Chapter 17
Angus
The shipment of Red Hots candy arrives just before we leave for the show and Mick’s eyes widen as the concierge brings it to him. I ordered two cases, which seems like a lot of candy, and he turns to me with a grin.
“This from you?” he demands.
I shrug. “Thought you might enjoy something spicy.”
He laughs. “Thanks, bro. These will not go to waste.”
Tate reaches for one of the boxes, and Mick playfully slaps his hand. “Mine,” he says. “Hands off.”
“You’re not gonna share?” Tate demands with faux indignation.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Mick lifts the two large boxes. “Give me five to put these up in my room.”
Jonny rolls his eyes and walks outside muttering.
This thing with Jonny isn’t getting better and though it’s only been a few days, it feels like he needs to lighten up. It’s not like I purposely tried to hurt him or the band. I was trying to protect all of us, but he’s acting like I singled him out and this was some sort of personal affront.
Kirsten and Sam join us, and she’s shaking her head. “Looks like Ryleigh’s really sick. She’s not coming to the show.”
I glance up with concern. “What’s going on?”
“She has some kind of sinus thing happening and it’s kicking her ass. I think she has a low-grade fever but she doesn’t have a thermometer.”
I make a mental note to send Bobby to get her one, but there won’t be time until after the show.
I’d go myself but without a car, it would take too long, and we have to get to the venue for soundcheck.
“Has she gone to an urgent care or walk-in clinic?” Tate asks as we walk out toward the bus.
“No.” Kirsten shakes her head. “I’m not sure why, but she’s been reluctant.”
“A lot of people don’t like doctors,” I say. “I’m one of them.”
“I don’t like them either,” Sam says, “but I’d go if I’d been too sick to leave my room for three days on tour.”
“I’ll talk to her tonight,” Kirsten promises. “And if she won’t listen to me, I’ll sic Sydney on her.”
We all chuckle.
Sydney has become the unofficial mother hen of the tour, making sure all of us in both bands stay hydrated, eat something green every so often, and get enough sleep. I haven’t had someone fuss over me in a long time, so it’s kind of sweet, even though I’m perfectly capable of managing my own life.
We get on the bus, and Jonny’s on his phone, completely ignoring us.
I guess he just needs time.
It’s frustrating but since it’s my own fault, I have to suck it up.
“Tonight, we’re going drinking,” Tate says to me as we pull away from the hotel. “Maybe find a couple of ladies to distract us from our problems.”
“Okay.” I don’t dare say no even though I haven’t had so much as a glimmer of interest in anyone since the night with Ryleigh.
When I fuck up, I fuck up good.
My band, my grandfather, and even the woman I can’t stop thinking about are all mad at me.
It would be nice if just one faction of my life wasn’t jacked up.
“You could sound a little more excited,” Tate says, nudging me.
“I’ve got a lot going on,” I mutter, glancing in Jonny’s direction.
Tate gives a curt nod. “He’ll come around. He’s hurt. He’s got to work through all the feelings. You know how us guys are—we struggle with that kind of thing.”
“You think he’d be down for throwing a few punches and getting it out of his system?”
“And risk messing up that pretty face?” Tate snorts. “He’s a lover not a fighter.”
“He definitely doesn’t love me.”
“It’ll be okay. I’m working on him.” He slaps my arm and leans back in his seat.
I hope so.
It’s going to be a really long couple of months otherwise.
“I have an announcement from Sasha,” Jonny calls out. “We’ve officially hit two hundred thousand copies of the album sold.”
A chorus of cheers goes up.
“Fuck yeah!” Sam and Mick high five each other.
Tate claps me on the back before getting up to go hug Jonny.
“That’s fast,” Kirsten says, nodding her head. “You guys are doing awesome!”
“Sasha says there’s a lot of momentum,” Jonny continues, looking at everyone but me. “She’s already working on extending the tour, even after Nobody’s Fool is done. She’s trying to find us another band to open for.”
There are a bunch of questions, so we wind up getting Sasha on speaker phone.
I’m excited but also resigned.
This should be a huge celebration, but it feels like I’m on the outside looking in.
I don’t feel like I’m part of them anymore.
And it sucks.
* * *
The show is a good one, and we wind up hanging out with a bunch of local journalists as well as some guy from Rolling Stone Magazine . He’s here for Nobody’s Fool but that’s okay—it’s always good to make friends. When journalists put names and faces to the music, it can make a difference.
Drinking together, hanging out backstage, having casual conversations—it’s all part of the game. I’m not particularly good at it, but Tate and Jonny excel and they’re totally on target tonight.
I look around, realizing that Ryleigh is missing out on this too.
She mentioned once that Rolling Stone is her bucket list magazine, and writing for them is a dream. This would have been her chance to at least get a foot in the door, and she’s not here.
I feel a twinge of guilt, wondering if she’s really sick or if she’s avoiding me.
Just like everyone else.
“Damn, bro, who pissed in your corn flakes?” Tate demands. “You look like somebody died.”
“That’s just my face,” I deadpan.
He shakes his head. “Come on, lighten up. Have a drink.”
“I am.” I hold out the bottle of beer in my hands.
“You’ve been nursing that for like an hour.”
“I’m fine. Don’t want to get so drunk I say something stupid in front of the press.” I lower my voice. “I’m in enough trouble these days.”
“No one’s even asked about it,” he says, just as quietly.
“Not yet. The night is young.” I glance at Jonny, who’s laughing with a local radio DJ. “And he hasn’t said more than five words to me in days.”
Tate nods, momentarily somber. “I told you—I’m working on him. Don’t sweat it. Now come on, there are a couple of ladies looking for some attention.”
I follow his gaze to two busty brunettes.
I recognize them as the fans who won backstage passes from the local radio station, and they’re hanging on Jonny’s every word.
“They appear to be happy where they are.”
“It used to be a challenge to pull them away from Jonny,” he teases. “Come on, let’s go back to having fun together. If we act normal, eventually things will be normal.”
I hesitate, but he has a point.
Being sulky and brooding about the shit I got myself into isn’t going to change or help anything.
I guzzle the rest of my beer and grab another, following Tate as he joins the conversation with the DJ. She’s middle-aged but still very attractive, and Tate is actually hitting on her. He likes older women, which doesn’t make any difference to me, but it’s always entertaining when he picks out a woman old enough to be his mother.
Unfortunately for Tate, it turns out the DJ is married, and not interested in that kind of attention, but we wind up taking a bunch of pictures and she invites us to be on the show next time we’re in St. Louis.
Then Nobody’s Fool gets on stage and tonight Kirsten is joining them for a couple of songs, so we stick around to support her.
Jonny still isn’t talking to me directly, but Tate was right that there’s some normalcy in just pretending that everything is okay. We’re hanging out as a group, along with all the significant others from Nobody’s Fool, and it’s a good time.
For the first time in over a week, some of the heaviness lifts from my soul and I almost feel like myself again.
And ironically, I find myself thinking about Ryleigh again.
She should be here tonight.
For her to not show up for the show, she must be really sick.
A familiar wave of guilt washes over me, reminding me how badly I treated her after we had sex.
I don’t know what the hell happened to me that night.
I was a complete ass.
I’ve had plenty of one-night stands and I’ve never been that abrupt or flat-out dismissive. I enjoy sex and the women who are willing to give me that pleasure, and despite the boundaries we agreed upon, she deserved better.
I have to apologize.
It seems like that’s all I’m doing these days.
I still need to fix things with my grandfather too.
“You’re thinking again,” Tate says to me when Nobody’s Fool is done for the night.
“Sorry.” I give him a wry smile. “I’m thinking about all the people I have to apologize to.”
“Beyond Jonny?” He frowns.
“Yeah. My grandfather and I had an argument right as the story broke about my identity, and I said something stupid.” I rub my hand over my head. “And there’s someone else…” I let my voice trail because I don’t want to tell anyone that Ryleigh and I slept together. She has a professional reputation to hold on to, and I’ve already fucked up enough shit for people—I don’t want her reputation to be another casualty of my fuckery.
“A woman?” he asks knowingly.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “I just have a lot of making up to do. It’s messing with my head.”
“You have a lot on your plate,” he acknowledges. “But it looks like we’re taking the party to the hotel bar—and you are not going up to your room to brood.”
I laugh. “Promise.”
I do plan to go check on Ryleigh, though.
“I want to change my clothes,” I say. “I’m wet from the show.”
He nods. “Yeah, I want to put on shorts. It’s hot as balls here tonight.”
We head back to the hotel, everyone making plans to meet at the bar. Most of us want to change or shower, so we disperse at the elevators. Tate and I are on the same floor, so we get off together.
“Ten minutes,” he says. “Don’t give me any bullshit about Ayn Rand or—” He cuts himself off as he stares at something down the hall. “Is that…Ryleigh?”
I follow his gaze and see a familiar figure sagging against the wall, hugging an ice bucket to her chest.
“Is that blood?” I demand, staring at her.
Before he can answer, I’m running in her direction. “Ryleigh!”