After the first set, the guys exit stage right to grab water and towel down. No one talks to Daltrey except the roadies, and I wonder how long his family will stay mad at him. As they take the stage for the second set, Daltrey spots me. His face lights up with a huge smile, and I can practically hear the girls in the crowd swooning from the pure beauty of it.
He takes his seat at the piano and shifts the bench slightly so he can keep me in his sights. He then spends most of the set staring straight at me while he sings and plays. His gaze changes from playful and amused to downright smolderingly intense and back again. I’m squirming within the first few songs. I finally understand why girls have been throwing themselves at rock stars for decades. Nothing is more sexy than this man on stage, controlling the sound and the crowd, playing one off the other, ratcheting up the tension then releasing it over and over again. My heart races, and my cheeks are aflame. I want nothing more than to leap onto stage and jump him.
And he knows it. His eyes hold a glint of wicked amusement as he leans closer to the mic, so close his lips graze its edges.
I think maybe Daltrey will take his break on this side, but when the set ends, he heads back to the right wing with his brothers. He’s doing it on purpose. He knows I want a kiss. He’s torturing me.
Sure enough, when he comes out for the last set, there’s laughter in his face. I cross my arms and give him my best glare, making him laugh out loud. Communicating with him like this is thrilling. All these people surround us yet remain outside of our little bubble.
Just before the end of the set, I notice a commotion in the opposite wing. Lots of shadows are moving around over there, shapes of people I can’t make out. One of them seems to be holding the others back. Confused, I shift to try to see better, but it’s dark, and the band blocks my view. I do manage to make out Mr. Ransome, who is gesturing wildly with Levi at his side. I feel a trickle of unease.
The guys finish the last song and head to the front of the stage to take their bows. With them out of the way and the stage lights fully up, I finally have a clear line of sight to the other side.
I gasp. Two police officers appear to be arguing with Daltrey’s dad.
The bows are fast and perfunctory; everyone knows Ransom always comes back out for an encore. But I have a feeling things might be different tonight. I watch in horror as the boys move to the wings, and the police officers push past Mr. Ransome, heading straight for Daltrey.
Then the lights go out, and I can’t see Daltrey anymore. The encore chant begins, and I break Levi’s biggest rule. I jump off my stool and run across the stage. I’m sure no one can see me, and if they can, they’ll probably mistake me for a roadie.
The band members are all shouting at once. The officers are clearly getting more and more agitated. Only Daltrey seems calm, standing in the middle of all of it.
“Dude, just let us finish the show,” Reed pleads. “We’ll have a riot on our hands if we don’t go back out there.”
“We’ve already waited,” one officer snaps. “Your brother is under arrest.”
I gasp, and Daltrey turns to see me standing behind Lennon. Only now does he look upset. “I’m sorry,” he says to me, his words barely audible over the crowd.
“What are you apologizing to her for?” Cash yells, smacking Daltrey’s shoulder. “We’re the ones you’re screwing over!”
Daltrey hangs his head, and the second officer pulls out a pair of handcuffs.
“What’s going on?” I yell, pushing through the guys. “What is this?”
“Apparently, Daltrey took the day off to go beat the hell out of some guy today,” Reed says, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “I can’t fucking believe you, man.”
I look at Daltrey. “Daltrey?”
But he doesn’t raise his head. I can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe he’s actually being arrested. And his dad is just standing there.
“Do something!” I yell at Mr. Ransome.
He shoots me a steely, unconcerned look then turns away. “Boys, you need to get back out there. Cash, you make an announcement that Daltrey’s sick. Add an extra song to make up for it.”
“Who the fuck is supposed to sing?” Cash asks.
“You. Just do it. We don’t have a choice.” He looks straight at Daltrey. “Your fans deserve better than this.”
The boys turn as one and trudge back onto the stage, only Lennon sparing a glance at his soon-to-be-incarcerated brother. The lights come on, and the crowd starts screaming, but all I’m aware of is the officer handcuffing Daltrey.
The other cop said, “Daltrey Ransome, you are under arrest for the assault and battery of Justin D’Angelo.” He pulled a card from his pocket and read, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”