Ahhhh, the Queen has arrived! She'll set every little thing in order!
There may be a good number of typos, I've only done a quick skim over for an edit, but if I don't post this now, you might not get it this weekend. I will correct later...thanks for the patience...
The song...Never Say Good-bye...so appropriate for Matt and Marianne. Love this acoustic version. I saw Bon Jovi do a similar arrangement at a show in the very late nineties or early 2000's...I can't remember which show, but it was the tour where Goo-Goo dolls opened for them...that was an amazing concert from both acts!
Marianne
"Marianneâ" Seb blusters.
"Shut-up, Asshole." Matt interjects. "Annie, listenâ"
I hold up my hand in front of Seb's face and my other on Matt's chest, looking over his shoulder to the ever capable Soundcrush manager.
"I have an event to manage. First things first. Riley...Leed is about to act like a lunatic in a gallery full of paparazzi..."
Riley leaps up knocking his glasses askew, automatically righting them and as he says, "And completely upstage the message of your new philanthropy. On it." He grabs Leed's garment bag and rushes out the back door after him.
I wait until I hear them arguing in the parking lot. Good. If Riley has him talking, he will win the argument and I don't have to send Dev out to manhandle the situation.
I look over at the charming, rebellious young man who reminds me so much of Matt at his age. Matt doesn't see it...Dev's looks are dark and exotic, his British demeanor is much more elevated than Matt's was at twenty-one, and of course, Matt doesn't care for his style of music, but the similarity is there in the burning eyes.
More than Street, more than Trace even, Dev has that burn that is both complete disdain for authority and a hunger to prove to the world that he was not a shameful mistake. Right now he's holding a pair of pliers behind his back, looking at me with a guilty, child-like expression.
"What the hell were you going to do with the pliers, Dev?"
"Uhhhm..." For once, Dev's British savvy fails him entirely. "Nothing, really. Just playing the thug is all," he shrugs, laying them on a table. He nods at Matt. "It was his idea."
I give Matt a side-eye. He gives me back his wolfish smile and shrugs, completely unapologetic. I resist the urge to smile. He's so damn charming in his rock star way, but there's something serious going on here, and I'm not going to let him "Annie-Baby" his way out of the full explanation.
"Dev...just...go into the gallery. Bridge is completely frantic about the pissing match you and Matt had. Don't ply her with champagne...she can't handle her alcohol yet. You'll find yourself wearing...even more vomit." I point to his shoe.
I look to the puddle on the floor and to Seb. What the hell was going on back here? Seb opens his mouth but I put up my hand again. "Not yet. Matt first."
Dev is smacking at his shoe with a cloth and pulling his jacket back on, not bothering to retie the bow tie that hangs loose around his neck or smooth his hair. He looks like an absolute cad, disheveled like that. He smiles at me and his nearly black eyes swim with merriment. "Your wish is my command."
Dear Lord, he's enough to make any woman with a pulse swoon.
I remind myself to make sure Bridge is keeping up with her birth control. I don't think it's been a top priority for her. She's never had a serious boyfriend.
"All that was just a front, you know. You still don't have permission to date my daughter," Matt growls to Dev's retreating back.
Dev swings around, walking backwards easily, "It seems that for tonight at least, I have Marianne's permission. That works for me, unless you want to overthrow your wife's instructions."
Matt grumbles. "Fine. One night free pass."
"I'll make the most of it," Dev quips.
"The hell you will!"
"Joking, old sport. Joking. Why, I hardly know your daughter," he smiles. "And there's...just something about her that brings out my gentlemanly side."
"I bet you hardly knew the three girls you rap about in Harem, either, but you abandoned the Prince charming facade after the first rhyme."
"Oh you like that one?"
"No."
He laughs. "It was...a fabrication. Well, an exaggeration. There were only two. Third one passed out before much got going."
Street and Trace both laugh. Kat smacks Street on the back of the head and glares at Trace.
Christ. Musicians. They are most all pigs until they are about thirty years old.
"Sorry, baby. You know I'm only laughing at him, not with him, right? It's like he's trying to die," Trace soothes Kat. I smile at my stepson, who is surprisingly mature for his age, but I am sad to think that is because he grew up hard and fast at the hands of Ross Gallant.
"Dev, get the hell out of here before you piss me off,too," I say evenly.
"Yes madam," he bows.
Bows.
I sigh. Bridge is in real trouble. She's always wanted a knight on a white horse. Hard to find in LA these days. I thought her expectations were rather unrealistic. I'm afraid she's going to fall hard for Dev. The problem is, Matt is likely right. That smooth way of his is mostly an act, to cover a lot of anger.
"Kat...patrons will be arriving any minute." I don't need to say more. She's only eighteen but she's so much more centered than either one of my daughters. This night is important for her. Not just for her career or for her place within my organization. She's doing this for Trace, to support his healing in one of the few ways he will let her. I see her priorities reorient on her faceâthe desire to be a part of this drama fading as she looks beyond to the bigger picture. She nods and grabs her dress bag. "I'll be out there in ten." She kisses Trace on the cheek. "Be cool, okay?"
He nods solemnly. "I'm ice, Kitty."
She takes the elevator at the back of the studio up to Seb's apartment and I finally turn to look at Seb. It doesn't look like he's been hit or beaten but obviously this was some kind of intimidation scenario.
"Are you hurt?"
He shakes his head.
Thank god. I really don't want to deal with police and press and lawyers.
I turn to Matt. "Is this about the pictures Seb took of Street and Kat? I thought we had all agree to move past that..." I look at Trace, coaxing agreement.
He laces his hands behind his head, like he needs he needs his hands to force the gesture, but he manages to move his head up and down in agreement.
"That's only a small part of what Seb has done, Annie. He's betrayed our family. He's been party to...things that may have hurtful consequences to Kat, Trace, Street, and most especially to Ashlynn Ballard." Matt takes me by the shoulders. "He's betrayed you, because you have always helped him with an open heart. The whole time he's just been an opportunistic bastard, relying on your generosity while being a bad influence on our son, and trading on our name, and now it's even worse. He's exploiting our kids and people they care about. This goes way beyond me not liking him personally. What I've done tonight, I did only to protect our family. Need you to believe me on that."
I put my hands back on Matt's shoulders, leaning in toward him with half a smile. "You've never lied to me, Matt. You've done a lot of things to disappoint me over the years, but you've never lied to me. I don't have any choice but to believe you...that's how much truth I know is between us."
He gives me the smile that has made me melt since I was fifteen years old. "That's my girl."
I look at the vomit on the floor. "What did you do?"
"They assaulted me," Seb says quickly. "They are just a bunch of arrogant bullies who came into my studio, destroyed my work and my property and physically assaulted me. The only reason I won't press charges is my loyalty to you, Marianne. Of course, I would never embarrass you like that."
I sigh. Matt thinks I'm blind to Seb's manipulations. I'm not. I know he can be a user, a hanger-on. But Street has always looked up to him like a big brother, and I've always tried to make the best of our ties with Seb, only because of Street. It's hard for my son. He never trusts that his friends are his friends because they actually like him for who he is, but for some reason he always felt Seb's friendship was genuine.
Even if I thought otherwise.
"Mom, he's lying. Nobody hurt him, really. Dev just scared him a little. Put a gag in his mouth for less than a minutes because he was talking a bunch of shit. He'll say anything to bail himself out of this. Dad is totally justified. He's crossed a line that he can't erase," Street says. I turn, almost as shocked at the disgust in his tone as I am to hear him supporting Matt's position.
"You...you mean that, Street?"
His expression has never looked more like Matt's when he says. "Yeah, I absolutely do. I know I can't tell you how to manage your business contacts, but I'm totally done with him, and you should be, too. He's fucked up and I'll never trust him again. I messed up too, but at least I know what I didâkeeping his secret when I shouldn't haveâwas wrong, and I'm sorry."
"Street..." I put a hand over my mouth. I could cry, from how proud I am, of him. He's like Row, in a way...proud. He hates to admit when he's wrong. Unlike Row, who rages to cover up her mistakes, Street usually just fades into the background. The fact that he's standing up...feels like he's growing up.
"Whatever you did, you can make it right."
"I'm trying to start right now." He looks at Trace, and then at Matt, who gives him a tucked back smile and a nod.
I pivot toward Seb, mostly to stop tears and give myself a distraction. He looks...like a trapped animal. One with teeth.
"What the hell did you do?" I whisper.
He refuses to answer. He throws himself down in a chair and slings an arm at Matt. "It doesn't matter what I say. Matt will twist everything to make me look like an evil villian, and you'll believe him. Don't you always believe him? No matter how many times he proves you shouldn't?" He cocks his head and looks pointedly at Trace.
That's when my hand itches to slap him. Of course I won't. Not now. Not since Trace came into our lives and brought a whole new awareness to me about non-violence in all relationships. Instead, I sit down in the chair beside Seb, and speak casually so everyone in the room can hear:
"Sebastian, that is the first time you have truly ever pissed me off. You really fucked up there, because you don't understand how much I love Matt and how much he loves me. I have never once thought of Trace's existence as a breach of trust. He came about in a time that Matt did not have my fidelity any more than I had his. Since the moment I told Matt I was pregnant with Street and gave him the hope that I wanted to be a family with him, he's never looked at another woman. I let go of all the fangirl jealousies years ago. And Trace? He's half Matt. I would love him if he were a complete asshole, for his father's sake. It turns out, he's a pretty great kid and I love him for his own sake, too. So don't even try that shit on, okay? It doesn't fly."
Seb pretends to look at his fingernails. Trace looks overwhelmed and embarrassed.
I roll in my chair to the mini-fridge and pull out a bottle of vodka and a jug of juice, splashing them into a clean coffee cup atop the fridge. I walk it over to Trace. "Need a drink, doll? I know people sharing their emotions is a little hard for you to swallow..."
He grins and takes a gulp of the vodka and cranberry. "Thanks, Mare."
I smile back at him. He's never called me that. He makes the "r" a little soft, and it sound like the french word, mere. "Mere means mother in French, you know that?" I ask.
"Oui." The Rock Star face is back in place, as he takes another gulp and offers me back the rest of the drink.
I pat him on the back and feel like for the first time, I am standing between our eldest two sons.
"Somebody better tell me what line Seb has crossed."
Matt begins to pace slowly and talk with measured words. It's hard to believe what I hear. It's even more amazing to me to see Matt handling it so calmly. He really has mellowed. There was a time when he would have mopped the floor with someone who betrayed our trust like this.
When Matt is done talking, I don't speak for a long minute. I need to stay as calm as Matt and handle this well.
Okay. First things first. My men seem a little slow on one important point.
I turn to Trace. "If Ashlynn really does have a stalker, it's possible she knows him. You realize that, right? That even if Seb doesn't, she can name him."
Trace cracks his neck. "Ashlynn is...not in that kind of mindset. She's in denial about all the bad shit that happened to her. She's put all the blame on her herself. She's focused on her health and her sobriety and she just wants the past behind her. I don't think she will name the guy. She'd be too worried that Leed and I would take action, and dredge up stuff she'd rather forget."
I sigh. "That a typical..."
"Abuse victim mentality. I know," Trace says dryly. "I know. But you can't force someone out of that cave. She needs time."
He's right about that, and he would know better than many. "Okay, so here's what we can do."
I walk over to the wall, where a stack of half a dozen fresh canvases stand. I knock them over, and begin to push the metal shelf behind them. Without even asking why, Matt immediately pulls from the other end, until an in-wall safe is revealed.
"Open it," I command Seb.
"Why should I?" he sneers. "You're gonna cut me off...what's in that safe is my only bargaining chip."
"You have no bargaining chips. I'm sure you realize your funding through MdM will not be renewed next year, obviously. If you cooperate with me, I might not encourage Ashlynn Ballard to use my lawyers to file suit against you. Sounds like some of these photos were illegally obtained where Ashlynn had an expectation of privacy. And you sold them. That's illegal. If I have to, I will put all of my energy into seeing you get what you really deserve. Legally. But... I'd much rather not waste my time ruining your career, since you are already apparently ruined on the inside."
Seb's jaw is clenched in anger, but he opens the safe. I ignore the cash and personal documents, taking only the hard drives and passing them to Street. "Sweetheart, do you mind? It might take a while, but I need it done before we are finished here tonight."
"I don't mind at all," he says and he plugs in Seb's back-up and begins clearing every photo Seb has ever taken of any of us from both his cloud storage and his backup, effectively erasing our ties with him. He will never be able to sell a single photo of us again, not even simple stock fees.
Seb is pretty organized, having del Marco files on each of usâeven Traceâand the work goes quickly.
He also has a small folder titled "Ballard" and Trace swipes the mouse from Street, opening the folder.
"Son..." Matt warns. "You don't want to see that."
"I have to see," Trace growls. "Who knows what he's sold of them? What we can't erase? I have to know what might come back on them. They are mine, to protect."
Street backs away from the computer to give Trace space and stands against the wall.
The pictures of Kat start from her first week in LA. About a third of the way through the file, Trace finds the pictures that make me wince for Street's poor judgement. Kat in a bikini, Street bent over her stomach, painting her, the rapid-fire series plainly showing their smiles and friendly banter. Shot after shot of them taking martini breaks, drinking to a state of complete plaster, plastered all over the digital images. Pictures of Kat spilling martinis on herself and Street patting his artwork gently to keep it from running as they both laugh hysterically. Then pictures of them both looking directly into the camera their body language reluctant. Even a couple of Street frowning, shaking his head, as Kat laughs nervously, with a look of confusion toward the camera. More painting. More martinis. More shots of them looking at the camera, both hazy in confusion. Street holding up a hand to Kat, shaking his head in the negative again. His series rolls forward, looking back and forth from Seb to Kat, and you can actually see the moment when he shrugs, turns his hand, and opens his mouth. I can almost picture him saying, "Whatever."
He's like that. He'll do whatever makes people happy. So eager to please, because all he ever wanted was Matt's approval. I think he wanted Matt to insist he keep on with the music. Matt was trying to give Street freedom to choose his own path, letting him lay down his talent for the guitar. I think Street always wondered if Matt just didn't think he was talented enough to make music.
I'm thinking of Street, but I can see in this moment, Matt has his eyes on Trace as he clicks through the pictures. Then next ones, focus on Kat. She's still shrugging and laughing nervously. She struggles to sit up, nearly falling off the table. Street catches her and they laugh some more. Kat look again at the camera, doubtfully, but as the pictures roll on, Street disappears and Kat reluctantly takes off her top and lays down, her hands covering her face in embarrassment. Then Street returns, sits down and there is no more laughs, only an attempt at concentration in his very drunk state as he paints her breast. As he lays down his paintbrush there is one shot of his slack face that shows how glassy, how disconnected he is from the experience.
"You motherfucker," Trace says quietly to the screen. Matt is there, turning him away from the screen.
"Trace, this was in the past...you and Street and Kat have been trying to put this behind you..."
"Yeah, but I didn't know...how it was...what a bastard he truly is..."
"He's your brother. You have to try to forâ"
"Not Street," Trace spits as he jabs a finger over Matt's shoulder at Seb. "Him! It was all him...he's like some kind of fucking predator. He got them drunk, he engineered the whole damn thing. She didn't want to do it, Street didn't want to do it either."
Seb shrugs. "Not really. You're right. I had to talk them into it."
"Why? Just to make a buck?"
Seb rolls his eyes. "I didn't sell those pictures, although I might have used them in the campaign if things had turned out like I anticipated. I set the whole thing up for Street obviously. You guys act like I'm such a devil, but I do consider him a friend. I could see, he had a crush on her. I was trying to help it along. Get you out of the picture so second best Street would look more attractive to her. I knew she was too much of a goody-two-shoes not to feel guilty, not to confess. I'm just surprised you didn't dump her immediately. What the hell was thatâyou just shrugging off that your girl got naked with your brother? Didn't see that coming...but I guess spineless must be a recessive del Marco trait that Matt passed on to both his sons."
Matt is pushing Trace against the wall as he struggles to get to Seb. I join Matt, commanding Trace's attention. "Trace, he's not worth it!!! You are not a brawler, okay?!?! You don't want to go there! You let me hit him where it will really hurt."
The sound of a sharp crack, and then two more in rapid succession, all our attention to around. Street has crossed the room to Seb and struck him three times, with an open hand. Seb is holding his face, an expression of such utter shock that it's almost comical.
"I would have layed you out, but I don't want to spoil your pretty face and ruin Mom's show. So instead, I slapped you like the bitch you are. Don't ever call my phone again. I never thought about Kat like that. I always knew she was Trace's girl. But now you cost me a friend, a true friend, because it's not the same when we hang out and it never will be." He shoves Seb in front of him. "Get the fuck out there to the gallery and work, bitch. You have beautiful people to manipulate into opening their hearts and pockets to you. Go, do what you do best, except for once, do it for somebody other than your miserable selfish, asshole self."
Seb glares at Street, but he turns to the bottle of vodka, takes a drink and steels himself to go be the life of the party.
"Sebastian," I say, as he unlocks the door. "Is there anything else you want to say to me? Because I promise this is the very last time you will ever have the opportunity."
I don't know why I'm even asking. I guess I'm hoping he might somewhere in his soul, be a little bit sorry for what he's done. I have seen good in him, more when he was younger, but still. He can't be all bad.
He turns, his eyes glittering with hate. "Fuck you, Marianne. You're nothing but an old piece of ass who got tired of having babies to keep Matt locked down and decided a few charity projects would ease your boredom and your conscious, because you had already spent Matt's millions on more clothes and shoes than you could ever wear."
Now I'm the one holding Matt back as all his muscles tense and he tries to move around me "No," I tell him. He's dragging my weight as he pulls me along in his arms, intent on setting me aside and beating the shit out of Seb. "No." I pull his face to mine. "NO."
"Annieâ"
"NOOO. Baby..." I say softly. "Please. You know why." I just can't let him. Trace cannot see another raging father. It can't happen.
Matt looks more than frustrated at my refusal to let him vent his feelings. His eyes go from dark with rage to icy as his pupils narrow, his reason warring with fury. With effort, he relaxes his tense muscles, and nods, kissing me on the forehead and turning me in his arms to face Seb.
"Pack your shit up, Morrigan. You're done here. By morning I will own this building and you will be getting a thirty day eviction notice on your lease. Anywhere you try to reopen in the states of California, New York, New Jersey, Hawaii, Colorado, and Florida I will be there, to block you, buying buildings or just bribing owners to deny you a lease contract. Consider it a restraining order issued by my millions. Because I can. You're never going to be anywhere near where I own property, where my family has a right to feel happy and untroubled. Good luck opening a gallery in ParisâI hear there's quite a bit of competition."
He shoots me a bird and twirls out the door. Before it even shuts, I hear him, drawling. "Darling, so glad you could come to my last show here in LA. Yes, yes, I'm moving on to where my art will be better appreciated..."
It's quiet for a moment. Finally, Trace chuckles. "I slapped you like the bitch you are. That was a good one, Street."
Street puts his hands in his pockets, and walks slowly over to Trace. "I'm sorry, Trace. I know I said it before, but I really am sorry."
Trace reaches out and pumps a fist lightly on Street's chest. "I feel ya, man." I think it might be the first time I have ever seen Trace touch Street.
They stare at each other a long moment, and then Trace jerks his head toward the computer. "Help me wipe the rest of this shit."
They quickly erase the rest of the photographs, and then I remember something else. Check the file titled "COA". That's the certificates of authenticity for his paintings. He attaches a picture file to the certificates."
"Here, let me," Matt offers, but Street has already zeroed in on a set of twelve certificates entitles Love's Ashes, followed by a number. A disturbing image that looks like Ashlynn with a little Kat in the mix fills the screen. She's naked, resting on a settee like a nude model, but she's unconscious. A tourniquet circles her arm, and track marks are visible on her extended arm. A single, red angry line like a cut slants slightly across her rib, just below her breast.
"Fuck," Trace swears, clicking through the paintings. He stops swearing by the third one, as horror sets in. By the final picture that Seb sold, the hybrid of Ashlynn is in bondage, her arms cuffed above her head, the shadow of a man strewn across the floor in front of her. She's awake, her eyes calm, accepting, desolated. The marks on her side have accumulated haphazardly through the series of pictures and now spell out the letters WHO.
Trace erases it. "Leed has seen this shit. No wonder he was willing to destroy Seb. Fuck." He straightens, cracks his neck and mutters. "I have to talk to Riley." He walks into the gallery without a backward glance, his priorities now completely absorbed in his own nuclear familyâSCIC.
Street finishes checking the hard drive and then double checking Seb's cloud storage. Finally, he rises. He doesn't meet our eyes, he just says, "I think that's everything."
Matt claps a hand to Street's shoulder. "Street. This is not your fault, Son. It's Seb's, it's mine and your mom's for letting him insinutate himself so deeply into our lives. You were a kid and you're barely an adult. You're learning. Today, you learned a hard lesson. You become like the people you surround yourself with. For good or bad."
He nods meeting my eyes. "Yeah. I see that. Which makes me think...you and I should take some time, like when I was younger. I know I haven't been around a lot...I've been at school or partying...but maybe we can have some fun. Just mess around. Take the boat out, go fishing, shit like that."
The expression on Matt's face is something like the look when he held Street for the first time...wonder and trepidation. "Or surf," he suggests lightly.
Street nods. "Or you could finally show me some shit on the electric. Like how to play that old glam metal. I don't mind that Trace can kick my ass on Skid Marcs covers, because you didn't teach him, or the girls because they have basically kicked my ass all my life, but if I don't get a little more serious on the strings, Lane is going to outdistance me any day, and I'm not taking shit from my five year old brother."
Matt's hand involuntarily reaches for mine. Street is good with an acoustic, but flat refused to ever touch an electric guitar. He never wanted to come anywhere close to Matt's legacy.
"Sure. Anytime, Street."
Street smiles at me. "Your missing your cue, Mom. Tonight is your stage."
I hug him. "I know baby. You go ahead and check on things. Your dad and I will be out in a minute."
Matt claps in on the back and Streets slides away through the door, leaving Matt and I staring at one another. He reaches for me, slowly backing me into the wall, leaning his head on my shoulder. I run my hands through his styled hair.
"Jesus, Annie..." his voice is thick and I know he's fighting back tears over the moment he just had with his son.
"It's funny how the worst things and the best things happen together," I whisper.
"Life is a beautiful bitch sometimes," he agrees, regaining his composure, lifting his eyes to mine.
"Like your wife?" I tease.
He smiles. Hundreds of millions of women have seen Matt smile, through thirty years of concerts, videos and beneath several hairstyles, but when we are alone, he smiles differently. His smile goes all the way to the back of his eyes, and his eyes are filled with thirty five years of fantastic love-drenched memories. Of just the two of us.
Even better, they are filled with the hope for thirty-five more.
It's a remarkable thing, to be loved by a remarkable man.
"Sometimes," he agrees. "When she has to tussle with the asshole she's married to."
"Not tonight. Tonight you were...the best I've ever seen you. And I've seen a lot of the best of Matt del Marco."
He cups my cheek. "I'm so sorry, baby. I know you counted him as a friend. I hate the hurt he gave you."
I run my hands up his tux shirt. "It's okay. I always knew he was more like a frenemy. Even the bad things in life serve a purpose. Maybe he was in our life to teach Street by negative example. He'll never forget Seb. I hope he'll always feel like he does today...that he never wants to be a man like that. That his father is a better compass."
"You are forever my bright side," he says against my lips. That's what he always calls me. His bright side. "Have I told you today that you are my life? That I'm prouder to be your man than any of the rest of it?"
I consider as his kiss trails across my jaw. "Not today, but it's been a little busy."
His breathy laughter tickles my ear. "Well I am." Slow hands I know so well raise the hem of my dress slightly on my thighs. "Been awhile since I had you up against a wall in fancy clothes," he murmurs in the voice that still causes fangirls to cry and pull their hair in concert pits.
"Hmmmmmmm," I sigh, kissing him. His hands hike up my dress and he lifts me, but I break the kiss. "And it will be at least four more hours. We're already late to our own show, Rock Star."
He makes an exasperated groan, but he lowers me gently on my heels. "Okay, but I'm holding you to it," he grins.
"Once we launch this new Anti Family Violence Initiative, you can hold me any way you want," I beam at him.
I smooth his collar and he adjusts my bunched up skirt. He reaches for my tiny purse, offering me my lipstick but keeping the compact mirror to giving his own hair a quick perusal and rake-through. I snort.
You can cut the hair off a hair-band front man, but you can't take the hair vanity out of his soul.
"You do realize you look ten times sexier now, than in 1985 with that bushy perm?" I remind him as I put a quick coat of gloss on my lips and snatch the compact to check my teeth.
He rolls his eyes, "I'm glad you think so." He offers me his arm. "Mrs. Del Marco, it's time to take your stage."
I tuck against his side, accepting his arm. "You are planning to introduce me before my speech, right?"
"You need no introduction, but I'll be happy to warm up the crowd for you."
"Thank you."
"Let's do this!" He bounces on his toes, like he does before taking the stage for every performance, and then he kicks open the door and pulls me through.
And we are live.
Awwww....who loves them as much as I do? I want to do their story, taking us all the way back to the eighties. Wouldn't that be fun?
Thought on Seb? Trace? Street? Who were you feeling in this chapter?