Page 1 of The Deviation

ONE

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JOHNNY

Byron Bay, Australia

Very Important People aren’t supposed to celebrate their triumphs alone. I’m sure it’s a rule of some kind, written by rock legends of music festivals past. When you defy all the odds and achieve your wildest childhood dreams, the people who love you are meant to be there cheering you on. Even if your dreams are their disappointment. Even if they wanted you to give up long ago.

My grip tightens on the plastic cup in my hand as I take a long swallow. The beer is cheap, but it slides down my throat with ease. It’s a shame I have to limit myself to one. Getting drunk might have distracted me from the ache in my chest.

Not that I’m actually here alone. My band, Fifth Circle, is with me. Ned Corbyn, our front man, is by my side. Gavin and Oz, our drummer and bass guitarist, are at the bar getting drinks. The four of us are crammed into the VIP tent of the Autumn Skies Music Festival. We’ve spent the evening rubbing elbows with Australia’s musical elite, from fellow artists to record label executives, managers, roadies, and anyone else who managed to get past security.

Tomorrow afternoon, the boys and I will be on stage playing before an audience of thousands for the first time. It may be a side stage, rather than the amphitheatre, but it’s still further than I ever expected to get. Especially considering music is the hobby I’m forced to fit in around my ‘real’ job. In all likelihood,this weekend is it for me—the pinnacle of my musical career. I hate that I’m not enjoying it more.

“Maybe you were right, Johnny.” Ned casts a wry smile in my direction.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I lift an eyebrow at him. “Right about what?”

“Coming down here for the full weekend.” Ned slides his arms around the waist of his brand-spanking new boyfriend, Toni, who responds by nestling back against Ned’s chest. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.”

I force a smile. “Told you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. We have to wring as much fun out of it as possible.” Given my mood, I’m not wringing hard enough.

Ellie would say I chose this every time I left her alone to spend the night playing music in some tiny pub. Every time we argued over how many hours I spent with a guitar in my hands—practising, composing, rehearsing, performing. She used to joke that I was married to my music, and she was my bit on the side. I should have paid more attention when humour gave way to resentment, when she stopped caring what time I’d be home on a Saturday night. Maybe she wouldn’t have looked elsewhere for the attention she wasn’t getting from me.

Achieving my wildest dreams is great and all, but I did it by letting down the one woman I’d promised to love and cherish above all else. If my arms are empty and my heart heavy, it’s my own selfish fault.

“Maybe I should find a groupie or two to play with for the night.” The words fall awkwardly from my mouth, tripping all over each other in their rush to get out. “That’s supposed to be a perk of being a musician, isn’t it? Getting laid?” It wouldn’t be the same as having the woman who’d vowed to love me ‘till death do us part’ by my side, but it might help soothe the ache.

Ned’s laugh is doubtful. “So they say.”

I fight the urge to sigh in the face of his disbelief. Ned isn’t just Fifth Circle’s lead vocalist; he’s also my oldest friend. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools, though I was a couple years above him. We played together in our first bands. Which means he knows exactly how full of shit I am.

It’s been over a year since Ellie left me. Our divorce came through months ago. Still I have yet to muster anything more than a passing interest in another woman. If I don’t get some action soon, my right hand might up and suggest we start seeing other people.

“Just remember,” Ned adds. “Wrap it before you tap it.”

A groan erupts from my throat. “Condoms. Do you know how long it’s been since I had to think about condoms?” I know exactly how long. The last time I had sex was the night before Ellie left me. I made love to my wife that night. I don’t know what she was doing. Pity sex, perhaps? One last time sex? Whatever it meant, it was unprotected. “Actually, I thought about them a lot when I found out Ellie cheated on me.” Not once or twice, but for months. With some guy who drives a Porsche and doesn’t own a single guitar. I wonder if he knows she cheated on him too—with me. “I had to get tested and everything. That was fun.”

Toni gives me a playful whack. “No, Johnny. This is fun.” The sweep of one slender arm encompasses our surroundings and the multitude of people it contains. “You’re the lead guitarist for an up-and-coming rock band. You’re young, and single, and you look like that.” His second sweep gestures to all of me, as if there’s something to see here.

I glance down at my denim jeans, designer t-shirt, and black boots. All newly bought, because I didn’t want to turn up looking like I shouldn’t be let in. My shirt got wrinkled in my bag and I tug at the hem, trying to smooth it out.

“This weekend has the potential to be one of the greatest memories of your life,” Toni continues. “Go have some fun with it.”

I only met Toni a few hours ago, and I know next to nothing about him, but the man has a point. This weekend is supposed to be exciting. It’s about time I stop wallowing in thoughts of my ex-wife and have some goddamned fun.

With a determined nod, I turn my eyes back to the crowd. There’s a bevy of attractive and talented women here; many of them are fellow musicians who can sympathise with my constant need to pluck at the same six strings for hours on end. Surely, I can find a woman who’ll be happy to help me pop my single-life cherry. Does the who even matter?

I allow my gaze to roam at will, searching the ample supply of generous curves and sultry smiles for someone, anyone, who’ll inspire a genuine reaction in me. A hint of lust. A dash of desire. Something to bring me back to the land of the sexual living.

A hopeful minute passes. Then another. At the end of the third my shoulders sag. Fuck. Maybe I really am dead inside.

I’m turning away, resigned to another night alone, when my gaze finally snags—on ginger. Tousled ginger that’s rebelling against the neat style it’s been forced into.

I pause, widening my focus to take in the broad shoulders and trim waist. A crisp, button-up shirt and tailored pants fit the long form—the long, male form—to perfection. Inhaling softly, I work my way back up to the man’s face. Over the rigid stance and crossed arms, the square jawline and furrowed brow. He’s deep in conversation with a second man who’s facing him, but somehow I can already imagine what he looks like when he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lets loose what’s sure to be a killer smile. Are his eyes blue? Or green maybe. The dim lighting makes it impossible to tell across the ten or sometres separating us. My feet shuffle beneath me, urging me to move closer, to find out for sure.

His gaze shifts to the right, as if drawn by the spark of attraction lighting me up from the inside. Our eyes meet. They linger. The flow of words from his lips stumbles to a stop. My spark catches fire in his expression and we both burn, just a little.