The Mighty Storm

Page 19

The stadium is at a standstill.
There is a golf ball the size of Africa formed in my throat. Tears welling in my eyes, as I watch these three men who I know, one of whom I love very much, still grieving over the loss of their best friend.
I glance at Stuart beside me. His eyes look glazed. It must have been hard on him too losing Jonny. I know he works for Jake, but he would have known him too.
Feeling overcome with emotion, I press my lips together and wrap my arms around myself, then look back out to the stage. Back to Jake.
Jake lifts his head and clears his throat. “I met Jonny at high-school. I’d just moved to the States from the England, I was the new awkward British kid - a little lost and a lot lonely, and there he was. He took me under his wing and taught me to be his level of cool.” He pulls in a deep breath. “We formed TMS, with just the two of us. Then at college we met Denny through one of Jonny’s many girlfriends, and Denny introduced us to Tom, and that’s when TMS was properly born.” Another deep breath. Jake glances at Denny, then Tom. “Jonny wasn’t just our band member,” he says looking straight ahead. “And he wasn’t just our best friend … or our wing-man. He was the mighty in our storm. The man was a fuckin’ musical genius, and he was taken from us too soon. And we miss him every single fuckin’ day.”
Jake pulls his mike out from the stand and walks to the front of the stage, Tom and Denny following, as a runner hands him up three bottles of Jack.
He hands one each to Tom and Denny.
“So I want you to all raise your drinks for Jonny Creed - the best guy this world ever had the good fortune to know.” Jake raises his bottle and looks up the sky. “Jonny man, we love you and we miss you every day, and I know for sure that you’re looking down right now with a bottle in your hand, a cigarette in the other, saying, ‘Quit being a set of pussies and give these good people the show they fuckin’ paid to see!’ ”
I see Tom and Denny smiling at Jake’s words, nodding their agreement.
Jake chinks bottles with them both, and the three of them, at the same time, throw the whiskey back.
The crowd is screaming out Jonny’s name.
Men and women are openly crying in the audience. And I can’t help the tear that runs from my eye.
I quickly wipe it away.
Jake returns back to the mike stand with his much lighter whiskey bottle. He fits his mike in the stand. Denny climbs back into his drum kit, Tom wandering back to his place on Jake’s right hand side.
And for this moment, all three of them look a little lost, together.
It makes my heart ache with love for Jake.
Jake leans down and puts his whiskey bottle by the mike stand.
I see Smith quietly reappear back on stage to Jake’s left.
“This song we’re playing next is one Jonny and I wrote in the early days. It was the one Jonny was most proud of … his favourite, and I know how much it meant to him when we released it and you guys loved it too, when you took a chance on us … it’s one I’m sure you’ll all be familiar with, so I want you stretch your lungs out and sing this one with me – for Jonny.”
Jake swings his guitar around to the front, bows his head looking down at his guitar as he strums a few chords, then Denny kicks the beat in and Jake lifts his head and starts to sing one of their early biggest hits, ‘Hush, Baby’.
I get goose bumps all over my skin. Listening as the crowd goes wild. And I stand here, transfixed singing along with the words, watching Jake. I can see how hard it is for him to get through this song, and I know he’s thinking of Jonny the whole time.
I wish I had been there for him when Jonny died. I wasn’t then, but I want to be every day from now on.
Jake and I will always be friends. No matter what. I’m never losing him again.
I’m at the after show party which is being held at this upmarket club called the Spy Bar. It’s packed to the rafters with showbiz like people from Sweden, and everyone who works on the tour.
I’m glad I dressed nice for tonight as most of the women here are glamorous and classy. I went for something a little different though, well I always wear different, but I bought this matching navy blue pinstripe v-neck fitted waistcoat and straight leg cropped trousers just before I left for the tour. It was love at first sight and I just had to have them. I’ve teamed it with my skyscraper patent black heels. I know most of the woman here are in dresses, but I like to be a little different, and technically I am working, so it’s like I’m wearing work clothes.
I’m at the bar with a couple of the roadies Pete and Gary who I was chatting to earlier, drinking a margarita.
I haven’t seen Jake since the show. He had some interviews to do straight after, so when he exited stage he was swept off by Stuart.
I was going to hang around and wait for him but Pete came over and said they were heading straight for the party, and did I want to catch a ride with them; normally the roadies have to stay on and pack up after the show, but Jake, being the good boss he is, lets them pack up in the morning so they can enjoy the party with everyone else. So of course I accepted, better than hanging around the stadium like a spare part.
“So how long have you worked for Jake?” I ask Pete. Gary is busily chatting to one of the other roadies, Jared I think his name is.
Pete’s a cute guy, short dark hair, about six foot, quite muscular, must be from all the heavy lifting he does on tour.
“Five years on and off,” he replies in his strong American accent, leaning back against the bar, resting his elbows on it.
A lot of bands have crews for abroad when they tour, but Jake has a set group of guys he trusts that tour everywhere with him.
“You must have seen a lot of the world.”
“A few places,” he grins. “It’s a good gig working for these guys … so how did you land up here?” he asks.
“Oh, I er …” I’m just about to reply, when I see Pete’s eyes flick up, and I instantly feel Jake’s presence behind me.
Turning, I almost come face to face with him, he’s that close.
“Hey,” I say beaming.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kisses my cheek, and rests his hand on my waist and stares across at Pete.
I feel a little heady under his touch.
“You want a drink, Jake?” Pete asks.
“Beer,” he replies. His tone is stony.
Pete turns to the bar to order Jake’s drink for him.
Sliding out of Jake’s arm, I retrieve my margarita from the bar, feeling a little annoyed by his big brother attitude again.
“You shouldn’t leave your drink unattended like that,” he comments. “Anyone could slip something in it.”
I glance down at my drink, then back up at him. “You saying your staff are untrustworthy?” I grin over my glass at him, as I take a sip.
He shakes his head, slowly at me, eyes gripping mine.
“You forget your shirt tonight?” He gestures at my bare arms, and waistcoat.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes at him. Then pouting, I say, “You don’t like my outfit?”
He moistens his lips with his tongue. “No, I do, it’s really nice.” His eyes flicker to my boobs, then back to my face; I don’t miss that. “I just happen to know every other guy in this place is gonna think so too, and I’m gonna spend most of tonight kicking their asses.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “You can quit with the big brother act, Jake. We’re not kids anymore. I can take care of myself.”
He presses his lips together, grinning. “Big brother act?”
“Yeah, the whole ‘hands off Tru she’s got a boyfriend’ thing you keep doing. I’m pretty much the only girl on tour here and if you scare off every guy who talks to me, I’ll only be left with you to talk with.”
“Suits me.”
“Jake!” I exclaim, feeling quick to exasperation. “I’m not a bed hopper you know. I’m not going to sleep with all these guys just because I talk to them. I’m not going to cheat on Will, it’d just be nice to have people to talk to when you’re not around.”
And it’s kind of annoying, and hurtful that he thinks I am to be honest.
His brow furrows. “I know you’re not a bed hopper, Tru. I’m just taking care of my best friend, it’s written in the rules if I remember correctly.”
“You’re version of them or mine?” I grin. I can’t stay mad with him for long.
He presses his lips together again, supressing his own grin. “Mine.”
Pete hands Jake his beer.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the beer from him, but not taking his eyes off mine.
“Come and sit with me,” Jake says holding out his hand for me to take.
I stare into his eyes for a long moment. “Okay.” I take his hand. “See you guys later,” I say to Pete and Gary.
Jake leads me over to a booth already filled with Tom, Denny, Smith, Stuart. I can see a group of girls hanging nearby, and I feel the hard stares I earn from them because Jake is holding my hand.
It makes me feel a little uncomfortable.
Jake ushers me in the booth first, next to Denny, and sits beside me trapping me in. I put my drink down on the table and my bag on the floor beside my feet.
“You enjoy the show?” Denny asks me.
“I did,” I smile. “It was amazing.”
“You’re looking very beautiful tonight, Tru,” Tom smiles across the table at me.
“Thank you,” I flush feeling a little shy.
I don’t know want it is about Tom, but he has this ability to make me feel like I’m a sixteen year old girl. I think he has that effect on most women. And I don’t even fancy him, it’s so totally weird. Maybe it’s his patter that does it. It always feels like there’s a hidden agenda behind what he’s saying.
A lot like Jake in that respect. But I get the impression Tom’s hidden meaning when directed at me is a lot dirtier than Jake’s.
Jake shifts around in his seat, pressing his leg up against mine and puts his arm around the back of the seat behind me.
I see Tom’s eyes flicker in his direction, and he grins.
Big brother Jake is back, and I get the distinct feeling that Tom is enjoying winding him up with me.
“Well you assholes are boring the shit out of me, barring you of course Tru.” Tom flashes a toothy smile at me again as he climbs out of the booth, stepping over Smith, jumping to the floor. “I’m off to go pick a skirt up for the night.”
“Is there ever a time when you’re not horny?” Stuart asks him.
Tom looks at him like this is the most ridiculous question he’s ever been asked.
“Nope,” he grins. “I’m like a horny Tom cat, always on the prowl for new pussy.”
Jake splutters out a laugh. I have to hold one back myself.
“Did you actually just refer to yourself as a Tom cat?” Jake asks, still laughing.
“Hell yeah! And don’t you go all prim on me, ass-face, because I know for a fact you’ve referred to your dick as a snake on many occasion.”