Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
LEO
Fucking hell. That show did not go well. Even from where I sat at my drum set I could hear the booing and see those in the crowd who weren’t exactly fans of our work. I follow the band off stage and behind the scenes.
A few other bands throw us thumbs up as we pass but anyone with ears and eyes knows none of this went well for us.
Aiden finds a seat and begins massaging his neck. Noah’s gone straight for the beer fridge. And Mia’s on her phone almost immediately. I assume she’s calling Sable, but when she finally picks her head up twenty minutes later, her eyes are red and puffy and she looks pissed.
It breaks my heart.
I retrieve some waters and go to pass one to her, but I do it at a weird angle that sends sudden nerve pain through my hands unlike I’ve felt in years. I bite back the shout and turn from Mia as soon as the water is in her hands.
“Thanks,” she says but her voice is tight.
I nod. I want to massage my hand but honestly I’m too afraid to move it at the moment. So I stand there, water in one hand, and the other half-closed and pressed against my chest as Aiden turns to us all.
“It’s just one show.” Those four words are his only words of wisdom?
Some of the other bands turn to watch us. I nod to Aiden. “Maybe we do this on the bus?”
Mia’s cheeks flush. Her eyes are full of tears about to spill.
Aiden takes notice, and that of Noah shotgunning the beer he took from the fridge. He’s about to reach for another when Aiden waves us all along. “Yes. Tour bus. Now.”
Noah ignores him in favor of that second beer. “You can’t order us around, man.”
Aiden moves beside him and presses the fridge door shut with one hand. Noah barely pulls his own hand back in time. “Yes, I can.”
They stare each other down. Noah’s nostrils flare.
“Not here,” I say.
The last thing we need are witnesses if they start fighting. Especially because I’m not sure my body is going to let me help break them up. Every time I move my right hand or the fingers on it from this current position, a lava-like pain shoots straight down my forearm into my palm. Which might be cool if I developed lava superpowers from it rather than fucking wanting to saw off my own arm at the elbow to make it stop.
Noah backs down but says nothing. He makes a slow turn toward the exit and tour bus parking lot. Aiden looks to Mia who follows suit. I hurry along before Aiden has to check me even though I’m the last thing he has to worry about—right now, at least.
I’m really hoping this nerve pain is from overuse strain and stress, and not from the worst-timed vasculitis flare in history.
I hurry along with the band. We cross to the tour bus parking lot and board ours without comment. My right hand is still held tight to my side as I take a seat at the table. After a brief lightning bolt of pain, I manage to rest it on the table’s surface instead of holding it myself.
Noah sits opposite me with a beer from our fridge.
Mia’s on the couch with her arms around her knees and her phone still in her hand. Her cheeks are wet. I want to wipe them dry, and the memory of this show with it. I want so badly to do something as simple as comfort my omega, but the nerve pain is worse than I think any of my bandmates can imagine. Right now all I can manage is to sit still and focus on what words of comfort I can give her. And even that’s asking a lot of my pain tolerance. So I stay where I am, afraid to even move.
Aiden takes a sweeping stock of his band and his pack before sitting beside Mia and resting a hand on her knee. “It’s just one show—the first one, even. It’s okay.”
Mia scoffs loudly and shows Aiden her phone. “It’s not just one fucking show. They think you and Leo are desperate enough to restore your careers that you’re willing to launch Exit Fate off my one single viral video.”
Her words stab into me as if she’s stabbed me herself. “What?”
She nods, her eyes wide. “Amongst other shitty takes, that’s what’s going on online right now.”
Noah drinks long from his beer. “It’s just the fucking internet, Mia. Who cares what they’re saying online?”
Mia shoots him a deathly dark glare. “It’s not just online .” She points harshly in the direction of the stage we just retreated from with our tails between our legs. “They booed us in person, too. Or did you miss that?”
“All right,” I say before this descends further, moving to pat the air with my hand in a calming motion. But doing so sends more shooting-lava pains through my entire forearm. I swallow a hiss of agony.
Mia’s eyes soften then narrow with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But we need to stop arguing right now.”
“Do we?” Noah stands from the table we’re sharing. “We can’t operate this band by what social media says.” Mia opens her mouth to retort but Noah holds up a hand. “We can operate it by what happened here today, though.”
“Only if we’re also going to work on improving,” Aiden argues. “So we were booed. Why? And what can we improve on?”
Noah all but rolls his eyes as he tosses his now empty beer can in the trash bin. “Wes put us on Knotty Tour too fast.”
Aiden raises an eyebrow. “So what do you think needs improving specifically ?”
Noah inhales deeply. He rubs the back of his head as I cradle my hand back to my chest. Mia watches me carefully, but I try to ignore it.
“I don’t know, man,” Noah says. “I’m just tilted the show didn’t go well.”
“Not all shows do,” I say.
Aiden nods. “I think we all know that and have experienced it to some degree.”
Mia chuckles dryly. “The night before Wes called me to come meet you all, my bassist and drummer fucked up the one song they should’ve known when they agreed to play.”
I cringe. “That sucks.”
Mia nods. “Yeah, it did. And on that note, we can’t play Dreaming Late anymore, either.”
That’s enough to sit Noah back down. “What? Why?”
“Because of what I just said a few minutes ago,” Mia argues. “Enough people think we’re riding off Dreaming Late . Or they think you and I are riding off Aiden and Leo’s previous fame. Either way, we need to come together. Only original music.”
“So our set-list goes down to five songs?” Noah asks. “People are going to notice we took it out. Besides, the band version of Dreaming Late is fun to play.”
Mia smiles, but it’s small and slightly sad. “I agree, but we need to remove it. So yes, we take it down to five songs unless you all want to stay up writing something new tonight.”
“We’d not be the only band with a five-song set,” I point out. Knotty Tour stage slots are a strict thirty minutes long. Most bands only play five songs to begin with unless they’re short. “And if anyone has comments about us removing Dreaming Late they can shove it.”
Aiden sits back against the couch but he looks anything but relaxed. “We have to write on the road anyway. Wes’s agreement was one album and one tour. This is the tour, I’d wager.”
“Last I remember, that agreement didn’t come with a timeline,” Noah says. “Besides, we’re already doing more in the first month and a half than he probably expected.”
Mia nods. “Wes wouldn’t expect an album due upon end of Knotty Tour.”
Aiden’s jaw locks hard. He seems to wage some sort of inner war in his mind and then he shakes his head. “I agree, but we should try anyway.”
And this is where I have to draw the line. “We need to focus on Knotty Tour and winning audiences over, not trying to tour and write six more songs. That’s insane, and stressful. And on top of that being unrealistic when we should be focusing on performing on this tour, I cannot do stress.”
Aiden shoots me a withering look. “You know that’s how this life is.”
I close my eyes for a moment as rage bubbles up my throat. I swallow it down. “I do, and need I remind you that’s why I’m no longer with Lost Time? Or do you not remember promising a balance between the music and the band, and health and ‘other’ things?”
Regret shines in Aiden’s eyes but he doesn’t back down. I know he expects me to understand, and I do. But it doesn’t make his words any less harsh considering the random nerve flare I’m having right now.
I almost lost everything eight years ago. There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m going to let that happen again.
Mia stands. “I think talking any more right now is either pointless or going to make tonight worse. My vote is we remove Dreaming Late immediately, play the five-song set tomorrow, and I don’t know… do a live stream or something after our first weekend with Knotty Tour is over. Aiden’s right—it was just one show. Now we need to do our best to do better tomorrow.”
Her words are strong, but her voice gives way to the worry coursing through her. I understand that worry well.
Noah shrugs with resignation. “Sure, let’s do it.”
Aiden and I agree, too, because what else can we do? This is our first argument as a band and as a pack. It feels rotten, unnatural. And it’s mostly fueled by disappointment in ourselves. But sometimes the best course of action with arguments is to walk away until these extreme emotions have calmed down some.
“Perfect,” Mia says before moving toward the tour bus door. “I’m going to go enjoy the after party, then. Anyone want to join?”
Noah follows without hesitation. Aiden makes his way toward the door after them as I wave them on. Once Mia and Noah are off the bus, though, Aiden pauses at my side.
He looks down at my hand still held in a half-fist. “Are you okay?”
I nod slowly. “I’ll take something. I think it’s just strain, or stress. Or both.”
Remorse wrinkles Aiden’s eyes and he releases a sigh. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
A pause, then I relax, too. “You’re not wrong, though. But this does worry me. Won’t lie about that.”
Aiden places a hand on my left shoulder. “If you need anything, you let me know?”
I nod. “I will. I’m going to take something and rest for a bit. Maybe message my doctor. I’ll join eventually.”
“An after party might be a lot.”
“Might.” But if it’s outdoors, I’m less worried. I won’t be drinking much anyway. “I’ll see you in a bit. And Aiden—Exit Fate is doing well. We were pressured out the gate, but we’ll smash this opportunity. I can feel it.”
Aiden looks out the bus door to where the after party’s being held in the parking lot. Already, blaring music and partygoers are celebrating loudly. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. I can, too. Just have to let people give us a chance.”
“Fame doesn’t work like how it did when we started. Maybe Mia’s right about all these livestreams and watching what people say online.”
“Maybe.” Aiden sounds miles away. “I worry, too, that this is too much for her and Noah.”
“They’ll be okay.” I believe it, but I also kind of have to. Noah’s obviously not as young as Mia, but this level of performing is new to them both. Hell, I’m scared and I’ve played Knotty Tour countless times before with Lost Time. “We’ll keep an eye on them.”
Aiden reaches back up to smack me on the shoulder again. “We will. Take it easy.”
I wave him off and he disappears toward the after party.
Five minutes. That’s all I give myself for resting in place before I find my backpack and dig out my medicine bag. I have options for nerve flares although it’s been a long time since it’s happened. I take two pills and then open my doctor’s office app to shoot off a message. Then I make my way toward my bunk since resting in Mia’s nest feels like a violation when she’s not also in it.
I watch two episodes of some shows before the text comes through from Aiden: Meet us at the after party please. Mia needs help.
I sit upright so fast, I nearly knock my head on the bunk above me. My thumbs move fast as I reply: On my way.
I slide out of the bunk, throw on shoes, and race out of the tour bus and toward the party as fast as I can. How badly could she need help that Aiden and Noah can’t handle it? And what the hell happened that she needs help at all?
Other bands part as I make my way to my pack. A few wave hi and try to start a conversation, but I duck past them until Mia’s colorful hair comes into view. She’s bent over a trash can puking. Aiden’s beside her rubbing her back while Noah stands nearby, clearly also heavily intoxicated.
Well, that explains Aiden needing my help.
Aiden waves me over. “I’ve got her if you want to herd Noah.”
“I’m fine,” Noah argues as he staggers.
For fuck’s sake. I grab Noah’s shoulder and lead him back toward our tour bus. He fights it a little, but considering he went to the party already two beers deep, I don’t let go or trust him. We still have to perform tomorrow. It’s the first damned night of tour. We shouldn’t have to be reeling either of them in like this on night-fucking-one . Not that I didn’t do my fair share of getting black-out drunk when I was with Lost Time. But doing so when motivated by disappointment and anger was a recipe for disaster and a cycle of self-sabotage.
Aiden scoops Mia’s small frame up into his arms. She argues a little, but mostly puts a hand to her mouth and—I hope, at least—tries her best not to vomit on Aiden.
We get them both back to the bus where I hand Noah a bottle of water and some pretzels to snack on before helping Aiden with Mia.
It’s going to be a long as hell night—and a rough morning.
Sometime after Mia’s stopped vomiting and we get her washed up, changed, and laid on her side on a bottom bunk, Aiden and I exchange a glance. By this time, Noah’s sobered up enough to take part in the conversation, which is good because he needs to fucking hear it, too.
“Mia’s got a drinking problem,” I say. “This isn’t the first time it’s shown, and remembering back to when we first met her, Wes basically said as much. So we’re not doing this again.” The last part is for Noah’s benefit, because it’s clear he also enjoys parties a little too much.
Noah gives a slight salute as affirmation he’s heard what I said.
“I’m not fucking kidding,” I impress on him.
Aiden sits down across from us. “I’m not going to pretend that partying isn’t a whole culture for this tour, but Leo’s right. No more. Our focus is performing and writing, and we have to set that example for Mia.”
“Because she’s twenty-two?” Noah asks with a bite to his voice.
Aiden growls deep in his throat—a warning. “Because we all know what happens when musicians get fried and burn out on drinking and partying, and I refuse to let that happen to our omega .”
“Performing and writing,” I echo. “And being everything she needs us to be. That’s it.”
Noah relents, but I’ve decided by now I’m still keeping an eye on them both. “Fine—no, you’re right, I mean. But okay. God knows I don’t need more ‘bad behavior’ bullshit on my record.”
“Exactly,” Aiden says. “Get some sleep, both of you. Tomorrow’s going to be a day.”
I lay back in my bunk and close my eyes. It better be a good fucking day.
My phone dings with a reply from my doctor: I think you need to reconsider if this tour is a good idea for your health.
Fuck me.
My heart sinks right to the ground. I’ve lost enough fucking time. Backing down now would be more than I can handle, even if this tour might be more than my body can handle. But fuck it—I need this tour. I need this band and this pack.
I delete the message from my doctor and pray that by morning, the nerve pain is gone.