Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
It blows me away.
And the lyrics, Laz’s lyrics sink even deeper hearing them live.
“I don’t want to save the world. I just want to be with you when the world ends. My arms around you, my heart around you, anything to make you know that you were the only thing that mattered, my friend, my friend for the end of the world.”
He’s sharing them with the world but they’re meant for me.
I’m still his friend.
His best one.
Best friends in love with each other, which is the way that love should be.
“I think I’m going to be a rock star now!” Noah yells at me over the music.
I quickly wipe away a tear and nod.
“Are you crying?” he yells again.
I smile at him. “I’m fine!”
It’s just that the music, his words, his voice, it reaches deep into my soul, always stirring up so many emotions.
But they’re happy ones.
I’m just so fucking happy.
I keep grinning at Noah. He looks happy too.
Daryl, his stepfather, ended up in jail for domestic abuse, even though he was posted out on bail soon after (that’s what big bucks buys you). But he’s not allowed to come near the house, Noah or Laz’s mother, so for now they’re safe and figuring out their next moves, one of which includes putting the McMansion up for sale.
Noah’s doing fine with it. It’s been tough, obviously, because Daryl is still his father after all. Jane has flown back twice already in the last two months, just to spend time with Noah and help him transition, to keep the family together. They’ve been through so much already in their life but I know they’re strong enough to get through it. And now Noah feels he can finally embrace who he is. Right now, he’s a teenager who hasn’t quite figured it out but at least he’s free to discover it. No more judgement, no more fear.
It’s also helped Laz’s mother, Sarah, and Noah repair their relationship, or at least start over. Even she and Laz have grown closer since the incident.
“Do you think I should play bass or guitar?!” Noah yells up at me. “Or drums?”
“Drums! You can get all your aggression out and it’s a good work out!”
He nods and grins, pushing his long, pink hair off his face. He looks so much like Jane used to at this moment, it’s uncanny.
Magic 8 Ball plays a blistering hour-long set and by the time they do their encore—a boisterous, bass-heavy cover of Depeche Mode’s “Should Be Higher,”—the audience looks like they’re blown away (and definitely “higher” than they were at the start) while my heart skips every time Laz hits the high note while singing “Love is all I want.” He is so fucking good, in his element.
And all mine.
Then it’s over.
The crowd cheers.
Laz and the band are a sweaty mess.
I haven’t stopped smiling once.
“How was it?” Laz asks, handing his guitar to a tech and coming over to us.
I grin up at him. He’s wide-eyed, his dark hair sticking to his damp forehead, his dark-grey shirt clinging to him in sweaty patches. He looks thoroughly worn out and high on adrenaline at the same time. A rock god.
“You were amazing!” I say, grabbing onto his arm like a groupie.
He puts his arm around me, squeezes me close to him.
“What did you think?” he asks Noah.
“You’re the next Jim Morrison,” he says. “But without the crazy.”
“Oh, he’s got a bit of crazy in him, don’t kid yourself,” I tell Noah.
“Okay, without the naked Indian.”
“Noah, do you only know who Jim Morrison is because of Wayne’s World 2?” Laz asks with a wry smile.
Noah shrugs and Laz looks to me, brows raised in disbelief, shaking his head. “Kids these days,” he mumbles.
I reach up and kiss him softly.
“Careful, I’m a sweaty mess,” he says against my lips.
“The messier the better.”
“Ugh, can you guys just not. I’m right here,” Noah whines.
I ignore him. “I want you,” I whisper to Laz. “Now.”
“Now?” he asks with a grin.
He has no idea how turned on I’ve been watching him for the last hour.
But I’m about to show him.
“We’ll be right back, Noah,” Laz says to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and pushing him toward Frank who is drinking a bottle of water by the bass stand. “Here Frank, watch Noah for a bit, will ya?”
Then Laz takes my hand and leads me off the back of the stage and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Frank yells.
Laz just turns around and grins at him.
I actually don’t know where we’re going. There are some tents back here but they’re full of people and food. There’s no place for privacy.
Except the porta potties, which, thankfully because we’re backstage on the grounds, they have fancy trailers instead for all the musicians and VIPs.
We head up the stairs into one trailer and find it empty.