Chapter 9 - Milo
Milo
WOOOO YEAH BABY ROCK AND ROLL LET’S FUCKING GO!
My arms pumped, swinging the drumsticks like I was trying to bang through my drums.
I was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie. If it was dangerous, then I’d probably tried it before. Bungee jumping. Base jumping. Skydiving. Zip lines were fun too, especially in countries where regulations were lax and you felt like you were in real danger.
I loved living on the edge. It’s what made me feel truly alive.
But there was no rush quite like performing in front of thousands of adoring fans.
All of it blended together into an ecstasy-infused cacophony; flashing lights, screaming fans, Cash’s bass, Violet’s keyboard, and of course Riot’s angelic voice at the front.
The adrenaline and bliss that filled me while we performed rivaled any other feeling in the world.
It was even better than sex, and no, I’m not joking.
I loved being a drummer. I was the heart of the band, providing the beat—the foundation—of every song. Guitarists had to carefully strum with precision, even during the most intense and insane parts of a show.
But me? I could just fucking wail on my drums. The way I swung the drumsticks was a full-body workout, leaving my skin sweaty and my muscles burning after the first song.
Tonight, I immediately fell into a flow state. I went from one song to the next, acting on instinct and practice rather than conscious thought. There was nothing to think about; my arms knew what notes to play, which drums to strike.
And I wasn’t the only one.
Riot’s voice had a little extra something in it tonight.
The way he gripped the mic and crooned to the crowd, it was like he was trying to fuck the entire arena.
Cash was normally stationary on stage, the way most bass players were, but tonight he was striding around his section of the stage like a lion on the prowl.
And Violet was banging on her keyboard and belting out the backup vocals like she was auditioning for something bigger.
This was our first concert as headliners, and all of us were giving it everything we had.
As with every show, I felt an overpowering sense of love for my bandmates. They were the only people in the world I could truly trust and rely on, and we made an incredible team together. Before Cherry Midnight, I’d never known what that felt like.
I noticed Riot kept glancing backstage after every song, and eventually I saw why. Roxie was standing behind a stack of equipment boxes, nodding her head along with the show.
We’d had groupies before. All bands did. I never thought much about them, because they never lasted long. They usually got bored after a few shows.
Or we did.
Roxie felt different. There was something about her…
I wasn’t inspired the way Riot claimed to be. That wasn’t surprising because I didn’t write music, I just played what was given to me. But I was already beginning to understand what Riot felt.
Because with Roxie watching? I felt even more motivation to give this show a hundred percent.
When we were opening for Rainknife, our setlist was only seven songs.
As headliners, it was seventeen—plus two encore songs.
My arms were burning early, but I pushed through the pain with the help of adrenaline and the tall vodka tonic stashed next to my stool.
I wasn’t going to run out of energy tonight. Not during the first show of the tour.
I’d keel over and die before I let exhaustion slow me down.
After the encore, I walked up to the front of the stage and spent a moment taking it all in. Soaking in the fame and adoration. Then I tossed my drumsticks into the crowd and walked off stage with my bandmates.
Once we were backstage, we shared another group hug. “Couldn’t have gone better,” Violet said.
“I was really feeling myself out there,” Riot said, breathless.
“We could tell,” Cash replied. “You were in the groove.”
I glanced to our right, where Roxie was standing awkwardly. I was about to invite her into our hug again, but then Riot pulled away and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.
“How’d we sound from back here?” he asked her.
Roxie’s smile was almost bashful. “Outstanding. Even better than the night you opened for Rainknife.”
“It’s different when you’re the headliner,” Riot said.
We all shuffled back into the dressing room, and then Riot quietly slipped away. The way he did after every single show we played. It no longer bothered me, but I still wished he would hang out with us after.
In the dressing room, Roxie frowned at the rest of us. “Where’d Riot go?”
“He, uh, has a process,” I explained. “He needs a little privacy after the show. To wind down.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She looked disappointed, but I couldn’t tell her any more than that. And based on the way Cash and Violet were staring at me, they wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
“Want to find a bar and celebrate?” I suggested. “I’m buying!”
“You’re just going to put it on the band credit card,” Violet accused.
“Yes,” I said, throwing an arm around Violet, “but I’ll be the one to hand the credit card to the waitress.” I winked at Roxie, and she grinned.
Something twisted in my chest, right behind my breastbone. Something bright and strong.
Yeah. Roxie wasn’t like the groupies we’d had before. She was definitely something special.
It was going to be an exciting three months on tour.