it was windy and cold and I was pretty sure it was about to rain, but how could I ever leave when he was looking at me like that?

"Whether the curse exists in my own head is up for debate," Seth began, breaking me from my terribly corny thoughts.

And I couldn't help but chime in, "I really don't think it is."

"But I needed to kill that part of me," he continued as if I'd never spoken.

"You deserved album of the year," I said, weakly still trying to get my point across, not that it mattered. The award was somewhere at the bottom of the river by now probably, or would it float? "You guys worked so hard on it, we worked so hard on it."

This time it was Seth who shook his head, looking so sure of himself as he tipped my chin up towards him. "You and I are going to do so much more."

"Colton or Marco would've taken the award," I continued, protests getting feebler by the second. It probably hurt my case that I reached up to lay my hand on his cheek. Without hesitation he moved into the touch, second nature, angling his head so he could press a kiss on the pulse point of my wrist.

Then he grinned at me roguishly. "They didn't do enough to deserve a Grammy, and they've already got countless teen choice awards."

"But what about the fish?!" I exclaimed, and Seth only burst out laughing.

"You know if you thought this was a good hiding spot, I feel pretty bad for you."

The sound of Mark's voice snapped me out of the memory, and I felt my cheeks heat up like I had really just been standing in freezing weather on the bridge. Still I gathered myself enough to send him a withering glare. "You didn't exactly find me quickly."

With a shrug, Mark just walked the last few steps towards me as he said, "I thought I'd give you time to finish your temper tantrum in private."

Despite my poor and anxious mood, I gave a laugh.

Heaving a huge sigh, he collapsed next to me on the wall, even going so far as to unbutton his suit jacket so he could slouch properly. "I think I'm the one that deserves an award for dealing with all the egos," he informed me. "Between you, Seth, and Maureen, I'm shocked I haven't already died of an aneurysm."

"You do deserve an award," I replied, giving him an affectionate nudge of my elbow with a slight smile. All the while decidedly ignoring the last thing he'd said.

"I have to admit I was worried."

When he didn't elaborate, I raised my eyebrows at him and asked, "About?"

"Not sending you something to wear," he replied, a playful glint to his eyes. "I thought you might show up in only a concert shirt four sizes too big. You actually picked out a suitable outfit."

"I'm glad to know that in my almost twenty seven years on earth that I've finally managed to get the hang of dressing myself," I said snarkily. I glanced down at myself, taking in for a moment the black dress I had on underneath my leather jacket that was too big, I even stuck out a boot clad foot, looking at the black tights that had a neat line up the back of my legs. Then I glanced back at Mark. "I would rather be wearing the concert tee, though."

Mark grinned at me before leaning his head back against the wall. "You know they're taking bets on when you're going to come out. Seth thinks you've just fucked off because you don't want to give him the award."

"He said that in front of my dad?"

"Would that really be so surprising?" Mark asked in return, opening an eye to peer at me. "But no, he didn't, he said it pretty quietly to me when your father was talking to Linda."

"Good, he doesn't exactly need another reason to make my dad hate him." While I spoke I looked back down at the toe of my boots, absent mindedly chewing on my lip. I could feel Mark's eyes burning into me but I stubbornly refused to look at him until it got ridiculous, like I was about to get burn wounds from his gaze. "What?"

Despite my defensiveness, I found him watching me with an almost sad sort of thoughtfulness, and it didn't change at my tone. "You know I've got a seat for you at every table," Mark said, pointedly not pressing too hard. "You can sit with Nick or with the boys; you could even sit with Maureen and Robert. Not that I recommend the last option. Your dad said he'd go wherever you go."

"That's not what I was stressing about," I let him know as I tapped a toe into the concrete. "But thanks for giving me another thing to add onto the list."

Mark was only quiet for a second before pressing, "So?"

Normally I would've rolled my eyes at how demanding he sounded, but it felt as if most of the air had been sapped from my lungs and I only had the energy for the most minimal of conversations. Instead I just leaned my cheek against the wall and met his eyes before answering, "I think I was stupid for not picking a song and writing a speech."

"I could've told you that," Mark snapped back so quickly I didn't even get the chance to blink. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I did about a billion times."

However my lips just twitched slightly, the most half hearted attempt at a smile. "I know."

My lack of response had him frowning back at me, sensing that something was far more wrong than he'd originally thought. "So you're worried about picking a song, that's why you're hiding back here?"

"I'm not hiding," I replied with a bit of an edge. The small amount of vigour in my voice seemed to reassure him and Mark just raised his eyebrows in a clear, if silent, challenge. With a groan, I thumped the back of my head against the wall in frustration, squeezing my eyes shut. "I've thought of a thousand songs I could play, and it's not like I have nothing to say about Seth. But with all those people out there watching? I don't know I can be honest and not hurt anyone."

"You're not going to hurt anyone, Keely," Mark murmured.

Not amused by his answer, I opened my eyes to look at him flatly, and he couldn't help but grimace. It was a stupid thing to say. We both knew if I could hurt someone if I just breathed wrong these days.

"I can't say anything bad about him," I started, rubbing my temples where the headache was showing no signs of receding. "You already told me that this was supposed to help repair our relationship in the eyes of the press, not to mention all his family in the entire world is here. The only conversation we've had in the last week was an argument, and I'm supposed to go up there and say what I feel? I can't go up there and say anything bad with them here, and more to the point, I don't really want to say anything bad about him. Yet if I go too far talking about how much he's meant to me, how will that make Nick feel? What about my dad? I don't even really understand where he stands in this mess."

Mark hesitated in answering, clearly pondering his answer as he watched me with his lips pressed into a line. Then he said, "If you want to be completely honest, you're probably going to hurt someone, I won't lie to you. But, you know, you also don't have to be. All you have to do is walk out there, play a song, say the award is for Seth and hand it to him."

My lips curved up into a smile, but it was small and far from my eyes, and I answered, "What's the point of me if I can't even be honest when it comes to music?"

"You're more than just music Keely," he said, a frown beginning to cut deeply into his face.

The conversation didn't particularly comfort me, but I hadn't been looking for comfort when I'd started to speak. So I just made a disbelieving noise in the back of my throat instead of answering. All I'd wanted was to say the thoughts aloud that had been rushing around my head, make them concrete in the world, and have them be understood. And that was exactly what Mark had given me. I didn't know when he'd become the person that always knew what to do these days.

Not feeling the need to add anything, I just rested my cheek on his shoulder, and we lapsed into a troubled yet somehow sympathetic quiet. All the while we could hear the phantom voices echoing away from the stage.

Then, without warning, Mark straightened. It knocked my head away and successfully ruined the moment we were having.

"I know what to do," Mark muttered, not bothering to look at me.

And just like that he left.

I was taken aback to say the least, I'd thought we'd come to some sort of deeper understanding of each other there. But maybe that had been in my own head? Whatever it had been, I was left back on my own again.

However I wasn't left to stew long, because before I knew it, Mark was charging back down the aisle way towards me once again. This time he didn't come empty handed. In his left hand he carried one of the acoustic guitars that had been on the stage for yesterday's sound check, his grip was white knuckled around its neck and I found myself concerned that he was going to manage to yank it out of tune. And his other hand was tucked into the breast of his suit, rummaging around for something.

Mark came to a stop in front of me, frowning without making eye contact as he continued to search his coat. Then his expression smoothed and he breathed a triumphant, "Aha," before presenting me with a flask.

My eyebrows shot upwards on their own accord.

"I thought it best to be prepared," Mark explained at my shocked expression and pressed the flask into my hand.

Cautiously I retrieved it from him, almost like I was expecting it to be a trick. I didn't twist open the cap, preferring to stare at him as if he'd grown a second head. "You're the one always telling me not to drink before shows, especially ones that are televised."

"I thought you might need it tonight," he said with a shrug. Then he nodded to the drink in my hand. "Go on, just to take the edge off a bit."

Although I still felt as if he might be tricking me – this all seemed way too out of character for both of us – I untwisted the cap and took a large swig. Then promptly gagged. I knew it was nice whiskey, I had enough of a palate by now and Mark had nothing but perfect taste, but it was definitely a sipping whiskey, not the type to shoot. It burnt as it travelled down my throat. Yet I only waited a beat before doing it all over again, though this time I took a far more cautious sip, giving myself a chance to actually enjoy it.

When I held the flask back out to him, Mark agreeably took it and handed the guitar to me instead. "You've managed to avoid almost the whole award show," he informed me as he took a more sedate sip of the whiskey, "They're going to start the Artist of the Decade segment in like ten minutes."

I didn't hesitate when I got the guitar in my hands, slipping the worn strap over my head naturally before shoving the sleeves of my leather jacket up to my elbows. All I had to do was play one quick chord to find that he'd pulled it out of tune. Quietly going about the business of tuning the guitar, I looked up at him and said, "So you bringing me a drink was your polite way of saying I need to get warmed up?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt," Mark answered, smartly taking another small sip. "And if it helps you choose a song before you're in front of a crowd, all the better."

Even though I knew it was a good idea on his part, I couldn't help but roll my eyes, a snippet of attitude that had my manager grinning back at me. Without any further complaint, I finished tuning the guitar before beginning to play chords at random, hoping something would jump out at me.

It was like I thought the song might just present itself. Fully formed ideas and inspirations did have a habit of falling out of the air to me when it came to music, but it wasn't something that was coming easily to me when it came to this song. I'd been trying this for the past two weeks. All the momentum that had been going into writing my next album had halted because I couldn't figure out an appropriate song to play tonight.

So I just started to sing any song that popped into my head. "If I asked you, do you wanna die? You'd probably just lie and say nah-nah-no. And if you asked me do I feel sick, I'd probably try to trick you and say how I wish I did. I'd probably try to trick you and say how I wish I did," I sang in a pretty, flowing voice as I stared down, watching my hand strum the guitar. "And that's how I know that it's starting up again. Put your pedal to the metal and break my arms. Or you can break my legs if you want me to stay. But underneath the covers I don't care about anything."

Feeling more confident as I moved further into the song, I let my hand get steadily stronger on the strings as I played, raising my gaze. "But, hey, I would sit on your birthday cake. I'll take what I can take and can get what you get. 'Cause it your party, treat me how you want. Your mother and your aunt don't care for me anyway. No, your mother and your aunt don't care for me anyway."

While I sang Mark took a much larger swig from the flask.

"But I never thought it would happen to me," I sang, voice getting stronger in the face of my manager staring back at me. "You cut my hair off in my sleep and put it in the kitchen sink. I never thought it would happen to me. Well you treat me like a little toy and make me do a dance."

My gaze fell back to the guitar as the song fell away to an instrumental moment, and though it was only my voice and an acoustic guitar, in my head I could hear the whole band behind me. I wasn't even hearing Slothrust; I was hearing it as if my band was playing behind me. Seth taking over the lead guitar in his own unique way, Jake's throbbing bass there to keep us level, and Will playing way too loud than was ever appropriate.

"If you want to we can make a pact. But it will be an act. It doesn't mean anything. Tie me with balloon strings to the floor. I don't care anymore; you can do what you want. No, I don't care anymore; you can do what you want."

Mark just shook his head surely.

"What?" I asked, only slightly breathless. "It fits."

"That song would hurt everyone in the crowd," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I mean, you can play it, but that would take care of Seth and Nick, not to mention you'd even be calling out his mother. And your dad. It's a no."

Although I could see the wisdom in his words, I heaved a great sigh as if I was annoyed, and jumped into the next song that came to mind. "He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody. Doesn't have a point of view, knows not where he's going to. Isn't he a bit like you and me?"

This time he didn't give me the chance to finish the song, piping up, "That's just rude!"

"He used to refer to himself as the nowhere man," I argued without stopping playing. Once again I knew he was right though, only disagreeing for the sake of it. So I quickly swapped songs, feeling a bit more confident with Mark here as a second set of ears to keep me in check.

"I'm all lost in the supermarket. I can no longer shop happily. I came in here for a special offer, guaranteed personality. I wasn't born so much as I fell out, nobody seemed to notice me. We had a hedge back home in the suburb, over which I never could see. I heard the people that lived on the ceiling, scream and fight most scarily. Hearing that noise was my first ever feeling, that's how it's been all around me."

"Isn't that just about you?"

Without a comment, I jumped to another song. "Thrown like a star in my vast sleep, I opened my eyes to take a peek, to find that I was by the sea, gazing with tranquility. 'Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man came singing songs of love."

Again Mark shook his head. "I can see calling Seth the Hurdy Gurdy Man, but all I can think of is the zodiac killer and it's creepy."

I had to admit that was a good point, so I switched it up again, feeling like this was almost a game. Seth and I used to do something similar years ago, throwing random songs at one another until one of got stumped – it was usually me. "You've been scared of love and what it did to you. You don't have to run; I know what you've been through. Just a simple touch and it can set you free; we don't have to rush when you're alone with me."

"Doesn't quite fit you," he returned.

"I fucking love that song," I retorted in a sure voice. Still I dropped my hand from the guitar, pushing the hair away from my face so I could meet Mark's gaze. Before I could say anything, another cheer rang out from the stage, and faintly we could hear the first of the acts to play a song for Seth being introduced.

We grimaced at each other, and I sighed before saying, "Times up, I guess."

For a moment it looked as if Mark was struggling with finding the words to comfort me, but then he gave up, shoulders slumping. And in a move that was far more comforting than words could have ever been, he just handed me the flask again. I took another long drink, noting that it barely burned anymore.

Together we made our way toward the immediate backstage, listening to James Ankler grudgingly play a song by The Spares that had actually been written by me. It made me wonder if he actually had a clue or not. Maybe he was just annoyed at having lost and the only way he could get the emotion out in the real world without looking like a bitter loser was by playing a song not written by Seth.

I still thought he was a bitter loser, though, and I intended on saying just that if I was asked.

When we got back into the zone of the velvet curtains, the next act was already on stage, playing a far more appropriate song for the moment. It was one from the last NSR album, and I felt a twist in my chest that I knew to be a sorry sort of nostalgia as I listened to the woman's haunting voice sing the words about Seth feeling lost within himself and the city at such a young age.

Before I could say a word, I was set upon, and I was so used to this behaviour at anything televised that I barely jolted. My make up was touched up as they tutted, wondering aloud about what a terrible job my makeup artist had done. Throughout it all Mark just smirked broadly in the background.

Then a girl who looked barely out of high school gasped at me. "I love your outfit," she started, and I found myself pleasantly surprised as she gazed up at to me with earnest eyes. "That greasy seventies punk look really works for you."

My jaw dropped and Mark had to hide his face in his hands to muffle his laughter.

The dour mood that settled upon me lifted marginally at seeing my manager trying to stifle his laughs, but the grin that appeared on my mouth was short lived to say the least. The girl had been nothing but a fleeting distraction from the task at hand that I was no way prepared for. I was still standing next to the stage I was about to walk out onto, being broadcasted all over the world, to give Seth an award. And I still had no fucking clue.

"I don't know what I should do," I admitted to Mark.

The light hearted moment from before suddenly felt like lifetimes ago as we looked across to one another as a voice echoed around us, "And now, here to present the lifetime achievement award, Keely Staub!"

Mark was wearing a very sombre expression on his face as the award in question was pressed physically into my hands, but I didn't dare look at it, instead opting to hold my gaze with him as if it was the only thing keeping me upright. All I knew was that it felt cold and foreign in my suddenly very clammy hands. And Mark looked right back at me as the applause swelled from the audience just out of sight.

"I can't tell you what to do," he said.

Without missing a beat, I retorted, "You usually do."

"And you usually ignore it," Mark replied, just as quickly. "But more to the point, I don't want to tell you what to do. Just go out there and say whatever you need to say, we'll deal with the consequences later. I don't care."

I couldn't help but pause before I asked disbelieving, "You don't care?"

"I don't," he said surely, "I don't care about anyone who isn't you right now."

The declaration was enough to actually distract me, and I stood frozen, the applause beginning to peter out in the confusion over my non appearance. And still I just stood there, feet firmly planted in place.

Well, until Mark stepped forward and gave me a rude shove as he hissed, "But you still need to get out there already!"

Apparently I just needed the jump start, stumbling onto the stage, gaining control of my own feet just in time for the spotlight to fasten down on me. I already felt way too hot. At the sight of me, the crowd once again broke into applause and raucous cheers. I couldn't help but wonder if the relieved hint to the noise was only in my own head.

Without bothering to address the audience in any way, I let my eyes shift to the line of guitars that Mark had made sure were all laid out. I had my choice of almost any guitar I could dream of and yet my mind was empty. All the songs I'd ever had carefully catalogued in my mind had been wiped clean. Thankfully I remembered that I still had the acoustic guitar strapped to me, avoiding any embarrassing moments. I was sure Mark would want to murder me for picking the only guitar he hadn't made sure was on the stage, but I decided quickly to stay with the one I already had on my person. I'd already tuned it and everything.

So I instead walked up to the microphone at the point of the stage, all the faces in the crowd beyond a blur to me as I started thinking about bands at random. Joy Division? But they were the sort of band I'd only want to cover with my band beside me. Foo Fighters? All the sudden I couldn't remember a single song they'd ever made.

Still I didn't address the crowd as I stopped at the microphone stand, opting to place the award blindly onto the amp before crouching down to pick up the cable, plugging it into the acoustic surely. That might be the only thing I was sure I knew how to do anymore.

What about The Killers? I could do Read My Mind, except for the fact I didn't know how to play it on an acoustic and the only times I'd ever played it was with Seth and a full band.

Knowing that I'd officially run out of time, I stood up and squared my shoulders, prepared to face the music.

The crowd in front of me was exceptionally silent, what felt like thousands of faces were staring up at me expectantly, even though I knew it was only a couple hundred. I'd played crowds quadruple this size while high and shit faced and never thought twice about it. But this was different, these people weren't here for a rock show, they wanted to hear what I had to say and were waiting on every word.

In fact it was so quiet I thought no one was breathing.

I didn't even know if I was anymore.

That silence drew out for a second longer as I stared right back at them, all the faces blurring together. My heart beat was pulsing in my finger tips that were rested against the guitar. It was so quiet that I thought the amp might pick up the beat. My eyes finally focused, finding Seth right at the front of the crowd at the table with our families. And he was stared back at me, a cigarette forgotten between his fingers, his dark hair sticking up at the front. For a moment I just watched as the smoke reached up and curled around him, a protective barrier between him and everyone else. And then he reached up, raking his hand through his hair, a tell of his that I knew only too well meant that he was anxious.

Then I smiled a little half smile and it felt as if the whole theatre heaved a collective sigh of relief, and I let my eyes shift away from him to look at them as a whole again.

Straightening my guitar strap over my shoulder, I gave an exaggerated shrug before I leaned into the microphone stand before me. "It's weird, I know," I informed them and the audience agreeably laughed, the tension in the room melting away. "Not only do they have us losers playing all his songs, but the ex is here to present the actual award? So awkward."

There was a titter of laughter that travelled through the audience.

Still wearing that half smile, I let my eyes skim over the unfamiliar faces in the back of the theatre and I exhaled deeply as I let my hands settle over the guitar naturally now. The spotlight on me felt like it was softening, but that might be the eyes on me. I had no idea what I was supposed to say, where I was supposed to go, so I guessed I could only start at the beginning. "I met Seth Ryan when I was eighteen," I began.

My fingers began to pick away at the chords on the guitar absentmindedly as I spoke, and in the back of my mind I considered Arcade Fire. But I would need practice to do one of their songs on my own acoustically, and I didn't think I could do them justice on a whim.

"He was on the first people I met on my first day in town," I told them, mind drifting along between memories of restaurants and a young face with ancient eyes as I thought about Van Morrison, but quickly decided I needed time to pull that off. "I was a small town girl from the west coast way too excited about being in New York with so many ideas, and completely in over my head with all these empty promises about being a rock star. No wonder he hated me so much."

The crowd roared out laughter.

"You guys can laugh all you want, but it's true," I told them, my fingers pausing on the strings so I could speak imploringly. "I wasn't particularly fond of him either. As anyone who met him at that time can attest, he came off as a right arrogant jerk. I thought he was a good for nothing pop star with an out of control ego."

Now my fingers began to strum again as if they had a mind of their own while I spoke, and I couldn't help that I could see that studio from all the way back then clearer than the people in front of me.

"I was right about his ego," I said with a rueful smile, "But I really had no clue who I was dealing with. Rock music had felt so tame to me for so long, and the last person I would've guessed would make it feel dangerous and real again was some teen pop star with a bad attitude. The thing was that none of us knew who Seth Ryan was back then. And I don't think anyone would have believed that all these years later I would be standing here giving him an award for artist of the decade."

As I spoke all I could think about were the words that were popping onto my tongue and focusing not on getting whisked away into the memories that were threatening. It was like looking through a sheer curtain. I could see a crooked smile and dimples in a dark studio, but the image was fuzzy, the shade of gold not quite what I remembered. I forgot to think about bands or any anxieties about what song I was going to play.

"I don't believe there is another person in this crowd – maybe even in the world – that deserves this award more," I admitted, fingers strumming away absently. "I hate to say it because of that aforementioned out of control ego, but Seth is a genius. I don't know if there's anyone on his level. I spent literal years in awe of his talent, even though I wasn't likely to tell him that. He is the reason rock music is exciting again, Sons of Silence gave new blood to a dying genre of music and all those albums he produced around that time, not to mention the artists he helped along the way. I should know since I was one of them."

Unable to help myself, I let my eyes shift away from the blur of the crowd and let them fall on the table UAE had along the front of the crowd. Maureen Jones met my look head on. "A lot of people would like to take credit in saying they made me and my career," I continued, holding her gaze stonily. "But really the only person besides me that deserves credit is Seth. If he hadn't helped me write those songs and produced every moment on that album, and I couldn't imagine what it would sound like without him. This city easily would've chewed me up and spat me out if he hadn't been the one looking out for me."

Purposefully I dragged my eyes away from Maureen, opting instead to focus unseeingly in the middle of the crowd, full of unknown faces looking back at me. It allowed me a short moment to get my emotions in check under the burning light focused down on me. At least I'd caught myself before my voice began to shake. I hauled in a deep breath, trying to get control and wondered just how closely the camera was focused on me.

Playing music was all these emotional undertones was second nature to me by then, I'd always been able to convey feeling honestly through music, but simply speaking was another thing entirely. The only way I was going to make it through this candidly and without being overcome by the nostalgia and the bittersweet sensation of looking at all the people I'd loved throughout the years was if I looked at people I didn't know. That's how I would get through this. It was always somehow easier to be truthful with strangers.

"After making that album, we spent four years together as a band and we made exactly the type of music we wanted to make. He was never going to compromise again." I couldn't help but pause, thinking about how after NSR had broke up Seth had refused to let anyone tell him what to do when it came to music, even me. And somehow we'd still been manipulated. "It wasn't always easy, but I don't think anything that's really worth it is. And all the bad things that happened, it was still worth it. Seth Ryan taught me everything I know, and I wouldn't be half the musician without him.

"But you can set everything I just said aside," I said, voice getting a little more forceful as my eyes focused again, "Forget everything about what a brilliant musician and producer he is. I wouldn't be standing up on this stage for another soul. Seth Ryan is my oldest and best friend, and I do believe he's the artist of the decade."

Feeling as if I'd just spoken myself into the only natural conclusion to that speech, I stepped half a step back, rocking onto my heel so I came away from the microphone stand. Surprisingly I didn't panic about what song I needed to play – my fingers had already found the chords.

All the sudden it just made sense.

"Sittin' on my own, chewin' on a bone, a thousand million miles from home," I sang in a voice that was gentle, but startlingly sure. "When something hit me, somewhere right between the eyes. Sleeping on a plane, you know you can't complain. You took your last chance once again. I landed, stranded, hardly even knew your name."

Finally I allowed my eyes to drift upwards, finding Seth's without even trying, and I found him with his lips pressed together tightly. I knew after the week of silence and the fight yesterday this would probably feel like an emotional burden to him, but what else was I supposed to do? He'd always told me that the only thing that really mattered was being honest. And I was finally being honest with him, even if it was in front of a crowd of people.

"But I wanna talk tonight, until the morning light, 'bout how you saved my life. You and me see how we are, you and me see how we are."

My eyes never even moved from his as I sang, completely opposed to how I'd behaved during the speech. The speech had been a statement, to Maureen, to him, and to all those people who thought I would always been more loyal to a record company than my friends. But the song? The songs I played were always meant for him.

"All your dreams are made of strawberry lemonade. And you make sure I eat today. You take me walking, to where you played when you were young. I'll never say I won't ever make you cry, and this I'll say I don't know why," I sang with an emotional force pushing my voice beyond the regular constraints of the song. There was sad tinge to my voice as I continued, "I know I'm leaving, but I'll be back another day.

"I wanna talk tonight, until the morning light, 'bout how you saved my life. I wanna talk tonight, 'bout how you saved my life."

While I got towards the end of the song, Seth abruptly reached forward, stubbing out his dwindling cigarette in the ashtray before him and shoved up from his seat. It was with all my years of practice that I didn't waver as I sang, "I wanna talk tonight, I wanna talk tonight, 'bout how you saved my life."

I thought he was going to copy my behaviour from before the show, turn around and walk straight away where he could be alone. It would be far more dramatic since all the cameras would be on him, and I was going to be left looking like a fool. All those thoughts I'd laid bare in front of everyone only to be left hanging in the wind. Even as my throat felt like it was going ashy over the words in the song, I promised myself it was worth it, to tell the truth was going to be worth consequences, just like Mark had said.

So I didn't hesitate to continue singing, "I wanna talk tonight, I wanna talk tonight, I wanna talk tonight."

With my eyes trained upon him, I realized I'd been wrong, he wasn't taking off. Instead he'd jumped his cue and was already heading up to the stage. Now my throat felt dry for a whole different reason.

My voice softened on the lyrics as I watched him cut a path towards the stage. "I wanna talk tonight; you and me see how we are. You and me see how we are."

I cut off the song almost too sharply, hitting that last chord in a hurried gesture before I swung the guitar around to my back and unplugged it in a smooth motion. Seth was almost at the stairs and I knew that I didn't want to be anywhere near a microphone that could amplify my voice anymore.

Almost without thinking, I grabbed the award, still without looking at it, from the amp before I spun around to hurry towards the side of the stage.

Seth had one more steps to get onto the stage when I met him, putting us at eye level for once, and I didn't hesitate before throwing my arms around his neck. I wasn't sure whether I didn't think about the crowd that were watching our every move, or if I simply didn't care – I didn't even really think about it. He was frozen under my clutches for a split second, shocked into stillness, but then he returned the motion tenfold. One of his arms slipped beneath the guitar strapped to my back, crushing me against him while his other hand skimmed up the back of my neck and into my hair where he gripped tightly. My eyes closed shut as I focused on trying to breathe through the weight constricting my chest.

I could feel the burn of the spotlight that had followed me across the stage, my skin almost clammy beneath it and the thick leather jacket I still wore, but I just hugged him tighter. My one hand gripped the award in my sweaty palm behind his head, but it had been long forgotten by then.

The speakers exploded with The Spares' song I'll Promise You from behind us. I only noticed that because those songs were etched in my bones by now, because I barely heard it. The noise from the crowd was vibrating against my skin. Yet I didn't hear it beneath the rapid beating of my heart in my ears and a song Seth and I had written together that promised we would stay together even when he left me only a few months after we wrote it.

Even though I could pretend we didn't have an audience with my eyes shut, I wasn't a complete fool, so I tipped my chin upwards, just fractionally, so my lips neared his ear. "I got scared," I admitted in a whisper that I could barely hear, "So I lashed out. And I know that's not fair, but it's the truth. I don't want you to go."

Seth's right hand clenched in my leather jacket, pulling it tight on my shoulders, but I shook my head just slightly enough for him to feel it. He obligingly kept silent, letting me continue before he could respond.

"I won't ask you to stay though," I told him in a firm voice. "I can't, don't you get it? I think all those things you said were true. What has New York ever done for you?"

"New York gave me you," Seth replied hoarsely in my ear.

Right then I was all the more grateful I already had my eyes squeezed shut because I was sure they would've gotten teary at that. "It's not enough," I said, voice cracking in the whisper. "I couldn't live with myself if you only stayed because I asked. That's not fair to either of us. Please don't ask me again."

"Okay," he murmured.

Over the speakers the younger versions of ourselves were singing about promises that had been made and shattered, and about the newest one that they were sure would remain unbroken. It only felt fitting to hear it. And I wondered if Seth understood how ironic it was for us to be sharing these words with the song in the background.

Knowing that we'd already long passed the usual time limit for even emotional congratulations, I began to pull away. For a second I thought he wasn't going to let me go, his grip tight, but that only lasted a mere moment before he loosened his hold on me.. A sigh left my lips as I pulled my shoulders back, but I didn't let go of him completely, and neither did he. The arm that had been around my back slipped so his hand could grab my waist, and the hand that had been fisted in my hair slipping down over my shoulder before grabbing the hem of my leather jacket, the material clenched in his grip. My eyes searched over his shoulder, taking advantage of the moment so I could see what I should do.

I could see the tables plainly right past him, although we were further away now we were at the side of the stage. The empty seats might as well have had a neon sign pointing to them. My stomach clenched in indecision.

There was the one at Fly Way's table, and of course it was right beside Nick, and I could see him staring straight at where Seth and I stood. There was no way to make out his expression clearly from the distance, but I got the feeling he hadn't blinked in a while. Then there was of course the seat at the label table. The empty chair was pushed right between Maureen and Robert – I would have willingly sat on the floor before I took that one. And, of course, there were two empty chairs at the table with my band and father.

"Not to rush you, but this has been going on a while," Seth pointed out, a hint of humour in his voice, "And I think I'm supposed to play a set."

My eyes flashed back to him, and I found him wearing that crooked grin that I'd been thinking of while I'd spoke to the crowd. I felt a warm rush fill my lungs, allowing me to forget just for a moment how every breath and step I took was going to be analyzed.

I let my hands slip off from his shoulders, and said, "I was trying to decide where I belong."

Right when my hands were about to lose contact with him, Seth let go of me in order to grab my free hand in his. I couldn't help the way my eyes broadened in surprise. He didn't gloat in taking me unawares; instead he eyed me earnestly and just said, "Stay here."

"What?" I asked quickly, almost unsure. Yet I didn't make a move to pull my hand from his, just stood, staring right across at him.

"Don't go anywhere," he said quickly, giving my hand one last squeeze before dropping the contact altogether. "Just stay here."

"Okay," I agreed. It was almost alarming how quickly I went along with him.

Somehow his smile got bigger at that, and that dimple I almost never saw even the shadow of these days flashed broadly. He held out an open hand to me.

"Oh," I breathed, quickly moving to grab pull the guitar strap over my head.

I pressed the acoustic into his hand, and Seth gripped it helpfully, but he shook head. "That's actually not what I meant, Rebel."

For a moment I stared at him in confusion. He held out his other hand out to me, wearing a pointed expression as he nodded down to my hands that had dropped to my side. And only then did I remember that I was holding his award. I looked at it for the first time. It was an ugly crystal looking thing, and I thought I could see his name etched onto the face of it.

"Fuck," I muttered, embarrassed as I shoved it into his chest unceremoniously. The whole goddamn point of this thing and I'd messed that up. "Sorry, I forgot."

The admission just looked like it pleased Seth, the dimple reappearing in his cheek. Now with an award in one hand and the acoustic guitar in the other, he finally took that last step onto the stage, brushing past me. "Just stay here," he repeated.

Like there was anywhere else I was about to go, I thought sarcastically. Instead of saying it, I just nodded earnestly before he walked away.

Seth paused before the row of guitars, but after a second he stepped passed them towards the upright piano that was stashed almost at the very back of the stage. I was pretty sure Mark had brought it out just to make the point that he'd thought of everything. No one expected us to actually play it. Still Seth leaned the acoustic guitar up against it, and only then did he look down at the award.

For a split second he stood there, everyone in the crowd that now included me held their breath as he stared down at the tacky thing. Then he shrugged and dropped it on the top of the piano.

Stepping behind the keys, he pushed the bench in further, not bothering with sitting down. He never looked at the audience once. And we were all watching him rapturously as he adjusted the microphone stand so he could use it comfortably standing with his knees just slightly bent. The tension running through the theatre felt like a livewire, and it just kept thickening with every moment he didn't address them.

Without ever saying a word, Seth began to play an all too familiar bar on the piano, and I felt a reluctant smile tug on the corner of my lips.

"That's how it starts. We go back to your house. We check the charts. And start to figure it out," Seth sang into the microphone. His eyes were watching his hands, never gracing his elated audience a glance. "And if it's crowded all the better. Because we know we're gonna up late. But if you're worried about the weather, then you picked the wrong place to stay. That's how it starts."

He was moving with the song, foot tapping and moving into the piano as he played. I couldn't help but marvel at how he could create such a sound. Those old upright pianos were always the loudest, but somehow Seth drew out another level to it. It showed just his level of prowess on the instrument that I didn't notice the lack of the other instrumentation in the song; too busy drinking in the performance in front of me to care.

"And so it starts. You switch the engine on. We set controls to the heart of the sun. One of the ways that we show our age. And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up. And I still don't want to stagger home. Then it's the memory of our betters, that's keeping us on our feet," Seth sang, moving more to the tempo and then he finally looked up. He looked up to look directly at me for a long moment. "You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan, then the next five years trying to be your friends again."

He pulled his gaze away from mine, lips brushing the mic as he looked out at the crowd. And just the merest hint of attention had them screaming in excitement. I couldn't help but laugh incredulously at the sound.

"Oh, you're talking forty five turns just as fast as you can. Yeah, I know it gets tired, but it's better when we pretend." Seth flashed the crowd a hint of a smile before turning his attention back to where his hands were racing over the piano keys. And the noise they made was absolutely deafening.

It was surreal to watch him accept an award with this song and get such a guttural reaction from the crowd he barely paid attention to.

"It comes apart, the way it does in bad films. Except the part where the moral kicks in. And when we're running out of the drugs, and the conversations grinding away," he sang. Once again he looked up, meeting my eyes specifically before the next line. "I wouldn't trade one stupid decision, for another five years of life."

This time when he looked at the crowd it was with a focus that left them breathless. "You drop the first ten years just as fast as you can, and the next ten people who are trying to be polite. When you're blowing eighty five days in the middle of France, yeah, I know it gets tired, but where are you friends tonight?

The song didn't let up, and neither did he, but that grin came back as he found that table full of his family. "And to tell the truth, this could be the last time. So here we go, like a sales force into the night. And if I made a fool, if I made a fool," he sang, fingers absolutely pounding the keys as he turned his attention back to me full force. "If I made a fool on the road, there's always this. And if I'm sued into submission, I can still come home to this."

The smile I sent him at those lyrics must've been blinding because he responded in kind before he turning back to his actual audience. "And with a face like a dad and a laughable stand, you can sleep on the plane or review what you said. When you're drunk and the kids look impossibly tanned, you think over and over, 'Hey, I'm finally dead'."

The song was building and building, I could feel the tension growing in my chest as it always did in this song when I wondered how on earth they could keep it up. And of course Seth wasn't one to drop the ball, his voice growing more frenzied as he looked back down at the keys in front of him. "Oh if the trip and the plan come apart in your hand, you can turn on yourself, you ridiculous clown. You forgot what you meant when you read what you said. And you always knew you were tired, but then where are your friends tonight?"

His eyes shot to the table full of friends just in front of the stage as he fervently barrelled to the end of the song. "Where are your friends tonight? Where are your friends tonight? If I could see all my friends tonight. If I could see all my friends tonight. If I could see all my friends tonight."

Seth turned his gaze to me right before the very last line of the song. "If I could see all my friends tonight," he sang, finishing the song with one last ardent smash of the keys.

Only then did I realize my heart had been racing along with the song. And I felt as shattered as the tension that he'd easily managed to maintain throughout the song, only to throw it at the ground at the very end. Maybe everyone in the crowd was just shards now. Well, except for Seth, who despite the arduous song didn't even appear out of breath.

The sound of the crowd was absolutely thunderous, but Seth looked rather unconcerned about the whole thing. He ran a hand through his hair, but this time it didn't look like an anxious move, instead it looked almost absent. The hair spiked up messily from the action. Then he reached up, adjusting the microphone as he straightened to his full height so he could address the audience directly for the first time.

They were still shaking from the comedown of the song, and they held onto every syllable.

"I was asked to do a three song set for this," Seth began in such a casual tone it felt like he was talking to a handful of people instead of a packed theatre. It was his words that confused me though, and I found myself frowning across the stage at him.

Almost as if he could feel the look, he flashed me a quick look and a wink. It left me flabbergasted, what in the hell was he planning? But he just turned his attention back to the crowd. "I was even graciously given permission to play my own songs for just this night and I won't even get sued for it."

His words were absolutely dripping in sarcasm, and everyone, including him, looked to Maureen's table. I was sure even the camera had zoomed in on her to gauge her reaction. Yet when everyone was watching her, I kept my eyes trained on Seth, and I could see the steeliness of his expression. He took a long pause, letting the moment hang dangerously before he continued.

"But there's always a catch," he explained, his gaze softening when he pulled it away from our old manger. "I can only play my own songs if I do them on my own, and I don't know if you guys know this, but I've never been much of a solo artist. I never could quite cut it unless I was in a band."

As he spoke his eyes fell onto the table filled with members of both his bands, then his gaze flickered over to me.

"I've been a band," he said firmly, "I'm better in one. And I'd rather play someone else's songs with my friends then play my own without them."

With that, Seth took half a step back from his microphone, digging in the pocket of his jacket. When moments paused and he still didn't elaborate, choosing instead to pull out his pack of smokes, there was a confused smattering of applause in the theatre. I couldn't help but agree with the bewildered sentiment of the people in the crowd. It was a nice point to make, but was that it?

He just tapped out a single cigarette, tossing the pack onto the top of the piano. And I couldn't help but wonder if he was just going to smoke until his time ran up? As if to answer my thoughts, he lit the smoke, eyes flicking up to meet mine over the flame of his lighter.

As he inhaled deeply, hand dropping down to tuck away the lighter, he raised his eyebrows expectantly at me.

I just mouthed the word 'What?' to him across the stage.

Before Seth could make a move, my question was answered when Will and Jake came bounding up on the stage in front of me. I'd been so focused on watching Seth that I hadn't even thought to glance out to them when he was talking about the band.

My brow was furrowed deeply as I watched them walk confidently across the stage. Had he already talked to them and not me? I knew we hadn't really had the chance to discuss plans for the night with the whole not speaking for weeks, but it seemed like everyone else knew what was happening. Yet despite the uncertainty, I did know that my band mates were settling in at their points of the stage, and even if I knew nothing else, I knew what that meant.

So with my arms crossed in front of my chest, I followed them across the stage, though I moved far slower.

Seth stepped out from behind the piano, heading straight for the guitars that were still sitting neatly in their stands, having been largely ignored by us so far. Once there, he paused before grabbing a Fender around the neck. He spun around to face me, holding the guitar while he took a long drag from the cigarette nestled between his thumb and forefinger.

I stopped short, leaving a space of about a foot between us.

Exhaling a lung full of smoke, Seth eyed me shrewdly before asking, "Do you trust me?"

"No," I answered honestly.

My answer had a broad grin lighting up his face, and this time I was sure there was a sheen of gold shining in his eyes. "Will you do it anyways?"

A sigh escaped me, and I answered, "Of course."

And there was that dimple in his cheek flashing again. It was gone quickly, though, because he propped the cigarette between his lips in order to swing the guitar up, grabbing the strap in a smooth motion. Then he took me aback by stepping forwards and dropped the guitar strap over my shoulders instead of his before turning away.

"Seth," I said sharply, but still not loudly to be picked up by the microphones. "Do you mind telling me what song we're doing?"

Apparently that was not a question he felt like answering, because Seth flashed me a grin and simply continued to walk away from me. If looks could kill he would've had a knife in his back. And it was with great trouble I kept myself from smiling, reminding myself that it was a jerk move. The problem was it felt so outrageously reminiscent of how we used to try and catch the other one of guard back in those clubs, playing random songs and seeing how the others would hold up.

Yet the nostalgia wasn't enough to completely placate me. We used to do that to each other at club shows, maybe to a stadium that was on the smaller size. We didn't do it when so much was on the line with how we were perceived in the media when anyone could be watching, and probably was.

As if he could feel my glare boring into his back, Seth's eyes flashed right to me when he fixed himself behind the piano. He just smiled at me again, that dimple flashing visibly despite the distance between us.

Unable to stop myself, I sent incredulous looks between Will and Jake in their respective spots on stage. It was almost as if I thought they might just shout out the song to me or be able to explain what the fuck Seth was up to with just a sideways glance across stage. However all I received were two virtually identical shrugs.

However I wasn't able to exchange too many baffled expressions with my band mates, because Seth began to speak again and my eyes flashed over to him.

"Now that we've righted that situation," he started, eyes shining brightly under the burning lights as they met mine. Right as our gazes caught, he began to play the piano before him, bending his knees slightly to accommodate standing. My ears recognized melody instantly, but he had slowed the tempo right down, beginning to repeat the bar of music as he spoke."I would like to dedicate this song to bad record contracts, drugs, and Maureen Jones."

Although I really shouldn't have been surprised, Seth had never exactly followed instructions in the first place, especially not when told to stop speaking his mind, my mouth still dropped open in shock. However the thing that truly stunned me was the noise the audience made. The cheers and applause practically caved in the walls around us.

Altogether unfazed, Seth just continued playing the piece of music, repeating himself and looking pointedly at me.

Gathering the frazzled ends of my sanity, I broke eye contact long enough to make my way up to the microphone at the point of the stage. There I dragged in a deep breath and waited for my cue.

Right before I was about to start singing, I turned my head, lips brushing the microphone in front of me so I could find Seth looking right back at me. "You could never know what it's like, your blood like winter freezes just like ice," I sang, matching the tempo he'd set with my hands resting uselessly on my guitar. We'd practiced this song before, but never at this speed.

"And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you," I continued as I turned my head back to face the audience. Without any trouble my gaze met Maureen Jones' dark look straight on. "You will end up like the wreck you hide, behind that mask you use."

Behind me Seth hit the keys with more vigour, and I could feel the tension in my stomach that told me we were building to a crescendo. My gaze turned back to him pointedly. "And did you think this fool could never win?" I was unable to stop the slightly smile that formed around the words, colouring my voice. "Well, look at me; I'm a-coming back again. I got a taste of love in a simple way."

"And if you need to know while I'm still standing, you just fade away," I sang, turning my look back to Maureen Jones where she still sat stoically. The warmth in my voice vanished while I took in her stiff shoulders and unblinking stare.

My eyes closed and I leaned into the restraints that the tempo put on me, straining against them as I moved into the next lyrics. I could hear Seth begin to harmonize with me, but I focused on delivering the words with the correct amount of sincerity. "And don't you know, I'm still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor. A-feelin' like a little kid. And I'm still standing after all this time," I sang the lyrics purposefully as my eyes flashed open and I looked down at Maureen Jones with Seth harmonizing behind me. "Picking up the pieces of my life, without you on mind."

And that's when Seth threw himself into the piano, bashing the notes out as Will and Jake picked up the cue to get involved as we raced forwards into the proper tempo of the song. I dropped back away from the stand and looked down at the guitar as I hit a pointedly hard chord for the first chord I played in the song. With Will doing his full best to drown the rest of us out with his heavy drumming and Jake's signature raw bass, I knew I'd have to do a lot to be heard, especially when Seth got behind an upright piano and started to abuse it. It sounded significantly more punk rock than Elton John, but I thought the man in question would appreciate it.

"Once I never could of hoped to win, you starting down the road leaving me again," I sang in a whole new vigour as I leaned into the harsh sound. My eyes were boring into Maureen in a way that I hoped everyone in the world could see. "The threats you made were meant to cut me down, and if our love was just a circus, you'd be a clown by now."

Dragging my eyes away from her, I turned my whole body sideways away from the crowd so I could sing directly to Seth. And he was staring just as resolutely back at me. "You know I'm still standing, better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid. I'm still standing after all this time. Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind."

The smile I was wearing probably didn't help my singing, but I couldn't find it within myself to give a fuck. So I just continued, "I'm still standing."

And the boys supplied the, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"I'm still standing," I sang, sharing a warm look with Will where he was pounding away on the drum kit as if his life depended on it. He didn't need to go quite so hard to an Elton John song, but it was Will. And the sight of him about break through his kit made my heart soar.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," they replied.

"I'm still standing," I sang. This time I looked to Jake who was looking breathless behind his own microphone, but still having the steady thud of the bass to keep us all in control.

Of course they were there to sing, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Finally I looked back to Maureen Jones, and even though there was a crowded theatre before me, I sang only to her, "I'm still standing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the three of them harmonized, backing me up.

Again I dropped back away from the microphone stand. And it was just the luck that I'd been jealous when we'd rehearsed this song that Seth got to play the guitar solo, so I'd surreptitiously committed it to memory along with him as he'd gone about learning it in the warehouse. I'd thought I was being so sneaky, but as I played it, heading towards the piano, I realized he'd known exactly what I was doing all along.

Kicking the chord that threatened to trip me up on my path across the stage, I played the piece to perfection, not missing a single moment. And I made it behind the piano with Seth just in time for the final rendition of the chorus.

This time it was my turn to look at him purposefully as I stepped into the microphone. "And don't you know," I began before he leaned in with me to sing the chorus with me. "I'm still standing, better than I ever did? A'lookin' like a true survivor, a-feelin' like a little kid. And I'm still standing after all this time. Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind."

We hit the next notes as hard as we could, and I sang solo the next line, "I'm still standing."

And Seth gave me the response, only an inch or two away by a microphone, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"I'm still standing," I returned, not moving away a fraction.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he replied.

And we finished the song just like that, a call and response across a single microphone, eyes so tightly fixed that we might've toppled over if the other looked away. It felt like a solid wall to lean against instead of just the gaze of someone else.

The song faded away into a beat of silence. Then the crowd exploded into riotous cheering, the noise buzzed in my ears and I could feel it drawing up goosebumps on my arms. It was a wonder that the whole place wasn't brought down with the sheer amount of noise. Yet I didn't spare the crowd one wayward glance.

Instead I just looked to Seth over the microphone, sweat beading on my forehead and slightly out of breath, only to find him looking right back at me. And I couldn't help the smile that bloomed over my mouth, and he smiled right back.

- I haven't done this since the JWIN days, but I didn't follow my outline for the chapter and decided instead to just make two chapters instead of one. This was going to be massive! It's already over 25,000 words and there's so much more to happen and I don't want to cut that short just to make this less of a giant. It definitely feels weird to post, like I'm giving you guys so half hearted shit but it's better than nothing right? And it felt like it was at a good ending point there.

Anyways, sorry I haven't been writing as much as I should, works been craaaazy. Plus the boyfriend and I moved apartments. We now have a fireplace! And it's two sided so it's in the "sitting area" and our bedroom, so that cat and dog are in heaven. Plus I've got nine tomato plants out in our garden that are also my babies. And let's not even get into the jalapenos and asparagus and potatoes. So yes, busy with work, pets and plant pets. Not as much time to write as I'd like, but life is pretty good over here.

Love you guys,

Kels.