Guitar Hero

Disclaimer: The author does not own any of the publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: This was written as contest entry for the Bandward Contest. I hope you enjoy!

Guitar Hero

I close my eyes as I let my hand drift lazily over the guitar resting on my lap—the guitar she gave me on our first anniversary.

Its black exterior looks a bit faded now after six years, but the music that comes out of it still sounds sweeter to me than any other expensive instrument I have used. Because, to me, it represents her—my Bella—the only girl I have ever loved.

I can feel the anxiety and fear of rejection creep up on me as I sit in the dimly lit green room. Tonight is the night. I have been working toward this night for the last seven years of my life ... of our lives together.

A slap on my shoulder makes me open my eyes and look up to see my older brother, Emmett, standing before me. “Hey, man, you’re not chickening out, are you?” he asks with a goofy grin, showing me that he is joking.

I scoff and move my shoulder, making his hand slide off. “Talk about yourself, Em. You’re the chicken in the family. I know it, you know it, Mom and Dad know it. Hell, I bet Rose knows it too.”

His smile does not falter a bit as he shrugs. “Yeah. But you are the mopey one among us.”

I narrow my eyes at him and say, “I am not mopey.”

He gives me a dimpled smile and shoots back, “Oh yeah? How about when you kissed Bella and she puked on your shoes? I remember you moping around for a week then.”

I grimace at the memory and reply, “I was a teenager then, Em. At seventeen, you’d be sad too, if your girlfriend puked on your shoes after your first public kiss.”

“Aha!” he says triumphantly. “But that didn’t happen to me. Not one of my girlfriends ever puked after kissing me. So, there you go, on kissing skills, Em-100 and Eddie-0.”

I shake my head at him and say dryly, “Are you sure you’re a father now?”

He puffs out his chest and replies proudly, “Yep. And my kid just turned three last month.”

“I know, Em. I was there. And being his uncle, I do know how old Damien is,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone.

Before we can continue on with our ridiculous and completely pointless discussion, there is a knock on the door, followed by Jasper, our keyboardist, peeking through a small gap on the door.

“Dudes!” he calls out in his usual greeting, “What’s up? Why the long faces?”

Emmett once again claps me on the back and says, “Eddie here is being a chicken ... again.”