Page 50 of Dirty Like Seth
Listening to himplay.
Just watching him,feelinghim makemusic.
Beyond that… there had always been an undeniable chemistry between the members of Dirty when we played together. It’s why I knew, no matter what other projects called to me, I could never, ever leave the band. Not only because I loved the guys personally, but because of that chemistry we had, musically. I would’ve gone so far as to agree that it went beyond chemistry, to something that Zane liked to callmotherfuckingmagic.
As Seth and I played by the fire, under the stars, that magic was still here, alive and crackling between the two of us. One song just flowed into another, andanother…
And I had so much fuckingfun.
We played the Rolling Stones, “It’s Only Rock ’n Roll (But I LikeIt).”
We played April Wine, “Bad Side of theMoon.”
We played Journey’s high-energy anthem, “Any Way You Want It,” which Seth sung in its entirety because, of the two of us, only he could pull off anything close to Steve Perry’s voice. I joined in at the chorus, and by the end of it we were both smiling, and next, we werelaughing.
We played Stealers Wheel, “Stuck in the Middle with You,” that cool, classic tune Seth and I used to play together after shows, in the wee hours of the night, in the middle of whatever crazy party we were at, as the two of us avoided the Zane-and-Jessecircus.
We played Trooper, “We’re Here for a Good Time (Not a Long Time),” like this really was the last time we would ever play together. Like this was some kind of agoodbye.
The farewellconcert.
But all the while, I felt something else catching fire between us,undeniable…
The sparks of a newbeginning.
Chapter Twelve
Seth
Ifounda long rock on the quiet beach, kinda bench-shaped, and sat my ass down on it. It was a small, pale beach in a rocky bay. There was a couple lying on a blanket near the other end, enjoying the sunrise, but otherwise the sand wasdeserted.
I sipped my coffee, absently, gazing out at the waves. Watching them crash over one another in an endlessrhythm.
But in my head, I didn’t see theocean.
I saw Elle in her skimpybikini.
I hadn’t slept much since I got here. Managed to get some sleep last night, but it was full of disturbing dreams. Dreams about Elle. Panicky dreams where I’d lost her. She was there, somewhere, but I couldn’t find her. She wouldn’t speak to meanymore.
Even with my eyes open, I had Elle on my mind; memories of her, crashing through my head. Memories breaking free from someplace I’d locked up tight and ignored for too damn long. Memories that spending time with her and jamming with her last night had brought back in aflood.
These didn’t feel like the kinds of memories, though, that my conscious mind had temporarily lost track of because I’d been wasted—damaged and sketchy and discomfiting. These were pure and bright and oddly painful… more like the kinds of memories that had been consciously suppressed out of some innate sense of self-preservation.
Memories in which I watched a young, effervescent Elle sparkle and shine—fromafar.
Even if I was standing right next to her, I held myself at a distance in those memories. It was like watching some movie I knew I’d seen before, and I knew I liked, a lot, though I couldn’t recall a single scene until I saw it again, and then itallcame flooding back tome.
How fuckinglovelyshewas.
How much I used to smile when I was aroundher.
How the whole place—any place—would just light up when she walked in. How the stage caught fire when she was on it, making music, right next tome.
And how I’d told myself—trainedmyself—that I could never get near any ofit.
I never even used to stare at her; I was pretty sure of that. Staring at her would’ve been a bad idea for all involved. I knewthat.
But I used to think about her. Alot.
