36. Leonor

36

LEONOR

B ouncing on the balls of my feet, I wring my hands and watch from the shadows as the venue continues to fill with warm bodies and the buzz of excitement.

Holy shit .

If you’d have asked me about ten months ago if I thought I’d be standing backstage at the Fillmore, waiting to go out with The Ravens to play in front of a packed house, I’d have told you to get fucked.

That’s exactly what I’m doing, though.

Lucky didn’t have any trouble getting in contact with the SummerFest coordinators or convincing them to let us play after our hiatus. He said they jumped at the chance to have us headline even if the period of time for promoting wasn’t very long.

It was about a month.

A little less, actually, more like three weeks between getting our photos back from Rory and standing here right now, and to say I’m humbled by the response would be an understatement.

Especially without a record label backing us.

Vintage was very supportive, they were happy to see us back together and working on new music, but apparently minimal contact and not holding up our end of things despite the circumstances was enough for them to terminate our contract. Without ever notifying any of us.

Officially breaking from them was something we’d talked about doing once our own studio was up and running, as soon as we were able to independently produce our next album, so it wasn’t some great disappointment. But it did leave us in limbo for a bit.

Thankfully, Lucky’s background in law came into play and after a few meetings with Vintage, a lawyer Keyton recommended to us, and some incredibly solid research from my boys, we obtained the full rights to our first three albums, and everything attached to them.

While we’re all excited about what this means, about what it’ll do for us as a band, it also left us with very little time and even less of a team to push this show.

Keyton was a big help. Shockingly. Not that he’s such a shithead he’s totally cold hearted and wouldn’t lend a fellow musician a hand, I guess my expectations of him are just that low. But he helped a lot. He let us plaster Mikey’s with posters the way we used to, handed out flyers to everyone who came in, and he gave us the number of a PR company who was thrilled to take us on.

Aside from that, we pounded the pavement like the old days.

Morbid Ink and Inked in Sin started playing our shit on rotation and telling everyone who walked through their doors about our comeback show . Mother Loves, Stitches and a few of the other shops in town began doing the same, even the hardware store Lucky loves hung a promo photo in their window. Mark got us a few spots on the local rock stations and podcasts, Pete had Kane come all the way out to do a full episode on us. One where we publicly discussed everything that has happened to us in pretty great detail. He’s the only one we’d ever do that with because he’s our friend and Kane was kind enough to schedule the episode to go live tomorrow morning after the show in hopes of avoiding any insane stunts tonight.

I’m not holding my breath.

Our presence in every inch of this city picked up and started a buzz, one that could easily go south at the drop of a hat but even with the stir—-and anxiety—we created, I was worried it wouldn’t be enough.

I was completely convinced the world had forgotten about us, that all of my shit over the last few years hit a reset button in the worst possible way. It’s been such a whirlwind from start to finish, deciding that now is the time to record new music and get us back in front of the masses after nothing but radio silence or negative publicity, and I couldn’t see this playing out in any way but disastrous.

Yes, our music suddenly got a surge in streaming on all the various platforms.

And yeah, we’re getting stopped a lot more often for autographs and selfies.

Our social media accounts have even starting gaining more followers with hashtags like #leonorhasrisen or #longlivetheravens, and people are tagging us in all of it.

Norman thinks we’re going to go viral tonight.

He’s always been the one to handle our socials, most religiously anyway, and he’s been watching our numbers spike since I got branded at Morbid Ink.

I don’t really know what any of that means, not in terms of the band itself and making a comeback without a record label, but the boys are happy.

Even if I’m a little black cloud trying like hell to rain on their parade.

I just didn’t know if all of this would be enough.

We did months of promo depending on what it was for, and we busted our asses to get to where we were when our second and third albums went platinum. It’s how we toured as many times as we did, how a UK tour was even on the table.

And that was all after ten fucking years of nose to the grindstone bullshit.

Three weeks to push a few pictures, some flyers, and a song? Yeah, I wasn’t sure about shit.

Did my boyfriends, the four absolute loves of my life, argue about all of this with my pessimistic ass until everyone exploded?

Yes.

But it didn’t last, not when deep down I know they’re probably right, and they know how to convince me they are, whether I believe it or not.

They have always had the utmost faith in our band, in our music, in me , and no matter what happened at tonight’s show, this was going to be a success in their eyes.

Until this very second, I doubted that.

Amongst all the screaming fans belting out lyrics to Pretty Boy Leroy songs, I see The Ravens.

T-shirts, tapestries, homemade signs. Someone even has a huge cardboard cutout of my dumbass that they’re waving around like the olympic torch.

And right down in the front, settling in with their headphones that will only muffle the music, are our biggest fans.

Norm’s mom and dad, both of Pete’s sisters and their spouses and… Oh my god, they even brought Nanny Vee. Thankfully her tits seem to be tucked in nice and tight but that doesn’t mean anything. We had lots of fans who whip their boobs out just for one of us to make a comment and single them out and if that happens, Nanny will take that as a sign to follow suit.

So be it.

I’m too nervous, too excited to think about Mark’s grandma flashing us in the middle of Your Stars or Bend Like Me .

To be totally honest, I’m sad, too.

This is the first home show Pierre won’t be in the crowd screaming his face off in French, belting out every lyric and throwing his devil horns while Justine kept him from getting sucked into the pit. It’s the first show she won’t be at either, because her flight was delayed and when I talked to her last, Justine had no idea when she would finally land in the States.

For the first time since I walked my ass onto a stage in the great state of Louisiana, my parents aren’t going to be here to support me, and I don’t really know how to feel about that.

Except heartbroken, and more like an orphan than I’ve ever felt before.

“New pre-show ritual.”

I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of Lucky’s voice, spinning around so fast I nearly punch him in the gut and almost fall over. “Jesus, Lucius.”

“Sorry, cakes,” he says with a shit eating grin and zero remorse as he tugs me further backstage. “I thought you heard me.”

“I did not.” Not over my own thoughts. “The crowd is getting rowdy.”

Lucky’s smile grows as we duck into our dressing room and he closes the door. “They miss you, Leonor.”

“They’re ravenous for you,” Pete says as the two of them maneuver me onto the shitty couch that smells like old beer and stale cigarettes.

I roll my eyes as Mark presses a kiss to my temple and all but growls, “Starving for you, sugar.”

A shiver runs from head to toe as he and Lucius move so I’m in their lap, an asscheek on each of their thighs. “So, the new pre-show ritual is to get all handsy and start talking dirty when we’re fifteen minutes from playing so I walk out on stage with a slip and slide in my jeans?”

“Hardly,” Norm says with a smirk. “No one would be going on if that was the case.”

“Then what the hell are we doing?”

They’re moving me around like a rag doll, as usual, all up in my business, grazing my nipples and rubbing my thighs. If they’re not careful I will cancel this show myself so the four of them can fuck me in any way they’re able to because if they keep this up…

“Fuck,” I hiss as Norman shoves my thighs open while Pete grabs my pussy through my jeans.

“Taking a picture.” The asshole winks before he and our sweet boy both turn and sink to the floor, Norm between my legs while Pete leans back against him. “The first picture of us as an us before we do what we were meant to do.”

“How we were meant to do it,” Lucky whispers as he presses his lips to the space just below my ear. “Happy. In love. All of us thinking about how great the post show sex is going to be now that it’s the five of us having it.”

I laugh at that and hear the soft click of a camera.

My nose scrunches as I turn, realizing Mark’s phone is on a tripod across from us and one of these beautiful men must have a remote or something.

Which is when everything actually hits me.

The levity of the situation, the emotions it’s bringing out of me.

These four men love me, they love me more than anything in the world because they want to, because they chose to, and I get to spend the rest of my life doing exactly what we’re doing right now with them.

For some reason, I feel the urge to cry over that.

Over being with my soulmates, over having parents who were undeniably mine. Missing both of them in different ways.

My eyes well when I realize I’m not just surviving anymore, I’m living, and what a fucking time for that to hit because the second the first tear rolls down my cheeks, I swear it’s like a bomb goes off.

“Leonor?” Lucky asks, his voice full of panic. He moves me around again as Pete and Norm pop up in front of me, the four of them now staring at me with adorably horrified expressions that only make me cry harder.

“What the hell happened?” Peter pulls his shirt off and uses it on my face. “I thought?—”

“I just love you so much,” I say as I sniffle and try to get my shit together. “It just hit me really hard, how far we’ve come, and I, I just love you four so fucking much and I’m so goddamn grateful you all chose to love me back.”

Norm’s eyes immediately well with tears as he leans in to kiss me, whispering those words against my lips before Mark, Pete and Lucky do the same.

“Ten minutes!” Someone shouts as they bang on the door, all of us jumping a little before we get ourselves under control.

I walk over to the mirror and make sure I don’t look like I’ve been crying and when I catch sight of the guys doing what they always do before a show, I decide to watch like a creep.

Lucky yanks his shirt off and tosses it in his duffle bag, his Chuck Taylors and socks following immediately because he only ever plays in his jeans. Pete helps Norm strap in like always, adjusting his guitar strap so he has just enough give when he goes crazy on the strings, then he starts wrapping his dreads into a knot that will only make it through maybe three songs. Markus hands Lucky his drumsticks—he did it the first time we ever played and has had to do it every time since—then closes his eyes, my teddy definitely visualizing every note we’re about to play while tuning his bass for the first song.

This, this right here.

This is my home.

I am so fucking glad to be back.

“You ready, princess?” Pete asks as Leroy’s roadies rush out on stage to dismantle their set before moving ours. “Last chance to back out.”

Tipping my head back, I smile and jut my chin out for a kiss. “I’m ready.”

I take one last look at the crowd, seeing that Ash, Tori and Vince, and Keyton have joined our little VIP section and take a deep breath. One that gets caught in my throat as I catch a hooded figure moving out from behind Vince, facing me fully before a second one steps out from behind Max to do the same. They’re less than six inches away from them, standing close enough to cause damage but instead, they just stand there, unmoving and facing me.

My blood runs cold, my heart starts hammering even harder than before and while ninety percent of the people in this crowd are wearing black so in theory it could be anyone, I don’t see any other hoods. And I sure as fuck don’t see other people wearing a goddamn mask that looks like a void or thick gloves in this hotbox of a venue.

Just when I’m about to scream at our family to move out of the way, when I’m about to grab the boys and show them what I’m seeing, the house lights drop and everything goes black.

Shaking my head, I strain to see through the darkness, trying like hell to find those two, fucking two hooded nightmares, but I can’t.

I don’t see anything at all.

Did I just hallucinate that?

That would suck a big fat flaccid cow dick because I haven’t had visual hallucinations in years but that has to be what just happened.

Nerves. Nostalgia. The extreme happy meeting the deep sad. That’s all it was, I’m sure I didn’t actually see anything.

Not that I really have time to process shit because one by one the tiny lights along the edge of the stage start to glow purple, and that’s our fucking cue.

The crowd goes ballistic as we quietly take our places, none of them fully able to see us but they know what’s coming.

I shake off that weird feeling, the way my stomach pitched and tightened, the leftover fear, and I stop in front of the mic, glance at each of my boys, then I do what I was born to do.

“Good evening, New Orleans!” I say in my most sultry tone as the spotlight above me comes on. I grin as the crowd comes unglued, incoherently screaming back at me when I growl, “I said, good fucking evening, New Orleans.”

Popping the mic from the stand, I walk right up to the edge of the stage, winking at our crew and ignoring the pang of sadness that hits my heart before I crouch down and let this shit consume me.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you because I said—” Every single human in the sea of bodies practically roars, and I can’t help the way it makes me laugh. “That’s more like it. I was starting to think y’all forgot who the fuck we are.”

One by one, cell phones come out and as their screens light up the entire venue in wave after wave of movement, I become Leonor Poe once again.

“Now, in case y’all did happen to forget who we are and what we do,” I say as I start walking from one end of the stage to the other. “Or maybe you’re new to our kind of shitshow, let me take a few minutes to refresh your memories and blow your fucking minds.”

Mark’s bass starts up as I walk toward him, my teddy slapping out an angry line of notes as his light comes on to my left. I smile like the woman in love I am as I grab his beard and kiss him hard, sucking on his lip briefly while the crowd pops. “This beautiful bear of man who’s going to make you vibrate all the way down to your soul with his baritones is our very own, Markus Favre!”

Planting one more kiss on Mark, I run to the right side of the stage and scale the amp, drop to my stomach and rest my chin on my hand while dreamily staring at Pete, who starts strumming to match my teddy then kisses me nice and fucking slow.

“Providing rhythm,” I pant into the mic and jump down, backing away from that dark look on his face with a smirk. “The man moving your hips while you dream of his lips, Peter Lagrave, y’all!”

I watch two of my boys move to the center, their lights following until the one in the middle of the stage comes up, shining on our sweet boy as his teal eyes practically glow.

“Shredding your faces off in the sexiest way possible.” He dips his chin as he cups my cheeks, delivering another kiss that has me seconds from losing my composure and changing the kind of show this is. “Norman Nodine!”

The crowd loses their goddamn minds as the three of them take center stage together, syncing their movements perfectly, filling out the long intro of the song we’re about to play.

“Last but not least,” I say as I run to Lucky’s platform and jump up behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kiss his scar. “Beating your fucking hearts out is the luscious and lethal, Lucky De la Grange!”

He spins on his stool when I try to get away, grabbing me around the waist while he starts banging his bass drum, kissing me so fucking hard I lose my balance a touch when he rights me on my feet to get down.

I am not going to be able to kiss them all like that at every show.

It makes me all kinds of loopy and I don’t need another reason to have an achy pussy while we play.

Damn, I’m already sweating.

Tip-toeing my way to the front of Lucky’s platform, I stop in front of the bass drum and look out into the crowd, watching as hundreds of people scream our names. I smile as I scan the sea of heathens, lifting the mic to my lips and dropping my tone. “In case you were wondering, I’m Leonor Poe''—another pop from the fans—“We are The Ravens.” I turn around and climb up on the bass drum, looking at the entire venue over my shoulder then growl, “And this is Yahtzee, Motherfucker!” Before I do a fucking backflip on that very fist beat drop.

Fuck, I’ve missed this.