Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
HENDRIX
Something weird is going on tonight.
I noticed it the moment we arrived at the arena. A small crowd of VIPs stood lined up behind a rope to watch us, and as usual, the instant we stepped out of the SUVs, they erupted with excitement.
They screamed and cheered. I swear some people were even sobbing as if the Messiah himself had just arrived.
Girls held up glittery homemade signs with Asher and Zander’s names surrounded by hearts.
Darius paused to take photos with a kid holding drumsticks.
Manic Fanatic shirts were on display everywhere.
And then it happened.
“Hendrix!”
“Oh my god, it’s the hot new bass player!”
“Hendrix! Over here!”
“Sign my shirt!”
“Sign my tits!”
And it didn’t stop there. All the backstage pass holders suddenly seemed to notice I existed, pausing to take selfies with me and ask for my autograph. One girl even slipped her phone number into my pocket.
That quickly went in the trash.
On stage, I heard my name called more times than I could count. It felt like I was living in some sort of parallel universe.
Finally, after we finish the last encore and everyone has left the stage, I turn to Darius and Asher before they head to their dressing rooms to change.
Zander is already long gone.
Probably balls deep in his wife, no doubt.
“Did something happen?” I ask as techies seamlessly move around us like a well-oiled machine. I kind of feel bad being in their way, so I need to make this quick.
“What do you mean?” Asher asks, chugging a bottle of water.
Now I feel embarrassed if no one else seems to notice it. “I mean, uh…” I grab the back of my neck. “Someone asked me to sign their tits today.”
Asher nearly chokes on his water, sputtering a laugh. The water dribbles down his chest, past what seems to be a family crest, maybe? I’ve never asked. “Welcome to the club. I’m asked that at least twenty times a show.”
“Did you?” is all Darius contributes to the conversation.
“No!” I shake my head. “I’m—” Seeing someone?
In a relationship? Off the market? Fuck, I don’t have a clue how to finish that sentence, so I just step right over it.
“Anyway, stuff like that’s never happened to me.
I’m new, and so far, I’ve been pretty invisible, except to the few reporters who hounded me about my family connections. ”
“Fuck those guys.” Asher’s tone is bitter, his accent a little thicker. “Tell them to piss off and be done with it. That’s what I do when folks ask about mine.”
At the same time, I thank him, and Darius says, “That was probably my fault, yeah?”
We both turn and give him a blank stare. “What do you mean it was your fault?”
He shrugs, the fabric of his tight black tank top straining. I thought I was in pretty good shape until the first time I saw Darius Payne. He’s built like a brick. Tall, with the solid muscle of a linebacker. Like Asher, he came from wealth, but he’s not bitter about it.
All the original members went to the same boarding school—that’s how they all met—and instead of bonding over how they were all going to be future billionaires or some shit, they decided to start a band.
It turns out that the little rebels were actually kind of good. Really good, actually. But even though they’ve all come a long way from their boarding school days, they’re all still rich boys at heart.
Even Asher, who tries his damnedest to hide it.
“Do you not have any social media presence?”
“Not really,” I answer. “I probably should, but I had to manage Zander’s for a while before we hired someone at the agency, and I just got burned out on the whole thing.”
“Okay. Well, remember New Orleans? How I was filming content for mine?” Darius says.
Unlike me, Darius is serious about making content.
I have to give it to him. From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty good at it.
He’s careful about what he posts, like during Sunday’s concert when he made sure to get all of our permission before posting a video to his account, and he’s always kind to his fans.
It must be a lot of work, but unlike Asher and Zander, who shy away from the attention, Darius seems to enjoy it.
“Yeah,” I answer. “What about it?”
“So, it was supposed to be just a behind-the-scenes video where I walked around and introduced various crew members, showed off the green rooms and the hospitality suite, and then, of course, let them get a glimpse of the band. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but you”—he points at me—“were in the wardrobe, and I think they were grabbing a different shirt for you or something and…”
I try to think back to that moment when he dropped in and asked me to say hi to his followers. “I was shirtless?”
He just nods. “And the internet went wild, mate.”
“Why? Asher takes his shirt off all the time. Hell, he’s not wearing one right now.” I motion toward his bare chest. He chuckles, clearly amused by this whole thing. Honestly, he is probably just happy to not be the center of attention for once.
“Exactly. You never take off your shirt, so it was sort of like that episode where the Mandalorian takes off his helmet for the first time. Very thrilling. Kind of forbidden.” I roll my eyes.
“Right. Well, the video has a few million views, which is proper good, yeah? My videos tend to attract a lot of attention anyway, but—”
I gape at him. “It’s been three days.”
“You’re welcome?”
“For what? Making my abs go viral on the internet?”
“No.” He laughs. “The video is fleeting. It’s your name they’ll remember. The rest of the story, though? That’s up to you.”
It takes exactly fifteen minutes for my siblings to start blowing up my phone after I exit the stage. I’ve barely changed out of my sweaty clothes before the messages start rolling in.
Pres
Dude, your man chest is everywhere.
Merc
You’ve actually gone and proved me wrong—bass players can be famous.
Myles
Well, at least we know all those hours staring at himself at the gym paid off.
Me
You know, I don’t need to take this abuse. And at least one of us is famous…
Myles
Oh damn. I think that dig was directed at me.
Merc
It totally was.
Pres
I’d be offended for you, Myles, but so far your acting career hasn’t done shit for me. So I’m having a hard time feeling sympathy.
Cash
If I have to see this video pop up on my feed one more time…
Me
Do you think I control the internet now, Cash? Also, since when do you scroll social media?
Cash
I’m not seventy fucking years old. I may be the oldest, but I’m not geriatric. Even I doomscroll from time to time. Also, I work in the industry. I have to stay relevant.
Me
Really doubt pencil pushers need to stay up on the music trends…
Pres
Don’t ever say doomscroll again.
Myles
Agreed.
Pres
And if you say you’re on the apps, I will throw myself off a cliff.
Cash
FML.
Me
Wait, how are you guys just now finding out about the video? It’s been out for days.
Merc
We know. We saw it.
Me
What?
Cash
Dad kept us quiet. Ridge said it seemed like you hadn’t seen it, and Dad wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.
Me
Why?
Merc
So you could stay focused.
Me
I’m always focused.
Myles
What is it like to have a bunch of girls screaming your name?
Me
Are you asking because your career sucks and you want to live vicariously through your big brother?
Pres
OH DAMN.
Myles
That’s it. I’m taking Pres to the Oscars.
Pres
Hell yeah, bitches.
Cash
You guys are fucking children. Speaking of, I’ve got to go pick up my actual child from Nikki’s.
Myles
Say hi to the Wicked Witch of the West for us!
Pres
It’s the East, Myles! Get it right!
Merc
I thought we were calling her Maleficent now?
Pres
We were, but then I watched that movie with Angelina Jolie and decided Maleficent might be one of those misunderstood villains. And Nikki definitely IS NOT. So back to the Wicked Witch of the EAST it is.
Me
Why East?
Pres
Because the West Coast is better. Obviously.
Cash
You know this is the mother of my child you’re talking about.
Pres
And…
Cash
And…no comment. I’ve got to go.
Merc
He hates her just as much as we do. He’s just more diplomatic about it.
Myles
I’ve got to go too. I’m prepping for a big audition—for my career that does NOT suck.
Me
Good luck, man. Love you.
Myles
Love you too.
Somehow, I managed to get changed during all that and pack up to head back to the hotel. Just as I’m sending a goodbye text to Pres and Mercury, I nearly plow into Zara halfway between my dressing room and the clinic.
Lucky, I guess, since I was on my way to find her, because tonight, I’ve decided we are going out.
We’ve barely seen each other since Sunday.
After we got off the phone that afternoon with her mom, I barely had enough time to run back to my room to grab a shower and change.
We then managed to squeeze in a late lunch at the hotel restaurant before we were whisked away to the arena for sound check.
Ever since, we’ve been like two ships passing in the night.
We got a bit of time on the plane, but aside from that, it’s been extra practice sessions and a photoshoot for a magazine spread. Meanwhile, she’s been dealing with heat exhaustion and a summer cold outbreak.
Given how much she does, I honestly don’t know how the band has made it this long without a doctor on staff. This woman works her ass off.
My arms grip her shoulders, steadying her as she looks up at me wide-eyed. “Sorry!” she says, startled. “I didn’t see you.”
“No.” I shake my head and lamely wave my phone. “It was my fault. I was texting my siblings and clearly wasn’t paying attention.”
“Siblings? As in all of them? At the same time?”
“Yeah, we have a group chat. It’s currently called the Creed Council of Chaos.”
“Currently?”
I grin. “It’s had many names. It’s sort of a competition to see who can come up with the best one.”
She laughs. “And who came up with this one?”
“Presley.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Why do you sound bitter about that?”