2. Othelia
Chapter two
Othelia
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite girl!”
I push my glasses onto my head and turn around to find the owner of the teasing voice sprawled over the couch set up in front of the giant paint splattered backdrop.
Shirtless in dark wash jeans that hug his hips, his entire upper body covered in tattoos, he looks the epitome of a rock star. Giving me a lopsided grin, Jericho jumps up and saunters his way towards me.
“Apparently not your only girl. I’ve heard you’re a fan of first daughters now.” I raise an eyebrow.
His grin drops for a second as he wraps his arms around me, squeezing me and I squeal as he lifts me into the air. “You know you’re the only girl for me.” He walks me towards the waiting set, keeping one arm casually draped around my shoulder.
“That’s because I’m the only one who will put up with your shit.” We chuckle as I pull him to a stop. He pauses, looking down at me. Placing one hand on his chest, I look up into his face. “Promise me there were no drugs, Jer. That’s all I care about. You’ve been off them for too damn long to go backwards.”
The vulnerableness in his eyes kills me. Jericho went through so much as a kid. His parents being Hollywood’s ‘it’ couple, and mine entrepreneurs, our paths crossed at many elite social gatherings. Like Jericho, my mom was always too busy with her investors to bother much with me, but at least I had my dad and brother growing up. Jericho wasn’t as lucky.
“Of course not, Til. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”He runs his hand through his hair, his eyes shifting between me and the floor.
Knowing now is not the time to push further, I settle with just squeezing him extra hard and grab his hand as we make our way over to the rest of the band.
“Are you guys looking forward to going home for the next few weeks?” I say as we sit on the couch next to them. Jericho slings his arm over the back of the couch behind me.
“God, I can’t wait to see my girl.” Lennon beams. “These last three months have killed me. I want my girl and my cat and a week in bed.”
Jericho shrugs next to me. “I dunno. I figured I’ll probably just go annoy the shit out of Lennon and Charlie the whole time.”
Lennon lets out a deep groan and drops his head against the cushion. Despite joking about not wanting Jer around, our bond is as strong as siblings’, and he would never turn him away.
Trace is quieter than usual, tapping his fingers against the edge of the couch, distracted by one of the pretty photographer’s assistants.
“Trace…” I tease. The tips of his ears turn pink and I know I’ve caught him attempting to flirt. Looking over at the petite brunette who is helping the photographer set up, then back at Trace, I lean in so only he can hear me. “She's beautiful. Maybe you should go talk to her.”
Now his cheeks match his pink ears and I can’t help but smile. God, I love these guys. Spending a decade creating music with them, living side by side, has forged an unparalleled bond.
“What about you, Til?” Lennon interrupts, nudging me. “Won’t be long and we’ll be calling you Auntie Tilly.”
My smile spreads further. “I am so freaking ready. I can’t wait to meet her. Sloane and Rian are going to be just the best parents.”
Lennon’s right. As amazing as the last few months have been, hitting twelve countries for fifteen shows in ten weeks has been exhausting.Getting to go home and spend a few weeks with Rian and Sloane while we wait for my baby niece is just what I need.
I’ll only spend a week in LA before I have to head to Chicago for the birth. Clay isn’t thrilled but it’s important to me to be there for this pivotal moment for Rian and Sloane.
I love my job, it’s all I’ve ever dreamed of doing. In the beginning, you don’t mind missing birthdays or holidays. It’s fresh and exciting. You live off the adrenaline high, show to show, telling yourself it's all worth it. For a while you feel like you're on cloud nine, until one day you wake up in your eleventh hotel for the month finding yourself staring at your phone, hoping it rings and realize you're lonely.
With my schedule full of shows lined up through spring, I'm desperate to soak in as much niece time as I can.
A sharp clapping of hands brings our attention back to the photographer. A stern middle-aged woman with round glasses and a blunt brunette bob reminding me of Edna from The Incredibles greets us: “Bonjour, Bonjour. We will try not to keep you for too long as you are busy, busy rock stars.”
I elbow Jericho as he chokes on a laugh, and we all give her our best press smiles. “Where do you want us?”
“No capes!” Jericho whispers to us, and we all fail at holding in our laughter.
My phone lights up with a FaceTime call and I immediately swipe to answer it. I’ve been hiding away in the sparse dressing room desperately waiting for this call. Sloane’s bright face lights up my screen, and she squeals when she sees me.
“Biiiittcchhhh… You look so fucking hot right now.” Her almond-shaped eyes crinkle at the sides with her megawatt smile. Sloane has always had a knack for calming me and bringing a smile to my face.
“Please, you look freaking stunning growing my little niece,” I scoff. “How is she going?”
Sloane pans the phone down over her swollen belly, her hand rubbing against it. The stunning solitaire diamond Rian proposed with his first year in the NHL glints in the screen’s glow.
“Already keeping me on my toes.” She grins. “She damn well better hold out for her aunt to make it home. I am not doing this,” gesturing down her body, “without you here.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to be there, even if it means chartering a private plane.”
She sweeps her jet-black hair to one side, the flash of her signature pink highlights showing underneath. “Well, I can no longer see my toes or fit in my shoes. I’ve been stealing Rian’s slides when footwear is required. She moves constantly and feels like she’s trying to kick a hole through my uterus, but it is so worth it. You should see the look on Rian’s face when he looks at my belly. He constantly cuddles up to my belly and spends hours talking to her. Honestly, if I already didn’t love the shit out of that guy, that would’ve sold me.”
Ever since they found out they were expecting, my phone has been a never-ending stream of photo updates on the nursery, clothes he’s bought while in different cities, baby bump updates. Rian has always been full-on with all things Sloane related.
I adjust my position on the black leather couch as I try not to think about how many musicians have done God knows what on it.My mind flashes back to the phone call from a drunk Rian off at college.
I was still stuck at home; the band had just gotten together, and we were working on our debut album, counting the days until I turned eighteen. Getting into clubs to play gigs was difficult, but with Jericho’s connections, my age was often overlooked.
Rian had called, slurring, telling me all about the most beautiful Japanese transfer student he had just met. He sat on the phone for an hour, talking nonstop about her.
He had been walking to refill his drink at the keg when she attempted to throw her drink on a guy that grabbed her ass. But instead, in typical Sloane fashion, ended up tossing it way over the guy’s head, covering my brother in the warm frothy liquid. I sat in my bedroom chuckling at the way he gushed, telling me it was love at Bud Light.
He looked starry-eyed as he spoke, making a vow that one day he was going to marry her and give her a house full of the most beautiful babies.At twenty-one, with his entire career in front of him, I thought he was crazy. But he followed through, trailing her around campus until she agreed to a date. Eventually, Sloane and I met and although it wasn’t love at Bud Light for us, it didn’t take long for the two of us to become inseparable.
“Where did you go?” Sloane’s melodic voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Nowhere, just remembering the day you met Rian.”
I see her physically cringe. “Oh God, the love at Bud light thing? He is such a dork. He still tells everyone that he should take shares out in the company because it’s brought him so much luck.” She chuckles to herself, sighing. “Don't tell him I said this but he really is the best. Even when his endless energy while I’m so utterly exhausted drives me absolutely crazy. Speaking of endless energy, did you see the video of Jericho? Damn, that boy has some stamina .” She giggles at my obvious discomfort.
“Oh fuck, there’s a video?” I cover my face with my hands. “I’ve only seen the photos. It’s blowing up here. The press has gone nuts trying to get comments from us. When will they realize Jericho is a big boy and I don’t have any comment on who and where he has sex?”
A sharp knock at the door interrupts her reply and Dominic sticks his head in. “Crew says five minutes.” I give him a quick nod, which he returns before heading back to his post.
“I’ve got to go.” Rising from the couch, I can’t help but cringe at the loud squeaking noise it makes, caused by the friction of my skin-tight leather pants.
“You’ve got this, babe. You are an absolute powerhouse. Everyone out there is going to lose their shit seeing you perform. Kill it out there, then come home. We miss you like crazy.” Her voice, sincere and full of so much love, makes the homesickness so much harder.
“I miss you guys too—well, not so much Rian, but you. I’d be lost without your face. I’ll see you in a week. Then you’ve got me uninterrupted for an entire month.”
Her eyes shine as she rubs her belly.“I really appreciate you organizing this break in the tour for you to be home for me, to meet Layla.”
My eyes widen and my voice jumps up an octave as I resist the urge to squeal. “Layla?” I question, knowing that Eric Clapton is one of her favorite musicians of all time.
“Yeah, Ri and I agreed last night. Don’t tell him I told you,” she whispers as she bites her lip, nervously looking off camera to scan the room. I've never seen Sloane look nervous before. She’s always the life of the party, never fearing to speak her mind. It’s something I’ve always admired about her, something I struggle with daily.
“It’s perfect,” I sigh and her lips tip up again as she stares off.
“It really is, isn’t it?” Her eyes come back to me. “OK, go be a rock star so you come home and be an aunt. Love you, bitch.”
“Love you too, jerk. Say hi to Rian for me. I’ll message when we board tomorrow.”
When I hang up the phone, I feel lighter. Sloane’s presence has always done that for me. It just radiates off her and I grapple to hold it together when she isn’t here spurring me on.
I take one last look in the floor-length mirror, adjusting the black crocheted halter neck top I’m wearing over the high-waisted leather pants, my boots making me look five inches taller. I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly.
“You can do this. Today you’re a rock star, tomorrow you’re just Tilly.”
My smile widens as my pulse quickens. Despite my anxiety, I have always loved performing, connecting with the crowd. They know all of me through my lyrics and accept all my flaws, resonating with them. I open the door to a pulse of energy. I can feel the crowd from here. It calls to me.
Dominic leads me to the side of the stage, where the boys are waiting for their cue. Trace taps his sticks against his legs, eyes shut as he focuses on his beat, Jericho and Lennon stand next to each other stretching before strapping on their guitars and bouncing on the balls of their feet as they survey the crowd from the wings.
I walk up to Terry, who has my microphone and guitar waiting. He straps me into the in-ear monitor that allows me to hear the timing track, hooking the body pack to my waistband. He holds out my favorite black, glitter covered Gibson, giving me time to comfortably slide the strap over my shoulder before handing me my microphone.
When the lights go down, silence settles over the crowd. The buzz of their excitement surrounds me, energizes me.
Trace gets his cue from the stagehand and he gives us all fist bumps before he bolts to his drum kit and begins pounding out the opening beat. The crowd’s screams become deafening as they roar their approval.
Lennon and Jericho are next, each bumping my waiting fist as they rush past me to get to their spots. With one rip of Jericho's guitar, we are off, the lights slam on, blinding for a second before my eyes adjust to the shift.
When my cue is called, I make my way up the stairs and step out into the light. As the crowd erupts, in this moment, nothing else matters. I am home.