All around me people danced, rapt looks of delight on their faces as they watched him. With one pissed off exception. Samson.
"Told you he was something," Drio said.
Rohan posed, hip popped out, arrogant smirk on his face.
I swooned.
He gripped the mic stand, swinging it in toward him as he stretched out a hand. "Falling sideways, help me land," he sang.
The audience roared in approval, reaching out for him. Lily practically glowed with adoration.
I tipped back my glass only to find that I'd already finished my drink.
Rohan tossed his jacket off to the side, his biceps flexing as he grabbed the mic stand. For the third and final Fugue State Five song, he announced he'd be singing their last number one hit, "Trainwreck of Lost Saturdays." He hit the ground running, jumping up and down, the audience moshing along with him.
I threw myself into dancing with as much abandon as everyone else. I flung my arms up to the ceiling, the absinthe seeping through me like a languid high. Colors were sharper, more intense, from the flash of a woman's silver sequins to the pop of Drio's green eyes. He was one of the few people who didn't dance but even he looked captivated.
Watching Rohan on stage, it was clear that he ruled this room. He told us to jump, we shook the floor when we thudded back to earth. He held the mic out to us and we sang his words back to him with fervor. He was mesmerizing.
Magnetic.
Mine.
My arms dropped to my side. He wasn't though, was he?
The song ended and the cast and crew went nuts. Rohan grinned at us, king of all he surveyed. Then he held up his hands for quiet. Unlike when Forrest had tried the same thing, for Rohan, it went from frenzy to could-hear-a-pin-drop in seconds.
"Thank you. It's been a while and well," he ducked his head, "I was nervous."
I snorted. If the room could have group hugged the boy, they would have. Rohan grabbed a stool that he put in the middle of the stage, moving aside the mic stand. He went over to the guitarist and spoke a few words to him. The guitarist nodded and handed over an acoustic guitar propped on the stage behind him.
Rohan sat down on the stool, adjusting the guitar strap around his neck. He blinked coyly at us. "Do you want to hear the theme song?"
I put my hands over my ears against the deafening roar.
That earned us a Cheshire Cat smile. Foregoing the microphone, he rested his hands on top of his guitar. The lights dimmed, an expectant hush falling over the room. Even the club's staff had stopped working, with nary a tinkle of glass daring to break the moment. I waited for the band to start up but he sang a capella.
His deep baritone rang out pure and clear through the first verse.
Hard fists they strike/ Still not the stone my heart entombed lies beating
Scoring big/ I pay my dreams in blood/ Rush like a knife
Strike a match blaze/ Seize the bright lights/ Give me some illumination
In the end Hell will come calling/ Crown me king of hard knock strife.
Rohan growled the last line, his famous rasp front and center. He stretched out the final word impossibly long, the rest of us collectively holding our breaths.
With the first three songs, he'd given us a show.
With this one, he gave us magic.
The silence when the note finished was absolute; the chord he struck for the start of the chorus was shocking in comparison. The dark majesty of it resonated through the room after the clarity of his voice. I shivered.
Rohan didn't play the next note. The crowd wailed in protest. He shot us a sleek, satisfied smile. "I live to tease," he drawled.
The woman next to me fanned herself.
Rohan stood up. "That's all you get … for now." He winked and walked off the stage.
Samson immediately jumped on it, clapping. "Big hand for Rohan. Now let's party." Points for effort, but the audience demanded their idol back.
"Encore," they chanted, stomping their feet.
A darkness slithered behind Samson's eyes. I doubt anyone else noticed but I was close up and besides, Rasha. I was watching more intently than most. He covered it with a big grin. "Ro, get your ass back out here."
Behind me, Drio chuckled.
Rohan came out, shaking hands with Samson like they were the best of friends. After presenting Rohan with an arm flourish, Samson jumped off the stage and Rohan once more sat down on the stool. He slung the guitar around to his front, then spread his hands wide as he raised an eyebrow, as if saying "you got me, now what do you want me to do?"
"Toccata and Fugue," Samson yelled out.
My breath hitched. It hadn't occurred to me that this song would be played. That I'd have to listen to Rohan sing it to Lily.