Mustang Player: A standalone, small town, rock star romance.

by Eva Haining

“Next week. Don’t even mention it. I want to cry every time I think about it. We still have a six-week leg of the tour to get through.”

  “Boo-fucking-hoo. I have no sympathy for you. I’ve shared walls with you recently. It’s fucking disgusting.”

  She shoves me will all her tiny might. “Shut up. You do not hear anything.”

  “Oh, Knox. Yeah… that’s it, Knox… give it to me, big boy. Ride me, cowboy, ride me!” Her face turns scarlet red.

  “I’m going to leave the room now, and we’re never going to speak of this ever again. Okay?”

  “Music to my ears.”

  As her hand twists the doorknob, she turns to face me. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

  “Go, or I’ll start a rendition of some of Knox’s sex-pletives.”

  “I’m going.” The door closes gently behind her, leaving me to consider another seven weeks of touring. If Knox leaves in a week, and Belle says we have six after that, it’s going to be two months before we get back home—for all that home is.

  My sister is putting down roots in Kingsbury Falls, and therefore, by extension, it’s the closest thing to a home I’ve ever had. I’m jonesing for some tiny shred of familiarity right now. If I’m honest, I’m craving something else entirely, but I’m hoping that having somewhere to go back to might help ground me.

  I’m sluggish this morning, and by the time I shower, throw what few personal items I travel with into my duffle bag and head down to the van, where the guys are already settled in the back. They reek of alcohol.

  “How is it that you’re the last to drag your ass out of bed? You were tucked up with hot chocolate and a crossword by eleven.” Tony sounds as bad as he looks.

  “I was kept awake by your repetitious failed attempts to get your groupie off.”

  “Burn!” David emerges from under his sunglasses with a hearty laugh.

  “Hey, at least I had a woman warming my bed. When was the last time you had a decent ride?”

  “The last time I snorted a line of coke. Answer enough?” You could cut the tension with a knife. “Sorry, I’m horny, sleep-deprived, and I hate that I can’t just fucking party with you guys without killing myself. Ignore me. I’m happy for you and your cock.”

  I decide to ride up front with the driver and lose myself in my AirPods for a couple of hours. If there’s one place where I can escape to, it’s in other people’s music. Of late, my own holds no respite from the demons knocking on my door. The silver-lining of misery and creativity—I’ve written some of my best songs over the past few months, and there’s an album or two ready and waiting to be recorded.

  When we arrive in Phoenix, I’ve bargained with myself—I’m going to find an NA meeting before the gig, and after, I’m going to find the one groupie in a sea of thousands who’s the designated driver for her friends and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name. I’ve earned this small infringement.

  God, grant me the serenity

  to accept the things I cannot change,

  the courage to change the things I can,

  and the wisdom to know the difference.

  This is the best I’ve felt in a while. I enjoyed playing to the crowd tonight. We were on fire, and they couldn’t get enough of us. This is what I envisaged when I dreamed of fame. Playing a song I wrote to a stadium of thousands, singing along, knowing every lyric.

  Tonight, I feel like celebrating.

  Backstage is a hotbed of activity as always, but instead of speeding off into the night, I meander through the bustling crowd, enjoying the post-performance buzz. Blue Bell was right, I needed a meeting. I didn’t speak other than a basic hello.

  I’m Johnny, and I’m a recovering drug addict.

  Saying it out loud to a room full of strangers lifts a burden. It’s a space to let it be real without it bleeding into my everyday life. David, Tony, and everyone who travels with us know my situation. They all witnessed my rock-bottom moment last year, and I don’t want to talk about it all the time. Not with them.

  I’ve missed the electricity that sparks backstage after a gig. For the first time in forever, my friends are laughing and joking, throwing back drinks without a guilty look in their eyes.

  “Good job tonight. That was the best we’ve done in months.” All eyes snap to where I stand, trying to be casual with my presence. “What? Did I just grow two heads?”

  “Two heads? You’re ugly enough, bro, we don’t need you in stereo.” Dave breaks the ice.

  Everyone around me seems to be shuffling their drinks out of sight as if being in the mere vicinity will result in my skin somehow absorbing the alcohol without it having to pass my lips. “Don’t stop on my account. I need to get used to it sooner or later, may as well be the former.”

  “You sure?” Belle is hovering already.

  “Yes. I just want to hang with you guys and have some laughs. Maybe find a sober girl to… talk with for a pleasant evening.” I give her a sly wink, lightening the mood.

  “You’re gross. I hope you know that.”

  “You found your husband with a one-night stand, so you have zero credibility when it comes to passing judgment. I’m going to lose the ability to play like a god if I don’t get laid. My dick is the source of all my powers.”

  “Disgusting… but not surprising. For the sake of music, go get your freak on, bro. Just please never say those words again.” It’s nice to see her smile again. Not quite carefree, but as close as I’ve seen in a long while.

  “Deal.”

  “Can I ask one question? Then I’ll stop busting your balls.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The meeting?”

  “I went and said my serenity prayer. You were right, and I feel a lot better for it.” She doesn’t bother with an ‘I told you so’ and instead opts for a smug grin I’ve become all too familiar with over the years.

  I scan the room, watching the ebb and flow of conversations—easy interactions and one-night acquaintances having fun. God, I’ve missed this. There’s a cute girl on the fringe of it all, chatting with her friends but noticeably less inebriated. As I catch her eye, she smiles with that telltale grin that lets me know exactly what she’s thinking. Leaving her friends to their drunken caterwauling, she slowly sashays over to me, well aware of the effect her swagger has on a room. Every guy she walks past takes a second look, but her eyes are firmly fixed on me.

  “Hey, want to buy me a drink?” Her voice is smooth like silk with just enough edge to make a grown man beg.

  “It’s an open bar.”

  “Then we may as well skip the drinks and go straight to your hotel room.” She’s forward. I like it.

  I drape my arm over her shoulder, wasting no time. “Let’s go.”

  The cab ride is all soft kisses and anticipation, her breath hitching as I caress her neck with my tongue, but by the time we make it to the elevator of my hotel, she’s all over me, her tight little body pressed hard against my cock.

  The moment we reach the room and the door slams closed behind us, she’s tearing at my clothes, the warmth of her hand sliding into my pants to palm my rock-hard erection. “Do you have condoms?”

  “Yeah. Give me a sec.” My pulse is racing, my head spinning as I force myself to the bathroom. The last thing I need is to get some groupie pregnant. “I’ll grab a few.”

  “A few? I like the sound of that.” She kicks her heels off, reaching for the hem of her dress as I drag myself away. When I step into the bathroom, the cool air is a welcome caress on my face. I need to take a breath. It’s been so long since I’ve been in this situation, and I was high as a kite the last time.

  I splash some water in my face, grab the condoms, and unzip the fly of my jeans. My cock is so hard it aches, and everything else falls away as I emerge from the bathroom to see her splayed out on the bed.

  Fuck.

  Her body is curved in all the right places and her breasts—God help me.

  “I’m ready for you.”

&nbs
p; Fuck me.

  She turns to the nightstand, giving me a prime view of her ass—you could bounce a quarter off it—and lifts a glass and a bottle of champagne.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I started without you.” She takes a sip, her plump lips hugging the glass before letting the rest of the liquid bubbles cascade over her breasts. “Oops. I spilled some.”

  My brain and my cock are at war with each other, pulling in two different directions. “I…” Get her out of here. Tell her to go. Empty the bottle in the sink. Just back away.

  “Cat got your tongue? I know a pussy that’s desperate for your tongue, Johnny.” She takes the bottle and dribbles a small amount between her legs, groaning as the chilled bubbles tantalize her senses. Her eyes are ablaze with wicked desire, but as soon as she tips a little more champagne between her legs, my brain loses all control.

  I’m on her in seconds, dragging her legs to the bottom of the bed before burying my head between her thighs.

  The rest is a haze of sex and champagne. I take a long swig straight from the bottle and let it swirl in my mouth as I go down on her time and time again. One bottle drained. Then another and another.

  Lost in sensation, I fuck her so hard I can barely breathe, stopping only for more alcohol. I take her on the bed, in the shower, and on the cool hard granite countertop in the bathroom, watching myself in the mirror, relishing every second of passion and pleasure—a witness to my own demise.

  And I don’t even care.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  It all comes flooding back as—I don’t even remember her name—stirs beside me, the stench of sex and alcohol overpowering my senses. There are empty bottles all over the floor, and the mini-fridge has been raided.

  Fuck. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. It felt so fucking good to cut loose and have fun. My muscles are tight from a long night, and my head is pounding. My mouth is dry with stale scotch. I guess I must have run out of the bubbly at some point and switched to the hard stuff. It all goes down the same when you’re balls deep inside a woman, or her lips are wrapped around your cock.

  I reach for my phone, checking my call list and relieved to see I didn’t try to call random numbers to locate a dealer. Maybe this isn’t so bad. I’m a drug addict, not an alcoholic. I partied, I fucked, I drank, but I didn’t use. This could be a turning point for me. Maybe I’m strong enough now to handle it.

  Another city, another song, another nameless hookup.

  Belle has been busting my balls for weeks. With Knox back in K Falls, she’s got nothing better to do in our downtime than ride me about my nighttime activities. I’ve reassured her time and again that I’m doing well, but she’s sending me times and locations of meetings in every city we visit.

  I decided it’s easier to keep my recent progress to myself for now. The band wouldn’t understand. I hang with them for a few hours and then find my companion for the night and enjoy some drinks back at the hotel without their judgmental stares. None of them know what it’s like. This industry isn’t meant for strait-laced people.

  Today, we have a television appearance on some morning talk show—I’m not sure which. I don’t even know what city we’re in. My mouth is dry, and my limbs are heavy as I reach for a bottle of water. There’s only a half-empty warm beer from last night. That’ll do to get rid of cotton mouth. I take a swig and notice the time. Fuck! I was supposed to be ready twenty minutes ago.

  I glance in the mirror as I forage for some clean clothes. They’ll fix my hair and get rid of the sunken, purple bags under my eyes when I get there. A cute redhead is asleep in the bed, so I give her a light nudge.

  “I have to go. Help yourself to room service. Last night was fun. Goodbye.”

  As I lift her clothes off the floor in search of my wallet, a small bag of pills slips from her jean pocket.

  “You can take them. I have plenty back at my place. Uppers. You look like you could use them. You certainly live up to your reputation for stamina, Johnny.”

  “Thanks…” I hate myself. Loathe is probably a better word.

  “Daisy.”

  “Sure. Sorry.” I can’t even think straight, I’m dragging so hard. Uppers are light. Just one will transform my day.

  I lift the transparent bag and tip one, then two pills into my palm, staring at them as if they’ll set my skin on fire.

  “Do you have time for a quicky before you go?” She throws back the bedcovers, letting her legs drop open just enough to reveal the promised land.

  I’m already late.

  I sling back the pills and wash them down with the last of the warm beer before unzipping my fly. “Five minutes.” A rush courses through me as the pills glide down my throat, already riding the high of shedding the burden I’ve been carrying around for months. “Maybe twenty.”

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  I stumble out of bed to the door. “Can you keep it down to a roar? I don’t need housekeeping right now.” The second I turn the handle, she pushes the door in my face.

  “You missed the fucking show. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. I’ve been calling you for hours. The concierge called you four times.”

  “Hey, Blue Bell. What are you talking about? I was just getting ready for the TV thing. I’m only twenty minutes, maybe an hour late. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “The show was twelve hours ago, and we’re supposed to be at the venue for tonight’s gig in forty-five minutes.”

  “What? Bullshit.” It’s too bright with the door open. My eyes are like slits, every sliver of light sending shooting pains through my whole body.

  She shoves me up against the wall, her hands clasping my face. “Look at me, Johnny.”

  I force my eyes open, groaning with the effort. “What bug crawled up your ass today?”

  “You’re high.”

  “No.”

  “And you reek of booze. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re fucking high, you piece of shit.”

  “It was just a few pills. I needed a pick-me-up. It’s no big deal.”

  “How long have you been using?”

  “Calm down, Nancy Drew.”

  “You’ve always been a dick when you’re high. I should’ve known. You’ve been hiding shit for weeks.”

  “I only took a few tabs this morning. Scouts honor.” I attempt to make that little hand gesture they do, but my coordination is off.

  “And the drinking?”

  “I’m not an alcoholic, Blue Bell. What I drink is my business.”

  “If it’s no big deal, why have you been hiding it?”

  “Because of this.” I extricate myself from her stern, disapproving gaze. “Judgy, Judge Judy. I just want to enjoy the ride. Is that so bad? A few drinks and a beautiful woman beneath me.”

  Her gaze shifts to the naked woman splayed out on my bed in a satisfied, blissed-out high.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “I’m the guy I’ve always been, and it’s never bothered you before. Do you want a ride on my stick shift? While Knox is away… and all that.”

  She’s not amused. “I watched you almost die in my arms last year. Do you get that? You almost fucking killed yourself with this shit. And for what? An STD and a hollow high? You’re going to kill yourself and force me to watch, and I hate you for it.” Tears stream down her cheeks as her body vibrates with rage.

  “I’ll be ready for the gig. Just chill, okay?” I look around for my jeans and attempt to shrug them on, but I lose my balance and smack into the corner of an end table. Warmth spreads down my face, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

  “You’re not doing the gig. I won’t have you come on stage like this and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Look at yourself in the mirror, Johnny. You’re bleeding because you can’t even stand up. You won’t be doing a gig tonight.”

  “Sure. I’m not perfect, so I don’t fit into your new happy, perfect li
ttle life, discarded like trash. I knew it would happen one day. You don’t need me anymore.”

  She crouches at my side, her lip shaking as she fights her emotions. “I don’t need you, I want you. We might not be blood, but you’re my brother, and you have been since the day we met. That’s why I have to walk away, Johnny. It hurts. It physically hurts to love you when you do this to yourself. I can’t watch you do it again. I won’t.”

  “Blue Bell…”

  “Don’t call me that. My brother is the only person who calls me that. He’s loving, kind, smart, and has more talent in one finger than most musicians could ever dream of. You… this person in front of me… you’re not him.”

  “You’re overreacting.” I reach for her to comfort her in some way. I can’t bear to see her in pain, but she recoils from my touch.

  “I should’ve overreacted weeks ago. I saw the signs. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t want to believe it. I can’t watch you kill yourself, Johnny.” Sobs rack her body as she grits her teeth, forcing herself into a standing position. “Don’t come to the gig. Don’t get in the van tonight. Please, I’m begging you, go and get help before it’s too late. If I get a phone call to tell me you’ve OD’d in a hotel room weeks from now, I’ll never forgive you. Do you hear me?” She wipes the tears from her cheeks, her voice shaking as she heads for the door. “I’ll never forgive you for killing my brother.”

  And just like that, she walks out, leaving me in my self-made squaller.

  SESSION

  _____________________

  YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE LIVE CHAT…

  JBG Anon: Hello?

  Doctor: Hello, I’m Dr. Elliot, and I’ll be your therapist today.

  JBG Anon: I’ve never done this before. Online. Anonymous.

  Doctor: We offer in-person therapy if you would be more comfortable?

  JBG Anon: No.

  JBG Anon: I’m only doing this to appease my sister and get back to my job.