by Max Henry
“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”
“Did I say that, fuckhead?”
“Guys! Settle down, for fuck’s sake. We’ll drop him in the shower when we get back. Ice the fucker awake.”
Oh, I’m awake, all right. Just that my body doesn’t want to cooperate while we’re in this goddamn tumble drier of a car.
“Hey. If you want to give him a cold shower, that’s your deal, man. He almost knocked me out last time we did that.”
Ha. I still remember that night. Fun times.…
“How else do you propose having him awake enough to stand up, let alone play? We can’t wing it, Em.”
“Don’t you think I know that? Short of giving him an upper, I’m fucking out of suggestions.”
“None of us would be in this predicament if you hadn’t let him leave the theater.”
“Fuck up, Rick. Who asked you?”
The band tears themselves apart, and it’s all because of me. No surprises there. Fuck an upper. Somebody pop me a downer. I need to sleep for a week to get over this shit. Whoa! Slow down there, driver.
“He’s got some fucking talking to do when he comes around, anyway.”
I cringe internally at the hurt tone in my brother’s voice. Fucking useless, drunk body. I’d open my eyes and say something, but I’m pretty sure if I opened my mouth right now, all I’d do is vomit thanks to the constant bump and jolt of the car.
My chest tightens, but not from the effects of the alcohol. Nope. It’s the self-loathing that I resent with every part of my being. Nothing but a fuckup, Rey. Nothing but a fucking selfish fuckup.
I tune out the voices around me and surrender to the black fog that swirls in my head. The dark has always brought so much more comfort than the light.…
***
Holy, ba-jesus! “What… ugh… fuckers….”
“There he is,” Toby soothes before he backhands me across the goddamn face. “Wake up, asshole. We’ve got three hours until we leave for the venue, and some of us haven’t slept yet.”
Hard, unrelenting ceramic digs into my spine and the knobby bit at the base of my skull. I’m in the bath. That’s right. “I’m awake,” I slur.
Goddamn, these hotel fluorescents are fucking bright.
“Switch the light off, Em. Precious here can’t handle it judging by that face.”
The bathroom is plunged into darkness, save for the muted light filtering in from the adjacent bedroom. My eyes burn like two motherfuckers as I force them open again and wait for my focus to come around.
Shit. Toby’s fair pissed judging by that scowl. “How bad?” I groan.
“Depends what you refer to,” he says with a jerk of his head. “Damage to public property, damage to public image, or damage to band morale. Where should I start?”
“With the—” I pause to swallow away the bile ebbing in the base of my throat. “With the bit that hurts least.”
“Guess I won’t tell you a fucking thing then.” He tosses ice-cold water in my face from a hotel mug, and then rises to his feet. “He’s yours, Em. I stick around, I might kill him myself.”
“Enough with the fucking water,” I holler after him. “You know I hate goddamn water.”
Shit. A shiver rips through me thanks to the icy liquid soaking my clothes, and now hair. I roll my head away as Emery squats down beside the bathtub, unable to face any more disappointment.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Rey,” he says quietly. “You know I’m not one to judge.”
Thank fuck for that, because right now I feel like the accidental baby that nobody really wanted to begin with. Oh, that’s right. I was. “What did I do?”
He sighs, moving in my periphery to settle on his ass. “Got blind drunk in the space of an hour and a quarter at the VIP meet and greet.”
Fuck. I kind of remember that.
“And then slipped out while everyone was distracted with one of the VIPs vomiting her guts all over the dressing room floor.”
Epic. I had the whole room following me down the rabbit hole.
“Made it to a bar, where you decked the bouncer best you could when he refused you entry. I do believe you hollered, ‘Do you know who I am?’ at the guy.”
I groan, closing my eyes again. So much better in here.
“And then you managed to get into the driver seat of the rented SUV and crashed it into a parked car while yelling something about being ‘late for a very important date.’” He chuckles. “The cops started referring to you as ‘Whitey,’ after the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.”
Fuck my life. “Jesus.”
“Pretty sure he can’t help you with this one.” Emery shifts. “Think you can get out of here without puking on me?”
“As long as we go slow, good buddy.” I throw my right arm toward the side of the tub, and miss.
Way to get a start there, Rey.
Em manages to lean me forward, yet all that achieves is crunching my stomach. Not a flash idea when it’s currently carrying enough liquid to see me through the Mojave Desert. I bend my legs and slide to my back again. What water remains in the base of the tub soaks the parts of my shirt that were still dry.
“No good?”
“Not unless you’re real keen on seeing what I drank last night.”
“Fucking novice,” he mutters before rolling me to my side. “Get on your hands and knees, you fuckwit. You can crawl out of here.”
It takes what feels like an hour before I’m starfished on the bedroom floor while Emery gets clean, dry clothes for me. Pete, the bodyguard, magically appears to help hoist me up so Emery can change me.
Not really the time to bitch about dignity now, is it?
“Where the fuck were you?” I ask Pete as he lifts me to my feet with arms locked under mine. “Why didn’t you stop me making a goddamn ass of myself?”
“He had his hands full keeping a couple of touchy-feely girls off Kris,” Emery explains. “We need more guys on deck with those nutcases.”
I swing my gaze back to Em as he chuckles, threading my arm through the shirtsleeve. The two of them manage to assist me into what I guess is what I’ll wear today, and then place me in the recovery position on top of the bed.
“Anything you projectile vomit around here comes out of your money, asshole,” Em warns.
“Stop talking about vomit and I’ll be fine,” I groan.
He leaves with Pete, turning the light off as they go. I stay immobile, staring at the door until I’m sure I can move without sending my head into a spin. Sleep doesn’t come; neither does any acceptable level of sobriety as I lie on the bed and count down the minutes. The guys talk out in the main living area of our suite for a while, before all the lights are switched off and the hotel room becomes eerily silent.
I roll to the side of the bed and navigate my way down to the floor with absolute minimal movement. My head pounds anyway.
It’s warranted. Every fucking ounce of pain is less than I deserve.
Like a goddamn commando, I crawl belly-flat on the carpet across to where the guys have left my phone. The light stings my eyes as I wake it, forcing me to blink away the burn.
Time to evaluate the damage. I open the Google app and punch in “Dark Tide Rey.” The results are exactly what I expected: images of me being hauled out of the crashed SUV, status updates and tweets by eye-witnesses at the bar where I assaulted the bouncer, and one picture that jogs my memory—a shot of me as I run toward the SUV.
I was going to see Tabby-cat. Holy fuck. I got blind drunk and thought it would be a shit hot idea to go see her, since she bailed early at the theater.
The swill in my stomach becomes a deathly eddy as I navigate through every damn post and every damn story on every one of the fucking trashy tabloid sites, to see if anywhere it mentions me saying where I was headed.
Steamrolling over my own reputation is one thing, but fucking ruining hers in the process is another.
My panic lessens with each story I skim throug
h that mentions nothing about her. To be on the safe side, I google “Dark Tide Rey Tabitha” and feel instant calm when the results are the same; her name returns nothing extra.
Thank fuck for that.
I double tap the home button and swipe up through the apps to close each one, yet still when the red icon at the bottom of my shrunk Facebook page catches my eye. Fuck it. If I can’t sleep, I might as well fuck around on Facey. I thumb through to the notifications, closing my eyes a couple of times to get them to refocus. Fuck headaches. I’d eat something, maybe search out an Advil or two, but I’m not so certain my gut can take any more intrusion just yet.
Tabitha Reeves wants to connect with you.
What the ever-loving fuck? I can’t smack the notification fast enough. Messenger opens, and there, right before my goddamn eyes is a message from the little tabby-cat. Hello, kitty.
I stretch out on the carpet, head braced on bent arm, and hold the phone out to the side to read it.
Thank you for the flowers. (Tell me they were from you, right, otherwise this is awkward as hell, LOL). It was a really nice gesture. I hope I didn’t cross any lines playing your song. The audience seemed to like it ☺ Anyway, thanks again for an amazing opportunity. Best of luck with the rest of the tour.
The flowers. Fuck, the flowers. I forgot I’d ordered those. Damn near scared the living shit out of Pete when I demanded he get in touch with the driver and find out what the address we stopped at was, and then instructed him to order the bunch online while we played.
Yeah, I like that Pete. He’s a good sort.
I roll to my elbows, laid out on my stomach, and hesitate while the sickness eases. Sure I’m not about to make a mess of the hotel floor, I tap out my reply, grinning like a right fucking tool as I do.
They were from me, so you can stop panicking about some other creepy stalker with the initial R now. Send me a picture. I want to know that I got what I paid for.
I send the phone to black and toss it aside. She’ll be all tucked up sound asleep at this time of the goddamn morning. Fuck, so should I be. I tap the home button again to check the time. Roughly an hour and Rick will be kicking our asses into the car. Wonder if Pete can shoot out and get me a bucket for the ride?
My temporary high fades as I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling. The press will have a field day when this latest stunt slides across their desks in the morning. Rick’s old man will have his work cut out smoothing the edges, trying to turn my goddamn tantrum into something manageable.
Whatever happens in the next few days, I know one thing for sure: I can’t keep doing this.
I can’t tumble off the damn wagon every time somebody throws shade my way, least of all me.
Because pretty damn soon I won’t recover from the fall.
EIGHTEEN
Tabitha
“Stupid Girl” - Cold
His response: blunt and to the point. Still, I smile like a giddy schoolgirl at the knowledge that I, mere Tabitha Reeves from a small town in New Zealand, got her very own personal message from Rey Thomas, lead singer and guitarist for Dark Tide.
I set the phone on my nightstand and then roll out of bed to get dressed. The apartment rests in darkness, which indicates Kendall still sleeps. I pad over to my set of drawers and tug out a comfy tee and a pair of loose sweats.
By the time I wander into the living area to take a picture of the flowers for Rey, Kendall stands at the kitchen counter staring at her empty mug like a zombie.
“You in there, buddy?” I tease.
She lifts a limp hand, and then sets it back down on the counter with a thud. “I slept like utter shit.”
“Why?” I move the vase of flowers across the room to where the sunlight cuts through our windows.
“I should have got into bed and gone right to damn sleep,” she says as though scolding herself.
“But?” I position them just right so that the sun highlights the brilliance of the reds.
“But, I thought it would be a flash idea to stalk Toby on social media, didn’t I?”
“Oh, babe. No.” I snap a couple of shots from different angles. “You know that’s never a good idea when you’re into a guy.”
“Right?” She breaks out of her daze and fills the mug. “What are you taking pictures of them for?”
“Rey wants to see how they look.”
“He replied?”
I set my phone down and turn to face her, the tone of her voice concerning. She didn’t say it as though surprised, like I’d expect. Nope. She sounds annoyed.
“Yeah. He said they were from him, and he wants to see that he got what he paid for.” I chuckle awkwardly. “Typical ass, right?”
“Is that all he said? What time did he reply?”
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Early this morning?” Truth be told, I didn’t check. It was just there when I woke up. “Why?”
Kendall sighs, her face blank. “He made a right idiot of himself last night, going on a bender and smashing up some car. I sent a message to Toby, but he hasn’t even read it, let alone sent one back. I figured they must all be in damage control.”
“They were off to the next venue early this morning, remember?” I utter, choosing to look at the pictures I took rather than Kendall’s apologetic face. “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t replied.”
“You’re ignoring the important part of what I said.”
“So he went out and did stupid shit,” I say all high-pitched and pathetic. “That’s what rock stars do, right?” I get to my feet and whip out of the room before she can say any more.
Why I’m defending the honor of a man who’s been nothing but a jackass since I met him…. Except he hasn’t. Those stolen minutes alone before sound check, and the vase of roses, point toward another guy.
A private one. The kind I get the feeling not many people know.
“Tab,” Kendall says softly from my doorway. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch about it.”
“I know.” I cut my gaze to her. “Just… I don’t know. The flowers were a really nice thing to do, you know? It sucks that he’s more than likely another entitled idiot who thinks he can get around doing whatever he wants without any consequence.”
“I know.” She sips her fresh coffee. “You want me to make you breakfast?”
“No. You sort yourself out. I’m going to send him this picture and then have a long shower.”
“Fair enough, babe.” She takes a step back, and then disappears.
I let out my loaded breath and flick between the images on my phone. Am I that easily won over that all it takes is a few fresh cut flowers? Were there rose-tinted glasses in that bunch that I forgot about putting on?
Ugh.
I select the best image and flick it through to him with a simple message.
Hope you’re satisfied.
He can take from that whatever the hell he wants. I’m done.
I choose to spend a ridiculous amount of time in the shower, simply letting the scorching hot water soothe my soul. I have to collect my stuff from the theater today between nine and midday, so considering I didn’t crawl out of bed until almost ten, I really should get a hustle on.
At least I can be guaranteed a pain-free exit from the place since the band are now somewhere across town. I spare a glance at my phone as I dress and note no new messages. Good. I can’t deny the slight pang of rejection, but at least he must have got the message, literally and figuratively.
“Do you want to come with me to pick my gear up?” I ask Kendall as I gather up my things.
She pops a slice of carrot into the hummus pot she has balanced on her lap. “No. If it’s cool with you, I might hang here for the day.”
“All good.” I sling my black Sourpuss purse over my shoulder and do a mental inventory of the room. Yeah, got everything. “Need anything while I’m out?”
“When are we doing our food shop this week, babe? I’ve got twenty spare until I get paid on Tuesday, so I didn’t know if you w
anted to wait until then, or get some stuff now?”
I cross to the fridge and open the door. “Eek.” It looks as though two old ladies live here, given the contents pretty much can be summed up with two words: yoghurt and wine. “We don’t have much, huh?”
“Nope.” Kendall lifts her hummus. “I figured I’d start with the savory and finish with the sweet later.”
“I’ll pick up some basics while I’m out, then.” Nobody ever got sick from eating buttered toast three times a day, did they? “I’ll ring John, too, and see how long I have to wait until I get the cash from last night.”
“Sure thing.” Her focus sticks to the TV as I head for the door. “Enjoy!”
I chuckle. “You better not still be there when I get back.”
“Or what?” Kendall calls across the room.
Or nothing. Guess I’m a little jealous that she can bum around all day while I’m on the constant hustle to get ahead, is all. “Nothing, babe. See you in a bit.”
I give the roses one last glance as I head out the door, and sigh.
NINETEEN
Rey
“The Red” - Chevelle
Thankfully even though our schedule got fucked up, the gear we didn’t need last night was able to carry on and arrive a day early to be set up for tonight’s and tomorrow night’s shows. Gave the crew a head start, which means we get down time. I sit out in what will be the general admission area, legs kicked out before me with my back against a heavy plastic bollard. Rick stares at the ground while his old man tears strips off him down in front of the stage.
Yep. Old boy Wallace caught the first available flight out here to take control.
“You’ve really fucked him over,” Kris mumbles as he settles beside me. “Smoke?”
“Thanks, man.” I reach over and pluck one from his pack.
“I heard a rumor that he’s on his final warning now.”
“Shit. That bad?”
Kris nods while I watch the tirade continue. I could go over and step in to defend Rick, but meh, where the fuck would that get either of us? I’ve made it a point not to be within arm’s length of Wallace all morning for a fucking good reason.
