Chapter 47 - Roxie
Roxie
I’d expected the last part of the tour after Thanksgiving to be carefree and fun. A victory lap after a long, arduous tour around the country. I thought it would be filled with sex, and laughing, and an affection that deepened with every passing day until it became something undeniable.
Things were fine with Milo. He was full of smiles and jokes, and savored every moment with me. Cash was the same way; we crawled into a bunk and snuggled up together, reading our book separately and occasionally commenting on something interesting.
But everything with Riot felt wrong.
It was like something had broken between us over Thanksgiving. And in a way, that was true: the thing that had shattered was the illusion that this was all a fairy tale. That this was something real, something without an expiration date.
That Riot actually cared about me.
When the Miami show was over and he suggested that I go home early, it finally sank in that I was just a tool to him. Someone who boosted his creativity, someone to have sex with. And even though it was good, that was all he wanted. Another groupie.
Once the realization sank in, I felt like such an idiot for ever thinking otherwise.
I fled from the dressing room. Nobody tried to stop me, which hurt just as much as Riot’s suggestion that I leave.
For a moment, I considered storming back in there and giving him a piece of my mind.
Raging and arguing and breaking anything that was breakable.
That was the rock and roll lifestyle, right?
But what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything. And deep down, I’d spent the last few weeks preparing myself for this. For what I knew was inevitable.
If I was being totally honest with myself, I wasn’t surprised by Riot’s attitude toward me. Not really. I was mostly just sad. Sad about how this had turned out, sad that I’d allowed myself to feel hope.
I would never make that mistake again.
I hurried through the arena and exited out of one of the employee-only doors in the back.
Despite being December, it was a warm night in Miami, and people were out walking to bars and restaurants like it was a pleasant spring evening.
I wasn’t sure what to do or where to go, so I picked a direction at random and started walking.
Milo called me. I ignored it, and he left a voicemail that I listened to as soon as I got the notification. “Yo. Rox. You left in a hurry, so I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m worried about you. Call me?”
After listening to that, I saw that I had some texts from Cash.
Cash: Riot wasn’t trying to kick you out.
He was just suggesting that you don’t have to stick around while we’re at the recording studio the next couple of weeks.
When we recorded our first album, we went in at 6:00am every morning and didn’t leave until 10:00pm.
We’d hardly see you. He didn’t mean anything by it.
Cash: But I understand why you might have taken it the wrong way.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and let out a bitter laugh that caused a few pedestrians to glance at me nervously.
Take it the wrong way? I took Riot’s suggestion exactly how he intended it to be taken.
He was done with me. He was ready to cast me aside like an old guitar that was being replaced by a brand new Gibson.
The fact that Cash and Milo had immediately reached out, while Riot continued to remain silent while I walked through downtown Miami, proved that.
The wind picked up, coming off the ocean with enough chill to make me wrap my arms around myself. Salsa music drifted out of an open door of a nightclub, but that wasn’t the vibe I was looking for. I didn’t want to dance. I wanted to drink and feel sorry for myself.
That was every girl’s right after a breakup.
Because that’s what this felt like: a breakup in all but name.
Milo and Cash both acted like they still wanted to see me, and I felt the tug of emotional caring—and maybe even love—when I thought about them, but how could I make that work if Riot was done?
The three of them were always around each other.
I’d constantly see Riot. The wound that burned hot and bright in my soul right now would continue breaking open, again and again, never healing.
It was ridiculous to think I could date three men at the same time, for this exact reason. Three men meant three points of failure instead of one. It was a tripod of a relationship; if one leg failed, the other two couldn’t hold it up by themselves.
Fresh tears began running down my cheeks, and as soon as I heard rock music from another bar, I crossed the street, showed my ID to the bouncer, then ducked inside.
It was a dive bar in every sense of the word, dark and smoky and filled with the scent of stale beer and bad decisions. The live music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.
Perfect.
I went to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey and two beers to drink as a chaser. The liquor burned hot down my throat, and I imagined it was disinfecting the scar on my heart. Helping me heal before I actually healed.
At the end of the room was a raised platform where the band was playing.
A drummer, a bassist, and a lead singer with a guitar.
Just like Cherry Midnight, minus the keyboard player.
I squeezed through the crowd and found an empty chair at a table occupied by a guy who looked like a biker, with a gray beard and a leather jacket and a scowl that warned me to stay away.
I plopped down into the chair and met his gaze, daring him to tell me it was taken. He didn’t.
I quickly finished one beer and began nursing the other while listening to the music and thinking about what my next move would be.
Getting a hotel sounded like a good idea; I was making enough from my freelance gigs that I could afford it, at least for tonight.
I didn’t want to go back to the tour bus.
Shit. My stuff was there. Deciding that was a tomorrow problem, I leaned back in the chair and watched the band. Booking a flight home could also wait until tomorrow.
Tonight, all I wanted to do was forget about the past three months.
The band wasn’t very good, but live music was still live music, and it calmed a part of my brain in a way that nothing else did. After a few more songs, the band announced that they were taking a short break, but would be back soon to play some more.
I looked at my empty beer bottle. My head was swimming with a healthy buzz. Another drink would be a mistake.
So I raised the bottle to the waitress who walked by and asked for another.
Up on stage, the lead singer was whispering to someone who looked like he worked at the bar. I watched them chat and couldn’t help but compare him to Riot. He didn’t have any tattoos, and his face was softer. But he sang and played the guitar all right.
Thinking of Riot made me sad again. I took a long pull of my new beer when the waitress returned.
“Folks, we’ve got a surprise for you,” the singer suddenly said into the microphone.
“This is a surprise for us, too. You might have seen him play the Kaseya Center just two hours ago, but if not, you’re getting another chance.
Please welcome to the stage, the lead singer and guitarist for Cherry Midnight… Riot Kane!”