by Lee Piper
“I know. You made that perfectly clear yesterday.”
Tobias scrunches his napkin into a ball and drops it on the table. He rakes his hands through his hair, tugging the ends. “So you’ve chosen them over me?”
Leaning forward, I catch his gaze. “No, I haven’t. This isn’t middle school. I’m not picking sides. I love you more than life itself, but your ultimatum is unfair.”
He stares over my shoulder, his index finger tapping a rapid beat on the laminate.
“Is this why you were late to band practice? Because you’re upset over how we ended things yesterday?”
The beat intensifies until my soda can dances toward the edge of the table. I pick it up, grateful not to be wearing the contents. Unexpectedly, Tobias pushes his chair back and stands. He moves behind it, clutching the backrest until his knuckles turn white. He bows his head, breathing hard.
I wait him out.
“Can I crash at your place for a few days?” His question takes me by surprise.
“Of course. Stay as long as you like.” My voice softens. “Are you gonna sit down and tell me what all of this is about?”
But he straightens, refusing to look me in the eye. “Walked in on Mom fucking her PA.” He swallows. “In my bed.”
“In your bed?”
Tobias glances around the cafeteria, then glares at me. “Christ, Shiloh, wanna yell louder next time? Not sure everyone heard you in Beirut.”
I grimace. “Sorry, but what the actual fuck? What the hell was your mom doing at your house, let alone in your bedroom?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “She comes over sometimes. Usually it’s after a fight with Dad.” He shakes his head. “I really need to change the locks.”
“Unbelievable.” Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms. Okay, I try to, but my girls refuse to be smothered, so I end up planting clenched fists on my hips instead. It doesn’t have the same effect as standing up but whatever. “Does your dad know?”
Tobias nods.
“What did he say?”
He sighs. “What he always does.”
“Bloody hell.” I try to understand the workings of one of the most dysfunctional families on the face of the planet. “So your mom is punishing your dad for sleeping around by fucking her PA in your bed?” Shaking my head, I mutter, “Your parents are messed up.”
“They’re vindictive and bitter. Remind me never to get married.”
“Noted. So is she staying at your place?”
“Yeah, until Dad takes her back again.”
I lean forward, hoping to God my expression is as earnest as I feel. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better parents, truly.”
My comment earns a sad smile. It’s small and fleeting but there nonetheless.
I nibble my bottom lip. “Not that her opinion matters or anything, but won’t Tiffany hate you living with Jasper and me? She’s not exactly our biggest fans.”
“No.”
When Tobias doesn’t explain any further, I really worry. “Why not?”
He meets my confusion head-on. “She broke up with me last night.”
I gasp.
“Says it’s what I get for being a selfish prick. In fact, she’s already got another date lined up for the opening of that new bar in town.” His laugh is bitter. “Man, you should have seen the look on her face when she told me. She was so fucking victorious.”
What. A. Bitch.
I want to call Tiffany every name under the sun. I want to storm over to her Malibu Barbie house and punch her in the boob. I want her to experience even a quarter of the pain my best friend is feeling right now.
I need to lock this shit down or I’ll get arrested.
“I know I’m sounding like a broken record here, but I’m so sorry, Tobias.”
“It is what it is, I guess.”
“What it is is fucked.”
He nods. “You’re not wrong there.”
“We need to get you behind the drums. It’ll help take your mind off things. Jasper and I have been working on this kickass riff, just wait until you hear it. It’s going to blow your mind.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not feeling it today. Might head back to yours and crash for a bit.”
“But the finals—”
Tobias’s eyes are pleading. “I’ve had a shit-ton of fuckery thrown at me in the last twelve hours. I need some time to process. Please.” He scrubs one hand down the side of his face. “Is the spare key where you normally keep it?”
I nod.
“Good. I’ll see you later.” With one last tap on the laminate, he ambles away.
It doesn’t take me long to return to the studio.
By the time my feet cross the threshold, Jasper is striding toward me. “Where have you been? Where’s Tobias? Am I the only one who realizes finals are this week?”
I hold up both hands. “Pump the brakes, buddy. Give me a chance to breathe, will you?”
He glares. “Where’s Tobias? You said you were stepping into the hallway to call him and that was over an hour ago. What the hell happened?”
“He’s at home.”
“Why the fuck is he at home? We need to get this song finished.”
“Our home.”
“What?” My brother pinches the bridge of his nose while drawing a deep breath. “What the fuck is going on?”
“His parents are a bag of dicks. They’ve fucked him over again. And Satan’s spawn, a.k.a. Tiffany, broke up with him last night.”
“Jesus, the guy can’t catch a break.”
“Tell me about it.” I shrug one shoulder. “I said he could stay with us for a while.”
“Sis, I don’t care if he moves in for good, but we need to get this song written.”
“He’s not in the best headspace at the moment.”
“So he’s by himself?” It’s like his stare is trying to tell me something, but I have no idea what.
“Yeah.”
“At our house?”
“He wanted space.”
“With enough bottles of liquor to fill Lake Michigan twice over?”
My eyes widen. “Shit.”
He shoulders past me. “Let’s go.”
Hastily grabbing my bag, I follow. “You had to stock up, didn’t you?” Shaking my head, I imitate my brother. “‘Bourbon is on sale, sis. Let’s get three bottles. Oh look, whiskey. Let’s get that too. Hey, is that vodka?’”
“Shut it.”
“Ass.”
“Pain in my ass, more like.”
We bicker for the remainder of the drive home. Jasper and I don’t let up as we unlock the front door and our voices echo in the entryway. However, as soon as we’re greeted with the sight of our friend in the living room, we stop.
“Wow.”
“Fucking hell.” Jasper surges forward, forcibly removing the almost empty bottle of Jack from Tobias’s grasp.
Not that he puts up much of a fight. The drummer lays sprawled on the couch, head back, legs hanging off the end and arms draped over the side.
“I’ll get him some water.”
After a quick trip to the kitchen, I kneel beside my best friend. It’s almost impossible to get the man conscious and even more challenging to get him upright. So I place the full glass on the coffee table, and Jasper and I get to work. Once Tobias is vertical and we’ve given him a few hearty wake the fuck up slaps, I hold the cup to his lips.
“Here. Drink.”
He does.
“Christ, Tobias.” I return the glass to the coffee table. “I know you’re hurting, but this isn’t the way to deal with it.”
Jasper crouches beside me. “We need you sober, man.”
Tobias mutters something unintelligible, his head lolling back.
“Fuck.”
Turning to my brother, I take in the worry lines on his face. “What are we gonna do?”
His jaw is clenched. “Hide every damn bottle in the house. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on him whi
le you write lyrics. Production meeting is tomorrow.”
Tension forms in my stomach. I clamber to my feet, instinctively wrapping my arms around Jasper’s waist.
He stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you a hug.”
“Why?”
“Because we both need it.”
My brother lets out a breath. His long arms snake around my shoulders while his cheek rests on the top of my head. “We have to win this contract, sis.”
“I know.”
“We’ll have to work twice as hard to make up for—”
“I know.”
Strands of hair tickle my nose when he exhales. “I’ll get the riffs tight, you focus on the lyrics, and when he sobers up, Tobias can hammer out the drum beats. We’ll be on a tighter schedule than usual, but it’s manageable. Provided he stays away from alcohol and your lyrics are the best yet, we’ll be okay. We’ll still have a shot.”
A golf ball lodges at the back of my throat.
“Sis?”
But I ignore it. Pulling back, I stare into his troubled eyes. He’s so desperately trying to keep his shit together amidst the chaos, it breaks my heart.
Thankfully when I speak, it’s with more conviction than I feel. “We’ve got this, Jasper. We’ve got this.”
Chink.
My trusty soccer ball connects with the wire fence and rolls back to me.
Chink.
A melody swirls in my head, growing exponentially stronger with each passing second.
Chink.
But no words come.
“Damn it.” My bare foot connects with the ball with more force than necessary, shooting it forward.
Chink.
It flies back, smacking into my shin.
“Ouch!” Bending over, I clutch my leg. “Fuck, that hurt.”
After I rub it with my fingers, the pain fades and I can stand again. Hobbling to where my ball is wedged in the chain link, I wrestle it free and straighten. Only to be hit with the realization I’ve got writer’s block a day before the finals.
Holy. Effing. Shit.
Straightening my shoulders, I reach for my shoes, notebook, and bag. “Don’t panic, Shiloh. A change of scenery is all you need.”
Crossing the coastal promenade, I step onto the sand. It’s warm. The grains shift beneath my feet and I’m immediately calm, grounded, connected somehow.
To my right, I spy a quiet spot away from frolicking children, exhausted parents, and image-conscious teens. “Perfect.”
Getting there only takes a few strides. My gear drops onto the sand, and moments later, I collapse beside it. “Okay, Shiloh. You can do this. Focus.”
I close my eyes. Blocking out the high-pitched laughter, the gulls squawking overhead, and the breeze whistling past my ears takes every bit of my concentration. Finally, I manage it.
A small smile plays on my lips. “There it is, I can hear it.”
The waves crash, wash onto shore, and retreat.
Crash, wash, retreat.
Crash, wash, retreat.
Gradually, the rhythm builds. That familiar melody teases the edge of my subconscious, growing louder, more demanding as it pushes to the forefront of my mind. I will the words to come. I demand them to make an appearance. Hell, I’m not above begging.
Nothing.
“Fuck.” Groaning, I lie back.
Pressing my palms into my eye sockets, I try to keep the hysteria at bay. It’s not easy. It wants to crawl up my throat and choke the life out of me. My stomach churns. I want to run, I want to hide, I want the name Rising Star banished from my memory.
But I can’t.
“What am I going to do?”
“Sis.”
I turn. My brother stands beside Tobias’s car, waving me over. Cursing under my breath, I collect my belongings and make my way to him.
When I’m close enough, he asks, “You ready?”
I nod.
“Good, let’s go.”
“Hang on, who’s driving?” Peering through the car window, I discover Tobias sprawled face first on the rear seat. “Still?” Anger curls its way up my spine until my body is simmering, seething with it. My fist connects with the glass. “Fucking hell, Tobias.”
He doesn’t move.
Jasper’s voice is tight. “He found the whiskey when I was in the shower. By the time I got out, most of the bottle was gone.”
I round on my brother. “Let me guess, you hid it somewhere really freaking obvious?”
He throws his arms out to the sides. “It’s not my fault he wants to numb the shit going on in his life. Anyway, it was in the laundry next to the fabric softener. I figured he wouldn’t look there.”
“You’re kidding me, right? The guy rocked up with nothing but the clothes on his back. Of course he was going to wash them at some point.” Anxiously running fingers through my hair, I mutter, “You’re so fucking dense.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, I’m a genius. He’ll never find the rest of it.”
My gaze narrows. “It’s under your bed, isn’t it?”
He blinks. Then, a beat too late, he counters, “No.”
“Bullshit. You hide everything under your bed, you always have. Hell, I’m still recovering from stumbling across your porn stash years ago.”
“You don’t stumble across something while searching for blackmail material, sis.”
I wave away his argument. “Semantics. The fact is, we have our last production meeting with Vivienne today, and our drummer is rolling drunk.” I shake my head. “She’s gonna be pissed.”
“She really is.”
In all honesty, it’s no use praying for a miracle. The realist in me knows we’re well and truly fucked.
As though sensing the direction of my thoughts, Jasper indicates the notebook I’m clutching against my chest. “You get the lyrics done?”
“Ah, yep.” I’m going to hell.
His face lights up. “Really?” He rubs his face, relief evident in his features. “Thank fuck. I was worried you had writer’s block or something.”
My forced laughter borders on hysterical.
“Are the lyrics good? They need to be the best you’ve ever written.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Well?”
Damn it.
I shuffle from one foot to the other, conflicted. I hate lying to my brother but don’t want to stress him out unnecessarily. After all, I’m gonna write the lyrics, there’s no doubt about that. I’m just not sure when.
After clearing my throat, I croak, “They’re good.” Then, since Satan and I are going to be on a first-name basis, I continue with, “In fact, they’re amazing. Awesome even. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He’s got everything to worry about.
Jasper’s grin lights up his whole face while something inside me dies. “After the meeting, we’ll have a jam session to see how they fit with the rest of the song.”
“What about the drums? Tobias hasn’t got them down yet.”
“He’ll be able to play. As long as we keep him away from alcohol between now and tomorrow night, we’ll be fine. Who am I kidding? We’ll be better than fine. We’ll kill it out there.”
My eyes shift from my comatose friend to the blank pages hidden in the notebook. “I hope so.”
“I know so.” He opens the driver’s door. “Come on, Vivienne will have our asses if we’re late.”
I shudder. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
It doesn’t take long to drive to Rising Star. It does, however, take an eternity to wrangle Tobias out of the vehicle. His balance is off. Despite his clean clothes, he still smells like a distillery and I have no idea how we’re going to make it through this production meeting without Vivienne realizing he’s drunker than Cooter Brown.
With his arms draped over Jasper’s and my shoulders, we half drag, half lead him through the parking lot and inside the building. Only to stop short.
“
You’re late.” Vivienne’s stiletto heels tap on the polished tile. She snaps gnarled fingers in front of her PA’s harried face. “Make a note of it.”
The young woman’s fingers fly across the screen of her smart phone.
Our director’s eagle eyes pierce each of us before coming to rest on Tobias. “What’s wrong with you?”
Not wanting to give him a chance to reply, I blurt, “He’s got vertigo.”
Jasper raises a questioning eyebrow, but I shake my head. Now is not the time to question my sanity.
“Vertigo?” Vivienne sniffs, not at all convinced.
“Yeah.” I nod. Many, many times. I need to stop doing it or I’m gonna put my neck out one of these days. “But he’ll be fine by tomorrow. You know how it is.”
“No, I don’t.”
Christ, she’s a witch.
“The rules clearly stipulate you can only perform with all of your original band members. If he isn’t recovered in time, regardless of whether you find another musician to fill his role, any and all votes you receive will be void.” The woman’s stare could drill holes through concrete. “Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“Perfectly,” Jasper replies.
Tobias hiccups.
She narrows her gaze. “Follow me.”
After sharing a look with my brother, we maneuver Tobias between us and trail after her down the hallway. After numerous twists and turns, we emerge on stage.
Vivienne’s bejewelled hands gesture to the performance space. “You’ll notice the stage is a different shape. The production team and I decided to use a thrust stage for the finals.” She indicates to where it juts into the audience. “You will be surrounded by the crowd on three sides. At the front, on the left, and on the right.” She attempts a smile, but her Botox is determined. “We want to ensure maximum enjoyment for the audience.”
Jasper shifts under Tobias’s weight and clears his throat. “How many people are you expecting?”
“Two and a half thousand.” She attempts another smile, looking uncannily similar to a constipated gargoyle. “We’ll be at maximum capacity.”
My knees buckle. I’m not sure if it’s the number itself or the flippant way she refers to Rising Star being at maximum occupancy that terrifies me most.
“Two and a half thousand,” I murmur. My lunch wants to revolt against containment. Swallowing, I endeavor to keep it where it is. Something tells me Vivienne wouldn’t take kindly to regurgitated buffalo wings on her Louis Vuittons.
