Page 77 of The Forgotten

They deserve as much privacy as they can get.

“That was quite the intro you gave us,” Abraxas says, his other band members coming closer. “We’ll have to make sure we can live up to it.”

Trick grins, shaking his head. “They’re so hyped, I don’t think you’ll have to try hard. Just play from the heart.”

“That’s what you think we play from?” Haniel asks. The only reason I can tell them apart is because their masks are unique to each of them.

Haniel’s is white with black tears, completely molding to his face. His black robe is open, his leather pants showing off just enough to make their fans hot and bothered.

“What else is there?” Noa asks.

Angelic Demonshave some dark lyrics. While our acquaintance is surface level at best, it’s obvious to anyone that they have some demons they’re trying to exorcise.

Abraxas shrugs, his eyes on the stage as he watches for some unseen cue. “It’s as good a place as any,” he mutters. “Time to go, guys.”

Orla melts into my embrace as I press my lips to her neck as we watch them go.

“Do you ever wonder if they left someone behind?” she asks, turning toward me.

“I heard the love of their life died their first year on tour,” Noa says. “I think that’s enough to haunt anyone.”

Orla shudders in my arms and I hug her closer to me.

“Life is short, baby. Marry us?” I ask. It’s been weighing on my mind heavily. I just want her to be with me every day. “Please?”

Orla’s blue eyes turn to look at me in shock as the lights turn up behind us. We aren’t paying any attention as Noa drops to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist.

“We can grovel a whole lot better if you’re in our bed every night,” he purrs.

Trick’s fingers deftly release her hair from its knot, and he kisses her hard while we hold her up when her legs buckle under the force of his lips.

“Say yes, Pretty Girl,” he whispers.

“I want to,” she whimpers. “I have to talk to Caleb.”

“What if we could get Caleb a replacement manager?” I ask, the wheels turning in my mind. Maurice’s sister is having trouble keeping a job, but she just needs a chance. She’s smart as fuck. “Would that help?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. Gazing at the three of us, she gasps out a sob. “I can’t believe this.”

“We miss you. Believe it,” Noa says, rising from the ground to kiss her.

As the notes rise and crash on stage and Belial growls out the first words to the song, it feels less hopeless in the glow of Orla accepting my very spontaneous proposal. Life twists and turns, sometimes because of our own decisions, and others due to fate.

All we can hope for is another chance.