With each passing second, I grew more anxious. My heart, he raced. My palms were seriously damp, and my energy was barely contained. The urge to bounce around suffused me, and it was all I could do to keep my brain from freaking the fuck out.

Normally, it’d take about twenty minutes to get to Bougainvillea from the airport. We’d made it in thirteen. Screeching the van to a halt at the front door, Siggie threw it into park, and I exploded out of it like a bat out of hell.

Music was blasting through the open door, and I knew it by heart. I could sing every word. “Along the River Stones.”

Security immediately detained me. “Miss, this is invite only,” said the thickly built bouncer.

“Kevin!” shouted Siggie, hopping out of the driver’s side. “That’s fucking Baby Girl!”

“Oh, my bad!” he said, stepping to the side.

As I raced inside, my heart was stuck in my throat. It wasn’t going to be easy to shove my way up to the front. I heard Phil’s voice. It was clearer and more powerful than ever, and it reached deep within me, spreading to all parts of me, physical and otherwise.

I stopped fighting to get around people, and I closed my eyes as I just…listened.

Always, this voice speaks to my soul. He touched my heart with it the moment he opened his mouth all those years ago. He claimed me then. It never mattered what he looked like. I would have loved him no matter what because his voice is my own somehow.

The music was spot-on, richer and more complex, and Phil’s voice carried it to all corners of my universe. Someone tugged on my hand. Siggie was pulling me along the side of the wall toward the backstage entrance.

My first look at Phil shocked me. My jaw dropped to the damn floor. He’d chopped all his hair off. It looked as though he had shaven his head, and it was now grown out and a bit wild-looking. He was fucking gorgeous, looking so healthy. He was still leaner than I was used to, but he’d put on some weight again. And he was rockin’ a good-sized beard, too.

Most of all, he looked like a man who knew himself, strong from the inside out.

Before me, Phil dazzled with an aura of pure masculine confidence, a contentedness that was palpable. I wanted to go all parasitical and latch on to him.

“Come on,” said Siggie, taking my hand and lacing our fingers, tugging me toward the backstage area.

I pulled back.

“I need to be here,” I told her.

From this vantage point, I could see all of them from the shadows without too many heads obstructing my view.

“Okay,” she replied, standing by me. Siggie understood.

It was hard not to cry. My throat worked tirelessly to hold the knot of tears at bay. Alys and Lili caught up to us.

Silently, Alys wept.

Connor on bass was poetry in motion.

Devon and Jason, both so different in style, harmonized and complemented one another in the most beautifully bizarre way possible. Together, they made sense.

As they finished “The Fortunate Fallen,” which had reduced people to tears, Phil pulled out a stool and sat down in the center of the stage, mic stand in hand. The rest of the guys wandered off, and the lights around Phil dimmed until only the spotlight remained. He placed the stand in front of him.

“A lot has happened these past five or six months,” said Phil.

Shit, he looked beyond beautiful in his dark green Dickies and white Misfits shirt.

“We went through some shit, as you all know. We lost a brother, the man who had founded this band. Without X, there’d never have been NOLA’s Junk.”

Phil took a deep breath and then another. He was struggling not to cry.

“When X died, he took a piece of all of us with him. He had been my best friend since I was seven years old, and imaginin’ life without him from now on is a hard pill to swallow. I lost my shit for a while there. I hurt…I hurt a lot of people in the few weeks after he’d passed on, and he wouldn’t be too proud of me for that.

“But after some serious soul-searchin’, I woke up and fuckin’ realized that X didn’t want his brothers givin’ up our dream simply ’cause he couldn’t be here to live it with us. The thing is though…we ain’t NOLA’s Junk without X. To continue on without him as such would feel like a lie.

“So, we called on our brother from another mother, Devon GianFranco. I’m sure y’all know who that fuckin’ six-stringed genius is. And we’ve got somethin’ other goin’ on now. Somethin’ we hope you all can get on board with and support.”

By this time, the audience was whistling and cheering, and the rest of the guys came out with stools that they situated around Phil. Flipper clutched a tambourine; Devon, a sitar; Jason, an acoustic; and Connor…a pair of maracas.

“Everyone,” said Phil, “it is my great pleasure to introduce you all to NOLA’s Own. You’ve heard a bit of our new stuff already, and we’ve got one more for you that the five of us felt needed to be saved for last.”

Flipper rattled the tambourine, and Jason gracefully flicked his wrist down, strumming a sweet string of chords.

Leaning forward into the mic once more, Phil softly told us all, “This is ‘An Ode to Zephyr.’”

“Oh…” I breathed. My soul swelled within me, threatening to burst free.

Jason created the platform for Devon’s sultry lullaby of a melody. Connor and Flipper kept a soft, warm beat.

“My Other Half…” Phil’s voice, smooth and chocolate-rich deep, seeped into my blood and set fire through my veins. “She completes me in ways I did not foresee…”

Connor’s voice joined Phil’s in an undercurrent, repeating, “She completes me…”

“Never have I known she’d be the Light that guides,” sang Phil, his voice clear and strong.

Devon joined in now, “She completes me…”

“Or the Voice of Reason in my mind,” Phil continued.

Jason’s voice joined the others, creating a swell of ranges and notes with the most wonderful words ever written. They were my words, words Phil had given to me, and they’d created a song with them that left my spirit in a state of true bliss.

Slowly, the instruments faded out until only Connor was giving the occasional shake of the maracas. Then, their five voices sang a cappella, creating a chorus of wonderment.

My feet moved by themselves, my brain not yet caught up to the rest of my body. How could it? My soul was dancing like a dirty hippie around here somewhere.

Siggie must have realized my intent because she started pushing people out of my way. Some of them knew who I was because they happily parted and created a path to the barricade.

Phil had his eyes closed as he sang his heart out. I watched only him as the rest of the world fell away, leaving me worshiping my Dark God of the Universe.

The last few lines brought all of them chanting together, reminding me of monks and mantras. The sound reverberated through my entire self—body, mind, spirit. This spell was the greatest, most powerful one I had ever experienced.

The four voices enhancing Phil’s faded into silence, and his voice spilled forth like warm liquid love.

“We’ll come full circle, she and I…once more to begin anew.” Slowly, Phil opened his eyes. Staring straight at me, his eyes filled with tears, and his chest swelled with a huge breath.

I couldn’t believe there was a time when I could hardly look into his eyes. He’d overwhelmed me, scared me even. Not anymore. I wasn’t afraid of who he was or what he felt. He was inside me, too. Those feelings, that intensity—it was in my heart forever now.

Around us, the word erupted into ear-piercing whistles, screams, and cheers, but he and I were deaf to all of it.

Moving the mic stand to the side, he stood and made his way to the edge of the stage. The old Phil would have simply stepped off, dropping to his feet, strong legs supporting his weight. But not this time. Sinking to his knees, he lowered himself to the floor beside the stage so as not to cause further injury. However, he launched himself over the barricade and landed solidly on his right leg. With only the slightest limp, he made his way to me.