by Frank, Ella
My heart rate kicked up a notch, this time from the anxiety overriding the initial adrenaline, and as I made my way back center stage, I caught Viper’s eyes. He looked as baffled as I was at the change in reaction, but he mouthed, “Keep going,” so that was what I did. I kept singing, doing my best to win over the crowd, even though in their eyes I seemed to be failing miserably. But how? Why?
It was at the end of the third song when I got my answer. The shouts of “We want Trent!” and “Where’s Trent?” and “Who the hell are you?” slammed into me, and they didn’t let up. I saw people leave. I heard the boos—fucking boos. I’d had my share of rejection in my twenty-three years, but ten thousand people aiming all that hate your way? I wouldn’t wish that on an enemy.
But the guys kept playing, and I kept singing, even though I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I’d known taking over lead vocals for the band wouldn’t be easy, but I’d never, and I mean never, imagined such a volatile reaction.
Ninety minutes passed like it’d been ninety days, and as I practically crawled off the stage, beaten down and exhausted, I wondered how everything had gone to shit so fast.
Twelve
Viper
WHAT THE FUCK was that?
A goddamn nightmare, that was what. One where you drifted off to sleep and dreamt you were on stage, only to hear thousands of people booing your name. And who could we thank for this little nightmare turned reality shitshow? You got it—Trent fucking Knox.
As Slade somehow managed to get us through to the end of the set, and the lights finally—thank fuck—went down, I tore the strap of my Telecaster over my head and marched off stage, my anger roiling through me like a freight train.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Tonight had been a damn disaster, and not because of anything any of us had done. No, it was a disaster because our original lead singer had bailed and left us up shit fucking creek without a paddle.
Christ, it was infuriating. Not only had Trent’s abandonment caused us months of monotonous auditions, but now that we had found someone to replace his punk ass, we were getting booed off the motherfucking stage.
Are you kidding me? We’d never been booed out of anywhere, not even when we started.
Fuck. Trent. Knox.
“Viper!” Killian called out behind me, but I wasn’t slowing down for anyone. I stormed off the stage, not giving two shits if anyone was following, and made my way back toward the dressing room.
The shouts and jeering calls of disappointed fans still echoed in my head—or who the hell knows, maybe the ones who’d hung around until the end were taking delight in twisting the knife in a little harder, staying behind to make sure we heard just how much they thought we sucked. Either way, as I shoved open the door to the dressing room and it crashed into the wall, I made a beeline for the bottles of liquor and uncapped the top of one, determined to drown them out by getting shit-faced drunk.
The rest of the guys filed in after me, and I could hear Jagger and Killian murmuring to one another, but didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy thinking of all the ways I could express just how much I hated the man who’d left, the boy I’d grown up with, the guy I’d stupidly thought would never screw us over as hard as he had.
“Viper? You couldn’t have waited back there for us?” Slade said as he shut the door behind them, and it wasn’t lost on me how quiet Halo was right then, how withdrawn he looked as he moved to the corner of the room and took up a spot away from the rest of us.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to fucking wait so we could do the walk of shame together.”
“V…” Killian said, but the glare I sent his way stopped him.
There would be no calming me tonight. Hell, as far as I was concerned, the guys should be thanking me for not throwing my microphone stand at the ungrateful crowd. I raised the bottle to my lips, took another swig, and then eyed Halo, who still hadn’t said a word.
“That was a disaster.” Jagger moved to one of the couches in the room and slumped down into it, his usually put together self looking somewhat defeated as his eyes shifted around the room.
“No shit,” Slade agreed, as he ran a hand over his head and gripped the back of his neck. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“What, boos so loud they practically made the stage vibrate?” I said as a full-on scowl twisted my lips. “Or maybe you’re talking about the way they were all calling out that fucking prick Trent’s name so loudly that he probably heard it in whatever hole he crawled into.”
“Viper,” Killian shouted, and I pinned him with a stare that should’ve cut him at the knees.
“What?”
“You need to calm down.”
“No. I need to get drunk.” I upended the bottle and took another long, hard pull of the whiskey. “This is all his fuckin’ fault, and you know it.”
Killian balled his fists at his sides as he ground his teeth together, and when he didn’t respond, I turned my attention to the one who hadn’t made a peep since we’d left the stage. The one who looked as though he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. And that was another reason I hoped Trent could feel our wrath wherever he was tonight—the total dejection written all over Halo’s face.
God only knew what he was thinking right now. He’d already been a ball of nerves before hitting the stage, but after that epic failure he was probably wishing he’d never heard of TBD. Who was I kidding? Right now, I was wishing the same damn thing.
Taking pity on him, I crossed to where Halo stood and thrust the bottle out to him. When his eyes caught on my hand, and then flew up to mine, the confusion, disappointment, and apology in them made me temper my own foul mood for one second as I said, “Now, do you wanna get drunk with me?”
Halo grimaced but reached for the bottle, and just as he was about to bring it to his lips, the door opened up and Brian, our manager, stepped inside. Great, just what we needed.
“Guys…” Brian started, his eyes roaming around the room from Jagger and Slade, then to Killian, and finally, they settled on Halo and me. When he saw the bottle of alcohol in Halo’s hand, he slowly shook his head. “That was, um, not your finest hour out there tonight.”
Was he fucking serious right now? Talk about stating the obvious. “You ran all the way back here in your shiny Oxfords to tell us that, Brian? Newsflash: we already know. We were up there, remember?”
“V…” Killian said in a warning tone, knowing how close to the surface my nerves and anger were.
“Look,” Brian said as he walked farther into the room. Brave of him, all things considered. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news—”
I snorted. “Then how about you turn around and get the hell out? We don’t need you to tell us how the crowd felt out there tonight. I think we got it.”
“That’s not what I’m here to tell you. Jesus, Viper, how about you shut your mouth for five seconds so I can talk.”
“How about you go fuck yourself—”
“Viper,” Slade said, pointing his sticks my way. “Dude, we’re all fucking bummed right now, but you gotta rein it in. Cool it.”
Halo shuffled on his feet, and when I looked in his direction, his eyes pleaded with me to simmer down, to not make it worse than it already was, and something about that look—that silent appeal—banked my fury in a way I didn’t think was possible.
“Thank you, Slade.” Brian’s eyes moved to Killian, and he held up his cell. “I just got off the phone with MGA. They had someone here tonight in the crowd, and the reports they got back, not to mention the beating you guys are taking online, has not made for a happy record label.”
I scoffed, but before I could say anything, Halo shoved the bottle of alcohol against my arm and shook his head—so I zipped it.
“They’re not happy, guys. Actually, they’re…” As Brian trailed off, Jagger sat forward on the edge of the couch.
“They’re what, Brian? Spit it out.”
Brian took in a deep breath, and then let it out. “They want your asses home, pronto. They’re cancelling all upcoming gigs, and the final word I got from them was they don’t care what you do, or how you do it, but you need to fix shit quick.”
My eyes flew to Killian’s, and I swear to fuck if Trent had been there, I would’ve strangled him. “Fix shit? What the hell does that even mean?”
“I don’t know.” Brian looked to Halo, and I felt something primal claw up inside me, something that made me want to protect the man beside me.
I stepped in front of Halo, blocking him from Brian’s line of fire. “Then I guess you better leave us alone so we can pack our shit up and head home. Shouldn’t you?”
Brian’s eyes narrowed on me, but I didn’t care in the slightest. I’d gone head to head with him on numerous occasions, especially over the last few months. But if he was implying Halo was the reason we’d just gotten our balls handed to us on stage, then he was way off track.
Trent was the reason for this colossal mess, and I’d be damned if Halo took any of that on his shoulders.
“Fine. I’m gone,” Brian said as he opened the door. “But you guys need to take this seriously. Think about what’s at stake here.”
“I think we’re aware of what’s at stake, Brian. It is our careers.” With a final fuck you look in his direction, I turned back to Halo, whose lips crooked at the side as he held his hand out for the whiskey.
I passed it back to him, and Halo said, “Thanks for that.”
“What?”
“Standing up for me.”
“You deserved it. We rocked the shit out of it tonight. You killed it. There was nothing you could’ve done any fucking better.” I cocked my head to the side, my eyes roaming over Halo’s face, and I found a part of myself relieved to see the apology from earlier had been replaced with…respect. “It’s not your fault they wanted Trent. Just like it’s not our fault. So fuck ’em. I’m not going to let them talk shit about you when you’re doing everything you can.”
As Halo grinned, I made no attempt to hide where I was looking, and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he purposefully licked his lower lip. Then he raised the bottle, took another drink, and said, “I think I just might get drunk tonight. Can I keep this?”
“It’s all yours, Angel. Plenty more where that came from.” And before I did something stupid, I made myself step away from him and head back to the catering table, where several unopened bottles sat. I planned to take all of them back to the hotel room with me and drink at least half of them before we had to catch our flight tomorrow. Because I hadn’t been lying to Halo just to make him feel better—we had owned that stage tonight. We’d played better than we had in years. The problem was, we were missing one key element—and fuck Trent Knox for that.
Thirteen
Halo
HOURS LATER, I found myself slumped behind a baby grand piano in the empty lounge of our hotel, my head resting against the top of it as my fingers moved of their own accord over the keys.
Numb. In shock. Bewildered. My brain couldn’t seem to wrap itself around what had happened tonight, and as I ran through the show again and again, I tried to pinpoint where I’d gone wrong. But my voice had been strong, the energy had been high…it was a flawless set. Which meant the problem had been…me.
The problem is me. I wasn’t Trent, and tonight proved that the fans of TBD weren’t going to be accepting of whoever took his place. I’d stupidly assumed that because the rest of the guys were still there, the lead singer could be interchangeable. It wasn’t like the music had been revamped; I’d matched Trent note for note.
Wrong. Dead wrong.
The chorus of boos echoed in my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut like it would force out the sound. No such luck. I’d probably hear the chants and see the disappointment on the faces of those in the crowd for the rest of my life.
“Excuse me, sir?” I lifted my head, and the bartender gave me a hesitant smile. “I’m about to close things down. Can I get you anything before I go?”
I looked at the almost-empty bottle of alcohol I’d taken from the venue—the one Viper had given me—and shook my head.
“Okay. Stay as long as you’d like.” She set a bottle of water on the lip of the piano and then backed away, giving me my space.
She hadn’t been the only one. I hadn’t seen the others since we’d arrived at the hotel, though I had a feeling they weren’t much better off than me. After Viper’s epic throw-down backstage, it’d been a surprisingly quiet ride to the hotel, everyone caught up in their own misery.
Viper. He’d shocked the hell out of me tonight. Of anyone, I’d have pinpointed him as the last person to come to my defense, but he’d ended up being the only one.
A rush of warmth filled my chest as I thought about the way Viper had told our manager to fuck off when Brian had insinuated they needed to take care of the problem—meaning me. It was still a strong possibility they’d tell me to get lost, and maybe it would be the smart thing to do. Drop me, beg Trent back, bam—shit fixed. But with the way Viper hated Trent, I doubted it’d be a smart idea to get the two of them back in the same room, so…what was the solution?
“There was nothing you could’ve done any fucking better.”
Viper wasn’t the kind of guy to throw out praise, but he’d done that tonight, hadn’t he? Vouched for me like he thought I added something to TBD, not like I was a second-rate imitation of who everyone had wanted to see. And if Viper, the toughest critic in the band, thought I’d done well, then it had to be true.
At least, that was what I was telling myself.
Sitting up, I ran a hand over my face and then positioned my fingers over the keys. Sitting at the piano or with a guitar in my lap always felt like coming home, and even after the train wreck of the last few hours, I couldn’t stop the itch in my fingers from wanting to play. I didn’t have to think while I played; I just had to feel.
I poured my emotions out through music the way I always had, letting it soothe the ache and put me back together again. It was while I was mindlessly playing that I stumbled over a melody that had me pausing and going back to play it again.
My fingers moved over the keys, the rhythm flowing out my fingertips and onto the instrument in front of me as my foot tapped down on the pedal below. I hummed along then paused, repeating the riff.
Sometimes I played to release the frustration or disappointment of a rough day. Sometimes it was just me creating a bunch of nothing, notes I threw together that didn’t make any sense. Other times…it was magic.
As I played the riff over and over again, I realized this was one of those times.
It was clear as day the way the song would start, where the bass and guitar would come in…then the drums. I could hear Jagger on the synthesizer, rounding out what would be a slower, sort of alternative rock track. It wasn’t anything like what TBD played, but maybe that was exactly what I needed. To get their music out of my head and create something all mine. Something no one else would hear. Something no one else could reject. Something all mine.
I could deal with the slap of reality tomorrow.
Fourteen
Viper
BAM.
THE DOOR to Killian’s presidential suite slammed shut behind me as we all filed in after one another. Well, all of us except Halo, who’d bowed out and said he needed to go and chill, and with the way he’d been clutching that bottle of liquor I’d given him back in the dressing room, I had a feeling I knew exactly how he planned to accomplish that.
Tonight’s disastrous event hovered over us like a dark cloud as the four of us milled into the living area of the opulent suite and flopped down onto the couches. With mouths shut, eyes looking anywhere but at each other, we tried to come to grips with the fact that we’d just been handed our asses on stage for the first time ever, and the disbelief began to set in.
Was this the end of TBD? Could a lead singer or, more accurately, a cha
nge in the lead singer really make or break us when we were still at the top of the charts? I didn’t think that was actually possible, but after tonight it was becoming increasingly obvious that Trent had held more clout than I wanted to give him credit for.
Fuck.
“So…” Killian glanced over to the recliner I’d planted my ass in and arched an eyebrow. “You want to talk about what happened tonight?”
“No.” Hey, at least I was honest.
“V, come on. We can’t ignore it.”
“I don’t want to ignore it. I just don’t want to sit in a fucking circle right now and hold hands while we all cry about it. That okay with you?”
Killian took in a breath, trying for patience, but I could see the telltale sign it was wearing thin. It was the tic in his jaw. I’d pissed him off enough over the years to know when he was getting ready to blow, and right now Killian was about two comments away from telling me to get the hell out of his face.
But that was too damn bad. Nothing was going to rein in my temper tonight. I’d kept a lid on it for Halo’s sake as we made the trip back to the hotel, and I’d thought that maybe the alcohol would help. But even after downing half a bottle of whiskey and an entire pack of cigarettes, I felt the need to…punch something.
Killian ran a hand back through his hair. “Great attitude, Viper. You’re not making this any easier, you know.”
I didn’t say anything to that, because really, what was there to say? I felt like shit, and no matter what Killian said to me, that wasn’t about to change. Nope, I was quite happy wallowing in my misery, and if Killian wanted us all in a room to “discuss” things, then I guess they were gonna get dragged down into it with me.
