3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Axel
H am sandwiches were my favorite, but mine turned to lead in my stomach as I waited for my turn for Thornton to interview me.
Songbird, our keyboard player, requested the first spot, claiming she’d be more nervous if she waited. I wasn’t certain I believed her, but her little show of nerves earlier had me questioning my assumption she was cool about everything. We’d played biggish venues before—the Pacific National Exhibition in Vancouver, for one—but nothing like Black Rock. Nothing like Rocktoberfest.
She returned to the bus with a huge grin on her face, and she squeezed Big Mac’s shoulder as our bassist headed out.
Meg, the drummer, continued to doodle in her notebook.
Ed, our lead guitarist, scrolled on his phone, and I sat with mine idle in my hands.
I should’ve been composing or going back over our set for Friday night or any of a dozen other things. Instead, my mind kept circling back to Hugo and what he was doing here. Well, obviously here for the music…because who would just choose to spend their time in the desert where the sun was hot during the day and the night was chilly? Especially given he should’ve been teaching now. He must’ve taken a whole week off work if he was already here. Of course, I hadn’t asked him how he got here. Had he driven or flown?
Right, and that’s what’s really important?
Hmm. Maybe not. He was one of the first fans to arrive, though, as the show didn’t start for another day. Was he with someone? That asshole ex-husband of his? Yeah, I knew about the divorce. Fucker didn’t deserve a man like Hugo anyway. But I’d heard Hugo had been sad and that, in turn, made me feel sort of guilty over my glee at the dissolution of that union. Truly, that ex was a turd of the first order. I’d hated him the one and only time we’d met.
Big Mac returned from his interview, appearing slightly less queasy.
Meg smacked him on the arm as she headed toward the front of the bus. She nearly pranced as she made her way down the stairs.
“She’s nervous.” Big Mac pressed a hand to his belly. Then, after a moment, he went to the cupboard. He nabbed a large bag of malt-vinegar potato chips, ripped the bag open, and stuck his hand in, coming up with a mittful.
Only then did he look around. Clearly chagrinned, he offered the bag to Songbird.
With a smile, she declined.
Next, he presented it to Ed, who also declined. Ed’s tight smile said more than anything he might’ve uttered. He wasn’t onboard with this plan at all.
Finally, Big Mac offered me the bag. I snagged one chip, popped it into my mouth, then instantly regretted it as the tart taste hit my mouth. I loved salt and vinegar chips, but they didn’t go well with…nerves? Pursing my lips, I pushed out of my seat and headed to the fridge.
Big Mac dropped onto the bench seat and started nosing at Meg’s sketchpad.
Ed smacked his hand. “Don’t. Doesn’t matter how you feel about her. That’s her private journal, and you’re not entitled to look.” He turned his fiery gaze to me. “Don’t even think about grabbing a soda. You’ll burp on camera. Juice or, better yet, water.”
“Hey.” I didn’t like it when he bossed me around.
Especially when he was right.
I sighed dramatically and pulled an apple juice from the fridge. Before I could contemplate mixing the flavors of malt vinegar and apple juice, I popped the lid and downed half the bottle.
Okay…gross.
Big Mac laughed at my obvious wince.
I might’ve exaggerated it just for him.
Songbird rose, stretched, and pointed to the back.
We all waved, and she headed back to her bunk.
Meg trudged up the steps to the bus. “Axel, you’re next.”
I wanted to comment about the pep in her step that appeared missing, but I wasn’t certain I needed to know the reason. This was Meg. While Songbird might have some secrets, Meg always laid everything on the table. She took no prisoners. I hoped Thronton was too cool to have made a mess of talking about Meg’s Indigenous heritage, but something had her down. Probably not that. Didn’t make my nerves better.
Ed waved me toward the door. “Go.”
“Yeah.” So I wasn’t wasting the apple juice, I downed the rest of it. For good measure, I let out a beautiful belch.
Big Mac guffawed, Meg grinned, and Ed rolled his eyes.
Yep, all was right in the world.
I headed out into the brilliant sunshine, putting on my shades. I wouldn’t be able to wear them for the interview, I didn’t figure. Apparently, Mickey, the director of the documentary, had scouted out the perfect location for filming the discussion. They had a good eye, so I trusted them.
Thornton, I was less comfortable with.
Pauletta, our manager, swore the guy was on the up-and-up.
Ed warned all of us at every turn to be careful. Somewhere in between there, I figured the truth lay.
Pauletta greeted me as I stepped off the bus. “This won’t take too long. We’re hoping to do it in just a couple of takes.”
“Hopefully less.”
She snickered. “If you behave, focus, and give your best shot, then yes, we might be able to do it in less.”
I pressed a hand to my chest and offered a wounded expression. “When am I ever not well-behaved?”
Another snicker. “Don’t lay it on too thick, Axel. Just be yourself.”
Knowing what she meant also involved acknowledging I didn’t always take everything as seriously as maybe I should. Just… Ed and Pauletta took control of things. My job was to show up, sing my heart out, and go home. When I wasn’t singing, I was supposed to stay out of trouble.
We came to an area with a bit of shade.
Mickey greeted us first, sticking out their hand. Their red, curly hair blew in the soft breeze. “I know you know me, but I want to formally thank you for doing this. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“I wasn’t until you just said that.” I shook their hand, oddly touched by the formality.
Lydia, with her camera, and Kato, with his sound equipment, stood off to the side. He had a small mic attached to a power box.
Knowing this was for me, I headed his way. Within moments, he had me hooked up. When he gave me the thumbs-up, I pivoted to Thornton.
Ah, I saw why Ed was so taken with the man. Not just looks—although they played a big part. The man was downright edible. That wasn’t all Ed saw in him, though. In odd moments of silence, Thornton appeared…almost wounded. Like he had something deep inside him that caused him great pain. He might hide it from the rest of the world, but I spotted it.
Sometimes it took one wounded soul to recognize another.
Was that who Ed saw? Someone in pain? Someone in need of comfort?
“Are you ready?” Thornton’s smile lit his face, but didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah.”
He pointed to a little rocky area.
I grinned. “That’s not going to be comfortable.”
“We can—”
“No, I like it.” I met his gaze. “We’ll both be in a hurry to finish.”
He cocked his head. “You wanting to rush through this?”
“Nah.” I shrugged. “I just know you want to get to Ed. He’s the real catch for you.”
“You’re the lead singer.” Thornton gestured toward the rocks.
We sat next to each other, but cheating a bit toward the middle so it would look more like a natural conversation on camera.
“You’re the lead singer.” He repeated his comment, but clearly this time the camera was rolling.
Deftly, Kato stepped into range with his boom mic and Lydia had her camera trained on us.
“I am.” I continued grinning. “As the face of Grindstone, I have a lot of responsibility.” I used air quotes for face .
Thornton nodded slowly. “Responsibility. Yes, a lot of fans look up to you.”
“Well…I’m not the only one. Ed’s got a whole fan club, and I suspect that when we break out, Songbird, Big Mac, and Meg will have a million people knowing their names as well.”
“You’ve very confident.”
I swept my arms expansively to encompass everything I could see. “We’re here. At Rocktoberfest. And yes, we’re playing early on Friday night. Yes, we’re not a headlining band. But we’re here. ” I had to make him understand. “I grew up…poor. Disadvantaged. In poverty. We struggled and—” I swallowed hard. “But I made it out of there. And yeah, the first couple of years beyond high school were rough.” I quickly glanced toward Pauletta, who stood very close to Mickey. “Then Ed and I met someone who believed in our talent. She straightened us out, and we’ve been on a steady climb ever since. Five albums, and frankly, the best is yet to come.”
Thornton smiled. “That’s a lot of work. You graduated, what, ten years ago?”
“Yeah.” My mind wandered to Mr. Threadgold on graduation day. The pride in those pale-blue eyes. The discomfort because of what I’d witnessed—whether his or mine, or both—I’d never been certain. “I try to forget about those days, but…if I hadn’t struggled, then I think this moment wouldn’t be as powerful as it is. Wouldn’t have as much meaning.”
“True. I feel an amount of gratitude for you from all your bandmates.”
I snickered. “You weren’t expecting that, were you? You thought we’d be a bunch of pampered musicians who expect everyone else to do the work.”
His eyes narrowed. Just a fraction. Probably not enough for the camera to pick up…but I did. “I attempt to not have any preconceived notions before I meet someone.”
“Sure. But you hear about things in the media or through the rumor mill. Whispers. We both know who the prima donnas are this weekend. The bands who will demand, expect, and possibly receive preferential treatment.” I puffed out my chest a bit. “That’s not me. If I ever get too big for my…” I struggled to remember the word my father used to use when he was putting me in my place. “…britches. Yeah, if I ever get an over-inflated ego, Pauletta will set me straight.”
“And Ed?” Thornton blinked. “Or the other members of the band?”
Nice slip. God, you’re head over heels for him.
“We’re a team.” I let the words sink in. “We take care of each other.” Like intervening when my life was careening out of control and getting me the help I needed.
“Any regrets? Anything you wish you’d done differently?”
Yeah. Kyesha.
“Sure. How much time do you have?” I offered a cheeky grin, gently pushing my first love to the back of my mind. I’d made mistakes before her and more than a few after her…and I could bullshit my way through this easy question.
Or so you hope.