Chapter 11 - Roxie
Roxie
The drive north to Fort Worth was uneventful, aside from Milo throwing a fit when Cash drove past two exits in a row that had brunch options. But he calmed down once we stopped at a Waffle House and ordered enough food to feed an army.
Fort Worth was the twin city to Dallas—albeit smaller and more quaint. Cash parked the tour bus next to our hotel for the evening: Dryce, a boutique hotel that was located right across from the Dickies Arena, the venue where we were playing.
We. Funny how quickly I thought of myself as part of the band.
Riot was quiet during the trip, hunched over a stack of sheet music while listening to music so loudly I could hear it through his headphones.
Everyone else left him alone, so I did the same…
even though I still felt obsessed with the sexy lead singer.
I wanted to have any kind of interaction with him, even something as small as chatting about where he grew up and how he got into music.
Everyone was on their own once we checked into the hotel. I had a lot of work to get done, so I holed myself up in my room and knocked out a bunch of tasks from my to-do list that I wasn’t able to complete on the bus while I was pretending not to stare at Riot.
That evening, someone knocked on my door. I hopped up, fluffing out my hair in the mirror for a few seconds before opening the door.
But it wasn’t Riot who was there.
“Milo and I are gonna grab drinks in the hotel bar,” Cash told me. “And maybe figure out a place to get dinner. We’re still not sure if we want to go out, or order in. You should join us.” He glanced past me. “As long as I’m not keeping you from any work…”
“I’d love to. Let me change clothes real quick.”
Cash and Milo were already at a table in the bar, which had tall windows facing out toward the domed concert venue. “I was going to order you a gin and tonic, but Cash told me to wait,” Milo said.
“I love a good G&T,” I said, waving to the bartender.
Milo gave Cash a playful shove. “Told you. It’s my superpower.”
“What is?” I asked, taking the seat across from them.
“He thinks he can figure out someone’s favorite drink after a five minute conversation,” Cash said, skepticism dripping from every word.
“It’s not my favorite drink right now,” I said. “One of my favorites. But not at the top.”
“Of course. Your favorite is…” Milo scrunched up his face while studying me. “French 75.”
I blinked in shock. “How’d you know that?”
Milo clapped his hands together. “Ah hah!”
“That’s not your favorite drink,” Cash said, a statement rather than a question.
“It actually is. It’s been my favorite since I had it at a friend’s wedding about a year ago. I wish I were joking.”
Milo raised an eyebrow. “And what was your drink of choice prior to that?”
I smiled.
Cash cursed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I can’t lie!” I said defensively. “Milo nailed it. Gin and tonic.”
Milo leaned over and stuck his face into Cash’s. “You hear that? I nailed it.”
“We try not to encourage Milo,” Cash explained to me. “He’ll be gloating about this for the rest of the tour.”
“I’m impressed,” I admitted as the bartender dropped off my gin and tonic. Then, trying to sound casual, I asked, “Riot and Violet aren’t joining us?”
“They’re working on a song together right now,” Milo said. “They don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Interesting. If I didn’t know that Violet was married to a woman, I’d make a comment about the two of them spending time together in a hotel room. Alone.”
They shared a look, then Milo said, “Nah. Nothing like that happens anymore. We’re all just friends and bandmates.”
“Anymore?” I asked.
“He misspoke,” Cash said firmly.
Milo’s cheeks turned red, which he tried to cover up by taking a long sip from his drink.
I’ll have to remember that, I told myself.
I pointed to the book on the table in front of Cash. “That’s a different book than the one you were reading in Houston. Anything good?”
“Doubtful,” Milo replied. “He reads the most boring shit you could possibly imagine.”
“Ignore my drumstick-twirling friend,” Cash said dryly. “I read a lot of nonfiction. This is The Blue Machine. It’s about oceans, and how they operate on an energy level, beginning with solar absorption.”
“Oh wow, that’s a lot more educational than I expected!”
Milo threw an arm around Cash and said, “He’s a real life Good Will Hunting.”
Cash pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that movie.”
“He’s a secret genius.” Milo leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “He had a full ride to MIT but turned it down to rock out with his cock out.”
“I rock out with my cock fully concealed, thank you very much,” Cash said. “Don’t listen to Milo. His understanding of the world is rather narrow.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds too crazy to believe. Getting a full ride to MIT and turning it down to join a rock band…”
“Oh, that part’s true,” Cash said. “Although technically it wasn’t a full ride. My tuition was mostly covered by scholarships, but there was a gap that I needed to fill with supplementary loans.”
I gawked at him. “You seriously turned down MIT? To play bass guitar?”
“See? She thinks you’re insane, too!” Milo said.
Cash ignored him. “Joining Cherry Midnight was a unique opportunity, and after a lot of careful consideration, I decided it was the best option for me. I can always go back to school in the future if this doesn’t pan out.”
“Wow,” I said. “What’d your parents think about that?”
He smiled. “They hated it, of course. They claimed I was throwing my life away, and that Cherry Midnight wouldn’t amount to anything important.”
“They must be proud of you now that you’re headlining your own tour!”
Cash barked a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. They still won’t speak to me.”
“He’s not exaggerating,” Milo added. “They literally cut him off. No communication. It’s been, like, two years.”
“It hasn’t been that long. More like twenty months.”
“I said like two years. And twenty months is like two years!”
Cash rolled his eyes and told me, “I texted them a few weeks ago about the tour. I told them I could get them free tickets when we play in Detroit.”
“What’d they say?”
“Nothing. They ignored it. They’ve put all their hopes and dreams into Jennifer, my sister. She’s pre-med at Florida State.”
I impulsively reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. The parents thing, not the sister thing.”
Cash shrugged. “It does suck. But I accepted it a long time ago.”
“And now he has a new family,” Milo said, giving him a sideways hug. “We’ll always love you, bro.”
“Love you too, buddy.”
I turned to Milo. “What about you? What’s your story?”
“Oh, same old story. I had a full ride to Harvard Business School. Not.”
Milo threw back his head and laughed.
“I hated school. I was lucky to get Cs. I wasn’t good at sports, either. Drumming was basically the first thing I ever showed promise in. All thanks to Mr. Bremmer.”
“Mr. Bremmer?”
“My high school science teacher,” he explained.
“He got sick of me drumming my pencils on the desk during class and gave me detention one day. But when I showed up, the marching band teacher was there. He gave me a uniform and a special snare drum and pointed me in the right direction. I was in the marching band for the rest of high school. Mr. Bremmer even found a cheap hand-me-down drum set from one of the other schools. And when I couldn’t take it home, he stashed it in his garage and let me practice there every day after school. ”
“Why couldn’t you take it home?” I asked. “Your parents didn’t want to listen to drums around the clock?”
Milo smiled, but there was a pained edge to it.
“Something like that. A few years later, I ran into Riot playing solo for five people at a bar. We chatted after the show, got shit-faced drunk, and the next morning we started Cherry Midnight.” He elbowed Cash.
“So, yeah. I took a different route here than Cash, but it’s the same destination in the end.
Hey, who wants another round? I know I do.
I’ll get you a French 75 this time, while you two figure out where we’re getting dinner. I’m starving.”
“That’s something you’ll learn about our drummer, if you haven’t already,” Cash told me. “He may be tall and lanky, but he eats like a horse. It’s a miracle he doesn’t weigh three hundred pounds.”
I glanced over at the drummer, who was chatting up the bartender. His pained smile still stuck with me. I wondered what he was hiding about his past.
Hopefully, over the course of this tour, I would figure it out.