Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I stand beneath the massive screen, send heartfelt words to Quinn, the genius director behind Untamed Coaster Unleashed, and blow her a kiss. To my surprise, she sends it back at me, so I do the right thing and toss it to her boyfriend Callum MacMurray—who is the owner of the fine whisky establishment where our career restarted. Tonight, though, is the band’s grand nationwide reintroduction, like our manager Luke promised us it would be. It’s time to show the nice crowd here what we’ve got.
I adjust the microphone and nod to each of my band members. A shirtless Río—when does he ever wear a shirt?—bangs the beat to “Upside Down” and our set begins. Even though we’ve been putting on shows for sellout crowds since our return at Callum’s whisky distillery, it’s different performing tonight in a movie theater. The lighting, the sound, the energy are unique. Quinn’s movie amped us up to oversized proportions.
We finish our first number one and launch into our next song. I walk from one side of the stage to the other, waving to people I recognize in the crowd. Most fans abandoned their seats and have moved into the aisles. I bet this cinema hasn’t ever rocked like this before .
Coop’s guitar is on point. When it comes time for his solo, I stroll over to him. With a chin bob, he steps around me and takes center stage, his sunglasses and hoop earrings glinting under the lights. I take this opportunity to turn around and lean behind Río’s bass drum to down a bottle of water. We’re tight. Our music’s speaking for itself. This is where we belong. I catch Luke’s gaze from backstage and he gives me a thumbs up.
With my throat soothed, I return to Coop and stand back-to-back with him. He’s in the zone, and the crowd is eating us up. Finished with his solo, I sling my arm around him. I shout, “Let’s hear it for Coop!”
The wall of noise that comes back warms my heart. Next to me, Coop whispers, “We got this.”
He’s right. We’ve made it back. Perhaps not better than ever, but newer, with a slightly different edge. Coop, Río, and our bassist 007 have come a long way since that awful morning two years ago. Tris stepped into our former keyboardist Darren’s shoes with his own spin. I refuse to dwell on the loss of our original band member. Time marches on.
I listen to UC’s instruments as the song finishes on a high note and thank everything holy that we made it back. I have no other career path and can’t imagine my life without performing, without being the Bennett Hardy. This persona saved me from unimaginable torment.
“Did you enjoy the movie as much as we did?” My voice reverberates throughout the theater. Cheers return back to me. “Who wants to keep on rocking?”
Tris starts playing “Crushing Blow,” and I almost freeze. This song is all Darren. Amend— was all him until Tris put his own spin on it. Now it’s both new and old at the same time. An ode to Darren and a nod to our new sound. UC has risen from the ashes.
Next to Tris, I attack the lyrics more intensely than I ever have. The band picks up on my exuberance and the beat hits a little harder. Nice . I strut across the stage, wishing we were able to put in an extension here so I could venture out into the audience. Even crowd surfing wouldn’t work given the layout.
So, I make do. With the lights as hot as they are, even without a light show, it’s time for me to follow Río’s lead and strip out of this wet shirt. Not like I do ab exercises for my health. Well, I guess I do...I place the microphone into its stand and unbutton my shirt. Ladies in the crowd scream, but I can’t tell if they’re singing the lyrics with me or shouting as my bare torso comes into view. Whatever. I’ll take either.
I toss the material off to the side, causing my UC necklace to bounce, and a roadie runs over to retrieve the shirt. We launch into another song. Holding the mic, I strut around the stage, taking time to share space with 007. Even though he’s not returned to the same demeanor as before Darren left us, 007’s found a new footing. Maybe it’s the fact he now wears Darren’s studded belt? In any case, he’s the talisman for all of us. We’ll never be the same but we’re still kicking ass.
I make my way over to the drums, enjoying Río’s pounding beat. If it weren’t for his oversized personality, we wouldn’t be here today. He cuts through the crap with a style all his own, whether it be in music or life. The drummer hits various cymbals at least a dozen times, then spins his drumstick, ending with it pointing at me.
My head shakes. What a ham. Thinks the guy wearing leather pants, ten rings, and as many bracelets. I pull the mic away and snort, earning a rimshot from Río. Grinning, I look out onto the crowd, feeding on their energy.
Because I can, I say, “You’re the reason we’re here. We kept on moving forward—even when we didn’t want to—'cause we could feel you all rooting for us. We love playing music, and we’re thrilled you came to watch a movie about our reintroduction into polite society.” I grin. “Or not so polite!”
The crowd, our fans, cheer.
I seize this moment to introduce the UC band members. With a bow toward Río, I say, “River Sullivan’s on drums. Who here wants to swim in his river?”
Ladies scream, earning a smirk from our drummer.
When they quiet a bit, I shift my attention to 007. Not wanting to disrupt the balance of the band, I offer, “Pierce DeLuca plays the bass better than anyone else in the business. Give it up for our own 007!” To squeals, 007 spikes his chin toward me then takes his solo.
“Next up is our newest member, Tristan Lambert. As you know, Tris beat out a whole host of other keyboardists to get this spot. We’re lucky to have him with us, as he brings his own twist on things. Show some love for Tris!”
The resounding approval from the audience rivals that received from the other band members, which further reinforces how right we were to pick him to join UC. For his part, Tris’s lips tick upward in a smile showing how happy he is to be here with us. He deserves it.
I walk over to the guitarist. Coop plays a riff from Led Zepplin as I approach, showing off his mad skills. Stopping next to him, I say, “This guy on guitar here is Cooper O’Shea. He keeps us on our toes, always with wise advice...even when we don’t ask for it.”
People laugh as Coop ends his spotlight with “Have a Nice Day” by Bon Jovi. I clap. Gotta give him props, he can be funny when he wants to be.
“Coop’s a real comedian when he has a guitar strapped around him.” Chuckling into the mic, I start to introduce myself, but have to pull away as I’m laughing too hard. This return—the movie and our getting back on stage—is exactly what I needed. What the band needed.
“What I was gonna say is I’m Bennett Hardy.”
I open my naked arms wide, and our fans lose their shit.
Even though I’m enjoying their response, I have one final thing I need to share. The audience needs to hear it, and so does the rest of the band. My lungs fill. “Not going to lie. What you saw in the movie was a pretty accurate description. Losing Darren was awful. Truly one of the darkest days of our collective lives.” I glance upward. “We like to think of our return as us being guided by him from above.”
I step back.
From the crowd, clapping rings out.
The guys and I exchange glances, confirming we’re all still all right. 007 is the last to join in, but his smile says it all. We’re back and we’re here to stay.
I raise the microphone again. “We have one final song to play for you all. It’s the song that played over the credits of the kickass film done by Quinn Walker you just watched. Let’s make sure all the folks in surrounding buildings know Untamed Coaster is in the house. Are you ready for ‘Refocused Destiny’?”
Before me, people jump up and down, screaming our band’s name. Individual member’s names. The song’s name. I’m high on their enthusiasm.
Río’s beat is hard, the exact right tone for this song. Our destiny has been refocused by adding Tris, as well as with Darren’s guidance from the other side. The view from here is spectacular.
I race around the stage, checking in with each of the band members and the audience in front of me. The night—the red carpet, the movie, this performance—is one for the history books. We’ve never sounded better.
Turning to backstage, I shoot Luke a grin. This time, he gives me a double thumbs up in return. Even our manager knows we’ve made giant steps forward.
I spin to face the crowd and give the ending of the song all I have. After my last drawn-out note, the band takes over with instrumentals rising into a crescendo. Despite never having practiced any of this before on a stage like this, we (metaphorically) blow the roof off. When the song’s about to end, I leap into the air, tossing my fist overhead, my legs outstretched in a split rivaling an Olympian. When I land, the music ends as if my jump were the final exclamation point.
The lights go out.
Panting, I put the microphone back into its stand and take a stride toward the center stage to join the band in our bows. “Fuck!”
My scream is drowned out by all the noise in the building. I don’t even think Coop, standing closest to me, heard.
I take another tentative step and a searing pain races through my leg.
Our fans call out to me.
When we hit our mark, I force my lips to smile and wrap my arms around the guys. Wave at the crowd. Blow kisses. Bow for the ovation.
All the while, my insides scream in pain.
We turn and march into the greenroom. With all my concentration, I keep my gait steady.
Coop exclaims, “Let’s give them another wave!”
I long to yell no fucking way, but the other guys already have turned. Unmoving, I remain frozen until Tris calls out, “Come on, Bennett. They want to see us one more time!”
It’s not his words but rather his excitement that forces me to capitulate. Well, that and the fact nobody knows about the freaking agony I’m in.
On my good leg, I spin. “Coming!” With every other step, blinding pain runs up my leg. I put as much weight onto my good leg as possible, schooling my features into excitement.
“This is amazing,” 007 says under his breath.
As one, we raise our hands high and wave to the audience. We take three more quick bows before I say, “Let’s leave them wanting more.”
Without waiting to see if they follow me, I force myself to walk as if I’m not in excruciating pain. After what happened with Darren, UC's fans can't witness my vulnerability.
Darkness descends as we enter backstage. Hugs are exchanged but I don’t bother. Instead, I allow myself to limp to the nearest chair, toss the Record News —featuring Jeremy Davis’s article—onto the floor, and flop into it.
Leaning against the backrest, I utter to no one, “Thank fuck I made it.”
Our manager approaches, yelling, “That was a phenomenal performance. The band’s never sounded so good.”
My hands move toward the inside of my thigh. Freaking hurts like a mother.
At my side, Luke drops my cell onto the table—following an unfortunate incident with a call in the middle of one of our gigs, we now have to turn them in before taking the stage. His head tilts. “Hey, what’s up, B?” Every time he uses this nickname for me, I find it disconcerting . . . still I don’t correct him. No way will I return the overly friendly favor, though.
Because the truth’s going to come out anyway, I admit, “I think I landed wrong when I did that jump.”
Luke chuckles. “That was some crazy-ass shit out there. It worked like a charm, though.” He pauses. “Wait. What did you say?”
Through gritted teeth, I repeat, “I landed wrong. My leg fucking hurts.”
“Oh crap.” He comes around in front of me while others mill about the room, congratulating each other and slapping backs. “Where? What hurts?”
I point to my inner thigh. “I’m not sure what I did. I can’t put any weight on my leg.”
He runs his fingers through his shoulder-length light brown hair, a couple of shades darker than mine. Which is now plastered to my face following our performance under the lights. “Let me get you a footstool.”
A minute later, one materializes under my foot. No idea where it came from, but I don’t give a shit. I just want the pain to stop.
“Could you get me some Advil or something?”
“Already on it, B.” Someone passes him pills and some water, which he hands over to me.
“Regular Advil, right?”
Luke’s eyebrow goes up. “After Darren, you have to ask? ”
Stupid question . He’s well aware how Darren died. I shut my eyes to block out the rest of the awful period. I take the meds and wait for them to work.
The others in the band are on a post-show thrill. They’re high-fiving all around me. I want to jump in, but know I need to give the pills time. Then I’ll be ready to party.
“I loved the part of the movie about the rock-climbing wall.” Coop nudges 007 in the stomach, then lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Did you see how you helped Tris? Hearts were flying out of your eyes.”
007 shakes his head. I keep my own counsel, but agree with Coop. The outing was a turning point for the band. From the chair, I offer, “Perhaps not hearts, but definitely smiley faces.”
007 takes our ribbing for what it is. Genuine giddiness that UC is back in business. “Well, I didn’t see you assholes coming over to help the poor guy out. Tris was in dire need of someone to give him pointers.”
Tris chimes in, because he’s now a part of the band. “Yeah. 007 at least helped me get my feet under me. You three didn’t do anything but make fun of the inexperienced rock climber.”
“Hey,” I stick up for myself. “Keyboardists are hard to come by. We would’ve helped you out. Eventually.”
They laugh and I’m back in the zone. I stand and take one step on my bad leg and realize my huge mistake. With a grimace, I fall back into the chair.
“What’s up?” Coop attaches himself to my side.
Cat’s out of the bag, so no use hiding any longer. “I landed wrong during the last jump. Luke got me an Advil, so I’ll be better soon. Guess the meds need more time to work.”
“Where does it hurt?”
I gesture towards my inner thigh.
Coop makes a big issue out of wiping his brow. “Whew. For a minute there, I thought you were pointing to your junk. Where would you be without the snake in your pants? ”
Luke interrupts our laughter. “Since I have you all here, I wanted to give you some news. Rather, Kenneth Dumont from Platinum Records is here, and he wants to give it to you.” He turns toward a tall, tanned man with a good amount of salt-and-pepper hair—heavy on the salt.
He raises his hand. “Hey, I’m Kenneth Dumont, your new artist relations rep at Platinum. I’ve been behind the scenes for a while observing you guys, and have to say, the label loves what we’ve been seeing. The movie itself is fantastic, and you’re the real deal.”
We look at each other, wondering what he has up his sleeve. We don’t have to wait too long.
“The label’s been working with Luke and have almost all the details finalized.” Kenneth looks at each one of us. “We’ve added stadiums to your upcoming tour that starts in two weeks. Any new dates will be arenas only.”
I hold my breath. Holy. Shit. A summit I never thought we’d see again. We had embarked on our third stadium tour when Darren died. Now we’re going to do it all over again. We’ve been prepping to play places that hold up to seven, eight thousand—maybe ten—but nothing compares to stadium seating of over fifty-thousand. Wembley holds ninety. What a fucking trip this will be.
The guys all look as shell-shocked as I feel—slack-jawed and wide-eyed. All except Tris, who’s never done it before. Freaking amazing way to start a career.
Kenneth continues about our opening bands, cities, and modifications to the set design. I try to absorb it all, but am gobsmacked that this is happening again so soon.
Luke adds, “You all better rest up, because we’re getting underway in two weeks. We have a lot to do before then, so take this long weekend to party because you deserve it. Monday we’ll work out the kinks to alter our plans for huge arenas!”
I jump out of the chair and share hugs with the band. The pain is still excruciating, but I don’t care. This is too big .
“We have a movie and a stadium tour. Thank you, Darren.” 007 kisses his fist and raises it to the sky. We mimic his action.
After hugs are shared all around, including with the new rep from Platinum, I collapse into the chair once more. My hand rubs my thigh. Fuck, this hurts.
Luke approaches me. “Any better?”
“I wish.” The guys debate where to go to celebrate and whom to do it with. But for my bum leg, I’d be right in the thick of things.
“Let me get you an ice pack,” Luke offers.
I sigh. “Sounds good.”
Our manager adds, “I think someone should take a look at it. To be safe, all right?”
I roll my eyes but agree. After all, we’re leaving on a stadium tour, and I need to be one hundred percent. “Fine. I want this fixed so I can go out and party.”
Luke clamps his hand around my shoulder. “Soon.”