Chapter 5
“It’s been two months since you joined Mental Breakdown.”
The journalist’s flirty, red smile pointed to Drix. His chair sat so close that his arm was pressed into mine, his warm skin making my body restless and hot. But it was the camera lights and the fact we were on our fifth interview, not him.
Drix and I were put together a lot while Ames, Geo, and Tobias did the other circuit loop. Though I could read lips, Emmit made sure an ASL interpreter was behind the reporter, knowing after the eighth or ninth one, I would start to get exhausted and miss questions.
“The rumors surrounding your move to leave The Velvet Kings have stirred up quite the media storm.”
That was putting it lightly. The news exploded across social media the day after his so-called audition. His silence on the matter created so much hype that the rumor mill was churring up conspiracies and fan-fiction level stories.
Especially about us.
“Scotch Tape Hole, The Devil Takes Me, and Vertigo are all topping the charts, and this tour you’re on has sold out with more shows being added.”
She stared at Drix, her lashes lowered as though she was waiting for him to respond, waiting for him to pick her up and carry her off.
One thing about Drix most didn’t know, besides Ames, was that he hated being in the spotlight and didn’t talk just to hear himself talk. His enigmatic, rocker vibe wasn’t a facade. He was that mysterious puzzle everyone wanted to figure out. His grumpy silence was catnip to fans and reporters, the world more intrigued and desperate to know him. To have the privilege to peek into the man underneath all the tattoos, piercings, and intensity.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get his silent treatment. He now seemed to be signing more than he actually spoke to others, and he lived to torment and challenge me. Over the last two months, our cues had become so tight, so in sync, he would just look at me and I would know what to do.
I hated it. I tried my best to ignore him, just taking his prompts on stage and avoiding him off. It wasn’t working so well.
The twenty-something blonde reporter shifted in her seat at the silence and intensity of his gaze.
“I was just wondering if you credit yourself for that?”
He tilted his head, his arm pressing more into mine, and I could feel his irritation growing, blooming over into my own veins.
“No.”
His hands lifted to sign like it was the most natural thing to do now, but he stopped himself. “The songs were hits before. I had nothing to do with it. Maybe you should acknowledge the one who actually wrote the songs, not me.”
He nodded toward me, his bobbing leg nudging into mine.
“Oh.”
The reporter turned to me, a blush on her cheeks, looking like Drix had just called out her integrity. “You wrote them?”
If she had done any research, she would have known that. “Really? You can hear the music and the ballads when you are writing?”
A growl shuddered from Drix as the translator finished the reporter’s ignorant assumption tied up in an “innocent” question.
` “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Drix’s timbre was low, dragging across my skin, his hands once again signing his thoughts. He did it so naturally, I don’t think he even knew he was doing it.
“I mean, since she’s…”
The woman’s cheeks pinked even more, afraid to say the word deaf, as if some politically correct police would jump out the moment she suggested it.
She wasn’t the first reporter today to hint at this, and she wouldn’t be the last. Usually, the male reporters came with the misogyny of me being a woman drummer as well. I was used to it by now.
“You mean because she’s deaf?”
Drix sat up, leaning into her with a challenge. “Music isn’t just about your ears. There are different ways to hear music. It’s a feeling. An emotion, a depth you can’t reach with your normal senses. You can’t literally taste, touch, or see music either, which doesn’t take away from the experience. Music is in here.”
He tapped at his head. “And here.”
He knocked a fist into his chest, his combative energy filling the room. It was the most passion I had seen from him off stage. “Her talent speaks for itself, but I promise you, Echo experiences music far more than the rest of us do.”
Seeing the pure horror and embarrassment on the reporter’s face, my hand pressed down on his thigh, trying to calm him down.
His head jerked at my touch, his gaze catching mine. Without even having to do anything more, his eyes read mine, his shoulders lowering, slumping back in the chair. He looked away from me as if he needed to regain himself, but his hand slid over mine, curling around it like it was his only anchor.
The reporter’s attention went to our hands, tracking how we touched, how he held my hand against his inner thigh. Intimacy only a couple would have.
Suddenly, I became very aware of my hand, his warm palm cupping around my fingers, holding on like we did this all the time. Oddly, it felt natural. But I mean, we were bandmates. We knew each other better than anyone.
Would you do this to Ames or Tobias? Geo?
No. I would’ve elbowed or hit them with my knee, the same as if they were my brothers.
A shot of fear flooded my veins, and I tried to tug my hand away, scared of how comfortable it was to touch him. To have such a deep familiarity with him that I didn’t even have with my other bandmates.
His hand clamped down tighter, not letting me pull away.
The journalist’s gaze brightened, an ah-ha glint caught in her eyes. Taking in this evidence, the way he stood up for me and held my hand in such an intimate position against his thigh. I could see the puzzle she was putting together in her head, coming to an incorrect conclusion.
She sat up, her chagrin replaced by the scandalous story she thought she was getting an insight into.
Drix caught the shift, his eyes going down to where he held my hand, and quickly pulled his hand away.
But it was too late.
“The rumors before, from sources, said you two hated each other prior to Drix joining the band…”
She led us, hoping one of us would jump in and pick up. We both stared, cross-armed and defensive. “Is there any truth to that?”
“No,”
Drix lied. There was a lot of truth to us hating each other. At one time, I laid on his bed, my pants on the floor, his fingers exploring my body, before fate stepped in and thankfully deterred the biggest mistake I could’ve made.
“So…is there something going on between you two?”
“No.”
My fingers responded harshly.
“Because fans are convinced there is. There are already hashtags and websites dedicated to you two, dissecting every look and touch. There is no denying there is intense chemistry between you guys. On stage, you are so in tune with each other, the connection so combustive you pull all the attention. It is the only thing anyone can talk about.”
Ames’s ego would love to hear that.
“We have to be in sync.”
Drix was short and curt. “She relies on me for cues and changes.”
“Not the same as way she did with Ziggy. What you two have is explosive.”
When I saw her lips utter his name, my spine went rigid, fury blooming in my chest.
“Don’t you dare compare Ziggy with anyone.”
My fingers hissed, fury fueling me. “Don’t ever lessen what Ziggy was to me and this band in a need to concoct some juicy made-up story to get views. There is nothing going on between us.”
I stood up, ripping off the mic the sound people hooked onto my top. “This interview is over!”
I didn’t care how angry Emmit would be for walking out on an interview. I was done with the dumb, insensitive questions about being deaf or, even worse, a girl. The salacious inquiries about Drix and me, and the outright insulting comments about him being behind all this fame we had.
Did his arrival come at a time when we happened to be on tour? Yes, but we had talent and fans before him. He just added an extra layer.
And did fans want a budding love affair between us so bad they saw things? Fuck, yes, they did. I got a dozen tags a minute with our names linked. #EchoDrixLove and #DrixEchoship. But it was all in their heads.
Drix was just a bandmate. Nothing more. A knot braided up from my gut, pumping more adrenaline into my body.
Right?
Slamming out of the room and stomping down the hall, I felt him behind me, his boots thumping the floor. I was so hyperaware of him that I even recognized his weight behind me.
My legs started to run. Anxiety pushed me through doors, zigzagging down corridors and through rooms, trying to get away from him.
Trying to outrun what I knew deep down.
A hand wrapped around my arm, whirling me around.
“Let me go.”
The protest hummed in my vocal chords.
“Goddamit, stop.”
Anger and frustration hardened his features, his nose flaring. His frame leaned over me.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
I signed furiously.
“Tough shit.“ His lips curled. “I’m tired of doing this your way.”
“My way?”
“Yes, this whole avoidance thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
His head slanted, giving me a look. “Like it’s not obvious that you get the farthest you can from me the moment we are off stage. What are you running from, Echo?”
“I’m not running from anything!”
“That’s all you do!”
He let go, exclaiming with his hands too.
“Excuse me?”
“You run from dealing with what happened to Ziggy. You run from me.”
“From Ziggy?”
I sputtered, feeling my face flaming in ire.
“You still haven’t dealt with his death. You blame me for being in his spot, but he’s the one you are mad at. Because he left you. It’s okay to be mad at him.”
“I’m not mad at him! I can’t be because he’s dead, and I don’t blame you for being in his spot. I blame you for being an asshole!”
“Why? Because I fucked up seven years ago?”
His fingers shouted back. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I fucked up.”
“Fucked up?”
I shoved at him. “It’s because you hurt me! I thought of all people you would have my back. That you didn’t think the worst things about me, too. Just a laughable deaf girl who thought she could play drums with the likes of the great Hendrix Decker.”
“I never said that!”
He shot back. “Corey did.”
“You didn’t deny it!”
My hands could barely keep up with my emotions; the box I kept tucked away with all my pain popped open, spilling out. “I thought you were different. That there was something there. When we played together, it was special. But I was the fool, thinking so highly of you. You are no different from any other ignorant, insensitive person out there.”
I motioned in the direction of the reporter. “Actually, you’re worse because you couldn’t even say it to my face.”
I began to turn around, needing to get as far from him as possible.
Hands clutched my arms, his body shoving me back into the door. And then his mouth crashed down on mine. Every thought blanked from my mind, every reason I had to keep us at arm’s length disappearing. All the justifications I had for hating him vanished as his lips met mine. Hunger claimed me, desire pumped through my veins, and I swallowed back a moan. Hunger exploded between us, a line between rage and desire licking through me, making the fire between us explode like a storm.
He pulled back just as fast as it began, his hands gripping my face, leaving me breathless and dizzy.
“Was I a young, stupid eighteen-year-old who was too afraid to admit how he felt?”
He trapped me against the frame of the door. “Yes. I will own that. You scared the hell out of me. And I wasn’t man enough to defend you, to speak up and say I really fucking liked you.”
A gasp hiccuped in my throat at his claim. “I will fully admit I was too young to know how to handle you being different. But there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted it. Fuck, I even learned ASL because of you!”
“You what?” I gaped.
“But I never thought you were a pathetic deaf girl.”
His hands clasped the sides of my face. “You blew me away then and even more now. Your talent, the music you write, how hard you work. I am in awe of you. And yes, when we played together back then, it was fire…”
His grip tightened. “And even more now. Everything people see on the stage between us is true. And I can’t keep my fucking eyes off you.”
“What?”
I don’t know if any noise actually came out of my throat, my heart thumping in my head like a drumbeat.
“And I was jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yes. You guys are like family. You make music from your soul. I wanted that. It’s part of why I came here. But in all honesty, the main reason is I came for you.”
His mouth brushed mine, his eyes locking on mine.
“You are my song in silence.”