From the Dark

by Sarah Cole

  Isn’t it crazy how one event –one singular event in our lives can change us forever? In my case you’d think it’d be finally seeing my dreams come to fruition. But that’s not it at all. Losing love, losing Abby – my light, my future, my everything and nearly losing my best friend in the process was that event. I tried. I tried so damn hard to be ok with everything, to get over her, to move on. How do you move on when the person you know you were meant to love forever doesn’t exist in your world anymore?

  “Jay!!! Jameson Michael Collins, where the hell are you?! Answer me?” a panicked voice shouts, pulling me from my pity party for one. The smell of fresh asphalt hangs heavy in the air and through the heat waves radiating off the sweltering pavement I see my best friend and manager, Charlie running towards me with a notebook in hand.

  “Charlie! What’s wrong?” I call to her, standing up from my shaded spot behind our tour bus.

  “Jay! Oh, my gosh, what the eff is this?” She cries, throwing herself at me gripping me tightly.

  “Eff? Really, Thumper? You can’t even say the word fuck anymore?” I tease her. Since she and her husband, Andrew had their daughter, Fallon nearly two years ago, she has gone into full mommy mode and scolds us all for our ‘deplorable language.’

  “Oh shut up Jameson. Now isn’t the time to get smart with me.” She glares. God, she really sounds like a mom. I roll my eyes.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Cut the shit. This!” she says angrily, shoving the notebook into my chest.

  “I was trying to find some paper for Fallon to color on, and I found this. I’d know your handwriting anywhere.” She says with tears in her eyes.

  I take the notebook and scan over the page briefly, instantly recognizing the words. Shit.

  “Charlie… this is just writing. Song ideas and stuff. It isn’t what you think.” I lie.

  “Bullshit, Jay. I’m calling bullshit, because I know you as well as I know myself, and to me, that reads like a suicide note.” She gestures towards the spiral bound notebook I grip tightly in my hands.

  I sigh, “Charlie, I promise. I was just in a bad place and I let it out. You should be proud I wrote it out instead of using.”

  “I am proud, you have no idea, but don’t do this to me. I already lost Abby. I don’t think I can handle losing you. Please, please, please just promise me you’ll talk to me if you feel like this again.” She begs.

  “Ok. I promise. I’m good, Charlie. You and Andrew can stop hovering.” I say, tossing the notebook to the pavement, and pulling her into a tight hug. This girl has been my best friend for nearly fifteen years, and she’s right. She does know me better than I know myself sometimes, and that’s what scares the shit out of me.

  ***

  “You guys have thirty minutes! They are setting up the stage now!” Charlie yells at us, as she climbs onto the bus sporting ripped jeans, a faded band tank with her mess of dark hair piled high on her head.

  The girl is a real ball buster. When we offered her the job as Fading to Light’s manager slash entertainment lawyer, we had no idea how much success she could bring us. To be honest, at first it was partly because I felt bad for her continuing to work a job in corporate law I knew she despised, but in the past two years, FTL has exploded thanks to her hard work. Having been one of the founding members of the band, and still being heavily involved in the creative processes, Charlie gets the music, gets us. She lives and breathes for it; and because of her, we are now selling out huge tours, we are headlining, and have landed the biggest summer tour with iconic metal band, Bleeding Vengeance.

  “Yes mother. If you want us to be on time, then maybe you shouldn’t make a metric ton of food, and insist we eat three solid meals a day.” Chase, our drummer taunts, giving her a hard time.

  “Oh stop. You guys would be whining either way, but don’t eat too much. It’s like a hundred degrees out there and I don’t want you embarrassing me by puking on stage.” Charlie says, giving Brenden, our bassist, a look. Yes, we all remember that.

  “Come on. It was one fucking time!” he whines, like a twelve-year-old girl.

  “Hey man, not in front of my princess.” Andrew says, stepping on to the bus with a tutu and Ramones t-shirt clad, Fallon. She is Charlie’s mini me, with dark hair, bright green eyes, and a little button nose.

  “Oh please, not you too.” I say, giving Charlie’s husband a skeptical look.

  “Me too. She repeats every freakin’ thing we say now.” He says in his thick Southern accent, clipping the ginormous bow back in her hair that she just pulled out. He lives for his wife and daughter. The man is covered in tattoos, and looks like he should be on stage with us, but he’s a well sought after pediatric surgeon. He and Charlie typically don’t travel everywhere with us, but he took an extended vacation so Charlie could manage this huge, North American tour for us this summer. No way in hell he’d go weeks without seeing his wife. They are still so in love, it’s ridiculous, but there is no denying they were meant for each other in every way.

  “Well, get your butts up, and move!” she stresses, gesturing for us all to get up from the table we are sitting at inside the bus.

  “Jay! Jay!” Fallon screeches, reaching for me, and I reach out to her, pulling her little chubby, toddler body into my arms, and a sense of longing swells inside of me. I want this. I want what Charlie and Andrew have together; what Abby and I were supposed to have.

  “Hey, baby girl. How’s my little rock star?” I ask, lifting her up to playfully nibble at her tummy and she squeals with laughter.

  “Oh my God. Look at us. We are supposed to be rock gods here, but instead it’s like Full House.” Aaron, our lead guitarist, teases.

  I know he’s kidding. We all joke about how soft we are when it comes to Charlie, especially now that Fallon is permanently glued to her hip. We are like family, and have been since high school. We are now all honorary uncles, and couldn’t be more pleased about it. Having very little family of my own, this band these people are everything to me, giving me somewhere safe to land every time I fall.

  “Well you won’t ever be rock gods if you don’t get out there! NOW!” Charlie says, taking her daughter from me.

  “Fine! Jesus, chill your roll you stage Nazi.” I say getting up and grabbing a bottle of water. We file out in line with security, making our way to the main stage, grabbing our instruments from the crew.

  “How the FUCK are you doing Columbus!?” I shout, giving a glance to side stage where Charlie stands next to Andrew holding Fallon who has a huge set of sound dampening headphones on her tiny head. Charlie just shakes her head and gives me the finger behind her clipboard and I have to laugh. Now I’m just cursing to piss her off. I strap on my guitar and shake my head at her death glare. It could melt a lesser man.

  “We are Fading to Light, from Chicago, Illinois! Let’s get this SHIT started!!!” I yell into the mic, and thousands of fans go wild as Chase counts us off on the drums and the heavy bass line is laid by Brenden.

  Feeling the pounding vibration of the bass is like a wall of sound – an electric current that shoots straight through my body. It’s like taking a hit of something exquisite… addicting. Music is truly my drug, the only one I will allow myself to use anymore, and one of the only things that evokes a genuine smile from me these days.

  Leni:

  It is so hot out here. I’m nearly one hundred percent certain that my makeup is melting off my face, helping me to resemble a wax figurine left in the sun too long. I use the clipboard of set times to fan my sweaty face, wishing I could have worn shorts, or a dress… anything but skinny jeans, but the permanent scars I wear are easier to hide than the discomfort is now when asked about them. And believe me, people do ask.

  “Lennon! Can you call someone to mop off this stage in between sets?” Gordon, my boss, shouts from across the stage. I’ve been working with him for a year now, and he still insists on calling me by my full name. I nod and, give him the thumbs up
even though all I want to do is roll my eyes. If you want to bleed on stage for effect, at least have the courtesy to clean up after yourself.

  When I took this job as assistant tour and marketing manager on the Metal Madness summer tour, I was ecstatic. Finally, I’d be using my marketing and management degrees and I’d get to be around music every single day. Not so much. So far, I’ve been more of an assistant, and the only thing I’m managing is the maintenance crew, but thank goodness that should be changing soon.

  I send off a quick text to the next band’s manager letting her know that their set time has been bumped by ten minutes thanks to macabre set we just had. Finding someone who can mop up the stage, I head back in time to see Fading to Light’s equipment being set up. I am super excited to see these guys live, apparently, they put on a stellar show. They have exploded in the metal world over the past couple years, their music reaching fans from ages fifteen to fifty. They have a Metalcore sound with perfect mixes of screaming and clean vocals. It doesn’t hurt that they are all super-hot, so naturally they attract the lady fans as well as the die-hard metal heads.

  “Lennon, will you head over to the meet and greet tent? Iron Empire is doing a signing at five, and they need someone to help out.” Gordon asks, coming up behind me.

  “Sure thing! And please, you can just call me Leni.” I say. Truth is, I was really looking forward to seeing FTL play live, and now I’m going to miss it. I suppose I have all summer…

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Gordon says. I really do like the guy. He has two teenaged daughters so I think he sympathized with me, and that is pretty much the only reason why I got this job in a heavily male dominated industry. I had the education, but no experience working in the music industry.

  “Come find me when you’re done and we can go through some scheduling for the upcoming events. Did you get a chance to talk to Charlie Montgomery about bumping Fading to Light to the headlining position? We’re only just starting this tour, so they’d need to do more promotion on their side.” He says tapping out an email on his phone.

  “No, she was wrapped up in some other stuff, but we have a lunch date in a couple days to discuss it.” I say, turning to head down the ramp at the side of the stage. Luckily I find a sound tech with a golf cart who is willing to give me a ride to the meet and greet so I don’t have to navigate the crowd.

  ***

  Of course, the guys from Iron Empire are drunk; no surprise there! That seems to be a common thing I’m learning. Tours equal a travelling binge fest for these guys. I have only been here with them for five minutes and I can already see that their drummer is about ready to meet the porcelain gods, and their lead singer is groping every fan that comes up for a signing whether its male or female. I look to their manager who looks bored to tears.

  “Excuse me?” I say trying to get his attention.

  “Yeah?” he grunts.

  “Do you think they’d want to call it quits after we get these fans through? The line is almost done, and I think they may need to get some water or food or something.” I gesture towards the barely alive bunch. The drummer is now face down on the table, drooling. Lovely.

  “Meh, probably wouldn’t hurt. That ok?” he asks.

  “I’m pretty sure my bosses won’t mind me cutting this short. It doesn’t exactly paint them or the record company in the best light.” I shrug.

  We manage to get the rest of the line through without major incident, and I help their manager load them onto a cart that will with any luck be taking them to a detox facility. I quickly clean up the tent to get it ready for pack up since the last two bands are about ready to play, then we’ll be on the road. I check my watch seeing that FTL’s set should still be going on for another couple minutes, so I race back hoping to catch at least the last song.

  By the time I make my way through the crowd and stadium to the main stage, the roadies are already packing up FTL’s equipment and scrambling to set up the stage for Bleeding Vengeance. Those guys from BV may be legends and have millions of fans, but they are complete assholes. I’ve learned at least that much in the year I’ve been with Voltage Records.

  I’m looking down at my phone trying to text Gordon with one hand and balance a large soda in the other, when I’m pushed from behind, my phone flying from my hands, landing with a sickening crunch. I’m too scared to pick it up and look, because I just know the screen is going to be shattered and I really don’t have the time to worry about getting a replacement with being on the road.

  “Dude, I’m so sorry!” a raspy male voice apologizes. The timbre of it says sex, but the tone screams boyish and carefree.

  I turn to chew out my offender but instead I squeak because before me stands a six foot something, tattooed Adonis, with light brown hair that is closely clipped on the sides and really long on top so it hangs in his eyes, and he’s staring at my boobs. My boobs that are now covered in the soda I was holding, and now are pretty visible through my thin white tank top and sheer bra. I feel my nipples harden against the icy liquid now dripping down my front. Shit. He’s just gawking, and instantly I’m just pissed off at the whole situation.

  “It’s rude to stare; especially at those. My eyes are up here, asshole.” I grind out.

  “Shit! You’re right. I’m sorry. I see a lot, and I mean a lot of knockers, ya know? I mean, but those…” he trails off still trying not to look, he just blinks rapidly. Is this guy for real?

  I cross my arms over my chest, trying to block his view as best I can. “Well you wouldn’t be freaking seeing them at all if you didn’t bulldoze me over. And did you seriously refer to them as knockers?”

  “I said I was sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.” He has the decency to at least look flustered.

  “Clearly.” I say unimpressed by his lack of conviction.

  He eyes me quizzically. “You have no idea who I am do you?” he smirks, crossing his arms. His muscular, tattooed arms. Gulp.

  No idea who he is? Of course, I know who he is. He’s Jameson freaking Collins, lead singer and guitarist of Fading to Light, and he is like panty melting hot. But just the way he is acting pisses me off, like I should know who he is. I mean, I should but that’s beside the point; so, I decide to mess with him a bit and erase as much expression as I can from my face. Which I am terrible at by the way.

  “What? Does the blank stare and lack of swooning give it away?” I pop back.

  His mouth tugs up in the corner and his green eyes sparkle with humor. “Well that and the fact that you’re kind of mean.”

  “Mean?! You’ve got to be kidding me? You knocked me over, busted my phone, ruined my shirt and then gawked at my boobies. I think I have every right to be mean, you jerk.” I say, gesturing wildly like a lunatic. I’m suddenly fuming. This man is getting such a rise out of me and I don’t even know him. Normally, I’m the most even keeled person. I mean when I caught my husband screwing some gorgeous woman in our bed, all I could think was how pretty her hair was. Maybe that was a good clue things weren’t super great between us, but still I’m a calm person, and this man…

  He laughs a deep raspy laugh, and it seriously sets my stomach flip flopping. “Boobies? How is that any better than knockers?” he asks and continues laughing, before he pulls his shirt off, handing it to me like it’s no big deal.

  Dear God, I’m pretty sure I just head a mini heart attack. Smooth, lightly tanned skin, tattooed abs… my body warms with attraction.

  “Here.” He says waving it in front of my face, the clean cotton and manly smell wafting off of it. “Please, I’m sorry. At least cover yourself up so people don’t stare. Just don’t let me see that on eBay, people would pay good money for that.” He warns, jovially.

  I snatch the shirt from his hand, and pull it on over my soaked tank. I don’t miss the way his eyes quickly roam my body then dart back up to meet my glare.

  “Thank you, but I think we’re done here.” I say and begin to turn around to walk away when a warm, tattooed hand cover
s my shoulder, bringing me to a halt. It sends a shiver through my body, despite the heat. I know I’m being a bit unreasonable, but I can’t let myself be stupid about this. I can’t let him affect me.

  “I don’t want to be.” He says with an odd tone to his voice, really looking at me for the first time and it does something to me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I clear my throat, trying to bury my nerves. “Well I think we should be.” I pull away from him.

  “Can I at least get your name?” he calls.

  I turn, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

  “I’m Jay!” he shouts back after I continue walking down the ramp beside the stage.

  I stop and turn my head over my shoulder to face him with a smirk on my face. “I know.”

  A shocked look flashes on his face before a dazzling smile erupts and he shakes his head. I feel his eyes on me until I’m no longer in sight, and I can’t help the smile that spreads on my own face.

  Chapter 2

  Jay:

  The bus stops, shaking me awake from another twisted dream; not exactly a nightmare, but equally disturbing. I roll over wiping the sleep from my eyes wishing I would have taken my contacts out last night, and pick up my phone seeing it’s just after ten thirty in the morning. I have a missed text from Charlie telling me we have a meeting with one of the tour managers in a half hour, and it’s apparently important. I shower quickly in the tiny ass bathroom, throwing on jeans, a t-shirt, and grabbing my glasses before heading out. We are in Syracuse before heading up to Canada for a few stops. When I make my way out into the bunking area of the bus, I see the guys have already gotten off. I head outside and want to rejoice in the fact that it’s at least twenty degrees cooler today. This is perfect weather for playing in outdoor arenas. I mean, I love warm weather, but the chafe is real. Sweat and jeans are not friends.