Speak Now & Surprises [Hunter Hayes fanfic]

Chapter 51

Twenty minutes later Hunter and I were rolling a wheelie bin throughout the twisting hallways of the Prudential Center – the payback prank was underway.

“Excuse me, what are you two doing with that bin? Aren’t you with Taylor Swift?” A woman in a work uniform inquired cattily, a clip board clutched to her chest.

“Yeah, I’m tour manager.” I introduced myself sarcastically, “Miss Swift requested a bin in her dressing room and she didn’t get one.” I lied and watched with amusement as the woman apologized profusely for the inconvenience, insisting that we should drop the bin immediately and she’d send someone up with one.

“No thanks, we’ve got it now.” Hunter fake grumbled, flashing me a smirk when the woman wasn’t looking.

“Okay, well, sorry.” She said again, flustered, and clattered down the corridor in her teetering high heels.

“Did you see her face?” Hunter cracked up, bent double.

“I know right! I bet you Taylor will get a bin at the next show!” I replied, continuing to roll the bin along the concrete floor. What was it with backstage arenas always having hard concrete floors?

“Where did you find this, anyway?” I asked Hunter, gesturing towards the bin. It was all part of our wind-up to get Hunter’s band back for the shower incident.

“Out past the public car parks; just been emptied.” Hunter shrugged, lugging the great thing along, “Finally, we’re here.” He swerved the bin into the men’s bathroom.

“Hunter – I can’t go in there!” I frowned; crossing my arms outside the door and hearing him switch on the taps.

“Oh come on Shel, there’s nobody but me in here.” He ducked his head out of the door way and pulled a face at me.

“Doesn’t feel right going into the men’s bathroom though,” I shifted uneasily from my prosthetic leg to my good one. Out of all the things that had happened to me since starting the tour, you’d expect venturing into the men’s bathroom to be the least of my worries, right?

“Hey, get off me!” I tried to yell as Hunter slung me over his shoulder as he often did, knocking all the wind out of me. I could feel his laughter vibrating throughout his body as I batted his back.

“Almost full up - fancy taking a dip?” Hunter suggested, pretending to swoop me into the bin that was now three quarters of the way full with water.

“No!” I spluttered profusely, “Hunter put me down now!” I ordered and he did so, knowing when enough was enough. I switched off the tap and shut the lid on the bin, my heart sinking at the prospect of dragging 180 litres of water to Hunter’s band’s dressing room door.

“Weakling,” Hunter teased as he rolled the sleeves up on his thermal, unveiling his herculean arms that had been the topic of many a discussion already that night, and towed the bin along the floor with ease. I uselessly lingered behind, occasionally prodding the huge container awkwardly with my hands, before realising that I was not helping in any way at all.

“Shelby! Where’s Hunter? Did you two have a nice shower?” Devon asked me innocently, before bursting into paroxysms of mirth along with the rest of Hunter’s band. I closed their dressing room door behind me, making sure that Hunter was concealed as he propped the water-filled wheelie bin against their door.

“Ha ha very funny.” I mimicked, taking a seat across from them, remembering all too well the interruption back in the shower room.

“So tell us, how mad is Hunter?” Steve asked me, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. I noticed he still held a Supima cotton towel in his hand, rubbing his curly black hair dry.

“No, no. He’s pretty stable.” I replied lazily, before choking on my answer, “Who am I kidding? You’re all dead.” I revised, grinning.

“Pft. I know Hunter may look brawny in that topless picture the paparazzi got of him through the hotel window, but he’s nothing but stock.” Matt insisted, raising a bicep to his lips, “This is real muscle Shelby.”

“Sure it is Matt.” I played along, nodding in a sardonic fashion at my boyfriend’s bassist. There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Sam yelled irritably, before complaining about how the visitor knocked like a demented child.

“Guys it’s me, Hunter.” Hunter acted – the prank was about to go down.

“Ooh, how was your shower Hunna?” Devon used Hunter’s nickname as he sloped over to the back corner of the room, securing a guitar in a stand next to Sam’s mandolin.

“Yeah guys I wanted to talk to you about that,” Hunter said angrily, and I could picture him squaring his two feet down, “Come out here please.”

“Hunter just open the door and come in here?” Sam flicked his fingers in an annoyed fashion.

“For Christ’s sake Sam, just get your backside out here!” Hunter yelled. Seriously, if this music career hadn’t worked out for him he sure could’ve pursued a career in acting, because this performance was very believable.

“Fine, fine, we’re coming.” Matt insisted, pulling an impression of Hunter behind the door, “Don’t get your accordion in a twist Hunter.” He grinned, watching the others faces contort with hilarity at that comment. I gazed mercilessly as their grins dropped to the floor as did the wheelie bin once Matt had opened the door, water surging throughout the dressing room like a tidal wave.

“Holy hell – the guitars! Somebody get the guitars!” Devon cried, wading through the water. Perched on a dressing table and well above the water, I picked the instruments up before the tsunami could even come close to them – Hunter’s band wasn’t so lucky.

They stood dripping wet and shivering, all sporting trout pouts that would make even Leslie Ash want to eat her heart out.

“Revenge!” Hunter stood in the doorway cackling like a madman and dancing around.

“Dude, you look like the hobbit.” Sam said in a ticked off fashion and stormed out of the room, tripping up on the wheelie bin as he went. We all burst out laughing and threw the Supima towel after him.

“Good prank guys, got to say we did not see that one coming.” Steve congratulated Hunter and I as we watched the concert from the left wing of the stage.

“Before we were on the Speak Now tour, there was a tour called the Fearless tour,” Taylor dictated from the end of the stage, dressed in a sparkly black dress and holding her diamond encrusted guitar.

“But you do know now, the pranks are on and we will be seeking vengeance.” Steve threatened over the deafening roar of the Prudential Center crowd.

“And it was during that tour that I was writing the Speak Now album. I used to sit there backstage before we’d even go on stage, and I’d listen to the crowd make this beautiful, magical, loud screaming sound.” Taylor explained to the audience making wild hand gestures to express how she felt, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. Of course, the crowd immediately hollered in response for Taylor to confirm that they were making the right noise.

“Yes! That is absolutely the one!” she congratulated them, laughing, “And I would stand there and I would just think – I can’t believe I’m this lucky and that I get to hear this sound one time in my life.” She continued her little speech, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared out into the pulsing mass of people adoringly.

“And I would get this melody in my head every time I would hear it,” she revealed almost breathlessly, her hand on her heart as if she couldn’t bear to hold this piece of knowledge in any longer, “And I eventually wrote that melody into a song and I called it ‘Long Live’. So tonight, New Jersey, this song is most definitely, completely for you.” she wrapped up, playing the first five notes of the song and watching in disbelief as the crowd went crazy.

“She’s so inspiring.” Hunter whispered to me, before nudging my arm and nodding his head to his left. I cautiously peered over him unsure of what I was meant to be looking for, but as soon as I saw her I knew it was that.

Andrea Swift was clinging to the edge of the curtain, tears of pride streaming down her cheeks.