Asher Kells stands in the center of the stage. He's in front of more than seventeen thousand people at the King's arena. The occasional flash of a camera goes off in the near pitch-black audience. But we're all waiting for Asher. The interview was destructive, and he took the stage, but the show didn't go on. Or, at least it hasn't. We are in limbo in this. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. His crisp black suit is more business music mogul than Rock Star. But in front of the four guitars in front of him with the tattoos peeking out the side, it hints at more. Each inky tattoo under the bespoke suit whispers at the Rock Star underneath. The band is poised to pick up and play whatever was already rehearsed. But he's not doing anything. The large screen over his head is blank where the video of his brother singing that last time. Even though a band is on the stage with him waiting to play, Asher looks like the loneliest man in the world.

And the audience both live and in the arena waiting for him. We are all waiting for him together. On the off chance that he does end up playing. His playing would be another violation, dance and sing like a puppet on strings. Because that's what Paulie did. It was a violation of basic decency to the mourner. He exploited Asher. It wasn't messy at all; he went straight for it like a professional. Paulie was like a heart surgeon with his cruelty. Cleanly cutting out a still-beating broken heart for display. He got what he came for.

He got his clicks.

And still, we all waited for him.

In an arena of over seventeen thousand people, you couldn't hear a cough. It was like Dustin's memory didn't just obliterate Asher, it emptied out all of us.

Asher shakes his head at the band. Waves them off and the guy on the drums is first to go, followed by the bassist. And then the guitarist walked off the stage right towards me. Their faces were confused, more than dejected.

A frustrated Paulie watches Asher. The false, affable mask slides off his face as time ticks by. That lack of the Paulie B smile that doesn't reach his eyes is chilling. Paulie doesn't spare his anger for slowing the end of the show.

Asher walks in circles on stage. The audience fidgets while watching a man pacing on stage past the mic instead of singing into it. A restlessness in the crowd is almost tangible as it grows. Paulie takes that step forward but is frozen in place when Ashers Kells hazel's eyes lock on him with red rim fury. His blue-gold nebules eyes were without compassion. No forgiveness in his gaze for the man who attempted to barge onto his stage. The mic sticks up, a flag planted in the ground. Like some sort of proof that no one will take one more step on his stage.

Paulie's face drops in surprise. He makes placating hand motions and backs off the stage right.

"What the fuck is wrong with that kid?" Paulie growls under his breath.

Man. It was an automatic correction in my mind. Because he was a man, not a kid. A man that Paulie used for a tragedy porn segment on his show. Every second that video was playing, it was obvious Asher was more destroyed. Some of Dustin Kells' last moments on earth are immortalized in the amber of the video. Unlike memories or time capsules that always have that faded edge to them. Asher's brother was forever in sharp relief. Drugged-out-blown irises and singing. He sang like he was dripping amber honey into the mic and crushed glass into our souls. His song hurt. They had him sit through it for the pleasure of the audience at home and on the big screen for the arena. We all knew the truth of it. Anyone who had a heart, anyone who has ever lost. We Knew.

Paulie, in his position of power, emotionally broke Asher for clicks. Because no one face crumbles like that if you know it's coming. It was like watching a soul bottom out.

Asher Kells, the Rock Star, kept paces on that stage. And it was for we the audience to wait for him tonight. He takes off the suit jacket and exposes his lush inky tattoos. Center stage Asher in a dress shirt. He then unbuttons his dress shirt. A deep-v unbutton, exposed all the chains and bangles hidden before. He rolls up the sleeves of the dress shirt. His hand dips into his pocket and he puts each ring on his finger one at a time. As if he's finally who he should be, a black skull tattoo butterfly getting one wing out at a time from his cocoon. He sheds everything corporate business Rocker he's supposed to be into the Rock Star he is. Asher couldn't help the being creative that oozes out of him in seductive waves. Each wave of music not yet played but always promised. 

He skips the electric guitar tonight and squats in front of his acoustic guitar. His hands run through his perfectly styled hair, ruining it into a wonderful mess. That well-groomed, manicured corporate madmen-looking hair looked good on him. But never quite matched the tats, anyway. The corporate rocker hairstyle melts away. Locks of dark hair with messy bits hanging out of place in just the right way. I wouldn't be surprised if he ruined an expensive hairstyle in a second and it's a hundred times sexier. It melted years from his demeanor. His inked hand wraps around the neck of the black Martin D28 guitar.

He played the start of the song, low. With both confidence and a little vulnerability. As he plucked away at the acoustic guitar, every note felt like quiet sorrow. The slow bleed out of a goodbye you didn't get to say.

If that was all he was going to do was play the guitar for his performance we would have been amazed and thankful. It wasn't; he topped the performance by singing.

The words to the quiet song he crooned out had all of us listeners leaning in, so we didn't miss a single word. His brother wasn't the lead singer of The Kells. Singing for Dustin Kells was a once-in-a-while thing. Out of the albums I owned, three mixtapes, four studio albums, and two live albums, Dustin sang only twice. One time, he sang on the mixtape when they first came out. The second time in the recording of the live album Paulie played earlier. He died four hours later of a drug overdose cocktail of fentanyl, heroin, cocaine, and ketamine. No one was sure if it was suicide or an overdose, and Asher didn't inform the public of which one it was.

It was obvious Dustin, when sober or high he loved to drum. In the band, he wasn't the singer. No, the singer in the group was Asher Kells. And if Dustin sang like amber and crushed glass. Asher Kells sings like burnt honey and crushed diamonds. They sounded similar, but the difference between them is like flying around the world. While Asher Kells is going to outer space and orbiting a star. Flying once around the world chasing the sunrise is beautiful. But you'd be nuts to miss out on orbiting a star and living to tell the tale. Asher was by far the better singer.

As he played his song and poured burnt honey and crushed diamonds into our souls, we hurt with him. We hurt for Dustin, who was a drummer who died too young, forever in his twenties. We, as a group, mourned in that cathartic way you can only do in a good song when you get older. At this moment, though, like in very good songs, we get to touch those lost bits and pieces. Those pieces pulled back together with the parts we carelessly left behind.

Vulnerable.

We get to realize the sadness of a world without Dustin Kells in it. And unfortunately, the world was a little smaller, a little less, and it was ok to feel sad about that. Because Asher did, too.

"Lay your head on me..."

I felt with him. That sound opened the piece of me that was left behind. My mother's warm hand on my back playing the piano. Tapping along to the song I sang for her. That tap tap on my back every tap I sang to keep the beat. I didn't even realize that I forgot it. A faded edge memory. It all came back... But was I the only one who got a piece back tonight?

Wetness rolled down my cheek, and I took a step forward, then stopped myself. I wanted to touch his shoulder, so he knew he wasn't alone. It wasn't my place. We didn't even know each other, and I was less than a blip for someone like him, but.....

As he croons out the song. I wish I could tell him. He's not alone.

A/n: So, we ran into one of my favorite chapters. Thank you so much! Please remember to share and vote. It helps to get the book out to more people.