Chapter 9
(Kit)
The vibe tonight was just off; there was no other way to describe it.
Onstage, we’d been solid as hell, but the moment we’d stepped down, Draven started issuing instructions about who was going where.
Jagger, Kayden, Dash, and Johnny were the only ones who looked happy, but then they were heading to a local radio station to do an interview and impromptu acoustic set, while Rebel, Mickey, Robbie, and I were headed to a private pub where a group of fans awaited us.
Welcome to being a rockstar.
The only one excused from the night’s activities was Ozzy, and only because he had a flight to catch in a few hours so he could meet with the specialist treating the arthritis in his hands.
It was getting worse; we could all see it.
As much as I loved landing my dream job, I hated that for him.
I’d only been with the band for a handful of sets, and already Ozzy had readjusted the amount of time I spent on stage, giving me more time up there.
Social media had been abuzz with a bunch of wild rumors about why, some of them total conspiracy theories.
One person thought I’d blackmailed my way into the band; another suggested that I was Ozzy’s secret love child.
I was still catching shit from the rest of the band, as well as the members of Damaged Saints, over that one.
The absurdity alone was mind-boggling. Not only had Ozzy been out and proud for his entire career, but I was only ten years younger than the man, even if my looks made it seem closer to fifteen.
The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, though I was beginning to learn that many things about the lives we lived drifted toward the bizarre.
Trailing Rebel across the room, I nearly bumped into him when he stopped to talk to Draven, and man, did he sound pissed. I’d have gone around if there was space to do so, but there was a bottleneck of people heading for the exit, and without one of them moving, there was no way past them.
“Dude, this wasn’t in my plans for the night,” Rebel grumbled.
Draven rolled his eyes and started typing on his text-to-speech device. Judging from the way he was jabbing the thing with his stylus, he was beyond pissed.
“I couldn’t give two shits what was in your plans for the night; you are not skipping another appearance.”
“Even if I’m not feeling it?”
“Then you’d better start feeling it because this is a paying gig. The folks at the pub paid for a private afterparty, and that is a commitment you will fulfill, and without the surly attitude we’ve all been forced to deal with this week.”
“This is bullshit! I’m working on new music, not fucking around.”
“And you can work on it after you're done at the pub,” Draven typed back. “Conversation over!”
Rebel looked positively miserable as he stepped past Draven and headed for the door, Sully glued to his hip, a new development I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the reason behind. Hoping it wouldn’t be overstepping to try and cheer him up, I slung an arm over his shoulder on the way to our bus.
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “It’s a pub; that means halfway decent food.”
“Not always,” Rebel replied, heaving a heavy sigh, but he didn’t shove my arm away, so that was something. “There’s a couple places back home that even the roaches avoid.”
“Kryspin’s!” I declared, wrinkling my nose at the memory of the place.
“Exactly.”
While I was snickering as we climbed the steps of the bus, Rebel was silent and brooding as we grabbed seats across from where Mickey and Robbie were already seated. Robbie kicked his foot and Rebel jerked his head up and flipped the man off.
“What’s up with you?” Robbie asked. “I’ve never seen you get pissed off about going to a party.”
Another sigh, and Rebel crossed his arms, huffed and resumed staring at the floor. “Things change.”
“Okay, so what did?” Robbie asked.
“Just… doesn’t this bother you?” Rebel asked, body so ridged I wondered if it hurt him to sit that way.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Robbie said.
“Our lives aren’t ours anymore. Privacy is pretty much nonexistent. I feel like a fucking puppet dancing to someone else’s tune!”
“If you don’t use that in a song, I will,” Mickey declared.
“Already working on it,” Rebel replied. “Which was what I’d planned to do until I got ordered to go party. Yay. So much fun. Yippie. This is going to be the highlight of my week.”
His brittle tone conveyed his frustration, which I completely understood. Creating took a special mindset, a vibe really, where everything flowed and nothing else existed. Getting interrupted in the middle of that or being prevented from returning to it was always a source of irritation.
“Dude, I get it,” Robbie said. “The muse wants what the muse wants, and we’re not always in a position to feed it the way we’d like, which sucks, but this was the dream. We’re here; we’re living the moments we always talked about. You didn’t think it’d be all bubble gum and roses, did you?”
“I guess I just never thought there’d be a time when I’d have a shadow whenever I’m not in my hotel room. I miss being anonymous. I miss getting to pick the party and how the night ends. Most of all, I miss not having everyone all up in my business 24/7.”
“Hate to break it to you, bro, but we’ve been all up in each other’s business for over fifteen years, so there’s nothing new there, and after what happened with our pyro, I’m good with having eyes on us and our gear at all times,” Robbie said. “I thought you were too.”
“At the time, when we were all freaked out over Johnny and Draven being chased in Palm Springs, yeah, I was cool with it. Now I’m regretting that choice, not that there was ever a real choice. I’d have been outvoted even if I’d said no, so I guess I was screwed either way.”
“Speaking of screwed, are you sure all this moodiness isn’t just you needing to get laid?” Robbie asked.
“Pass. The hassle isn’t worth it,” Rebel grumbled.
Damn. Hearing him say that made me think of the kisses we’d shared on the beach when I’d auditioned to be Ozzy’s relief drummer.
Surreal and completely out of the blue, with the force of a lightning bolt and enough crackling heat to curl my toes.
When it was over, we’d both bumbled through apologies, heads bumping as we’d doubled over laughing and nearly fell off the rock we’d been sitting on.
Getting involved with a bandmate was probably a bad idea, though all around me I saw it working.
Those deeper bonds gave birth to crazy cohesive collaborations, and the music, sweet musical sky gods in the heavens, was beyond any words I possessed.
The clumsy collection of attempted lyrics in my notebooks wasn't anything I’d ever dare share with the rest of the band.
They were too kind to laugh, but I could just picture nervous discomfort filling the room as they politely stammered their way through responses meant to spare my feelings.
“Alright guys, give me a moment to check things out inside, then I’ll come back and get you,” Sully declared as we pulled up in front of the pub.
We knew the drill, so none of us moved until Sully returned and gave the okay.
Even then, we alternated, with each of us following our guard off the bus and into the pub.
The cheer that went up when we entered deafened me for a moment and left me a bit disoriented too.
Nothing like being surrounded and shouted at in a cramped, confined space, especially when there was a wall of black t-shirts in front of me that made it difficult to look around the place.
I was definitely going to need a few drinks to get through the rest of the night.
Like at most of these events, we were soon swept in different directions. Fortunately, I wound up near the bar.
“Could I have a double shot of tequila?” I asked the bartender.
“Sure thing.”
“So, Kit, help me out with something,” a man in a swirly red and black Blissfully Immune t-shirt asked.
“My kid is a drummer, and he’s driving my wife and me crazy with the noise.
My wife has been collecting egg cartons from everyone she knows so he can cover his walls with them.
Will that actually work, or am I going to have to fork over fistfuls of money because my asshole brother-in-law decided to buy him a drum kit? "
“That was me,” the guy beside him said, waving. “I’m the asshole.”
Dude was proud of it too, even as his brother-in-law rolled his eyes and asked the bartender for another beer.
The brother-in-law was decked out in the purple hues of Damaged Saint’s Shattered Seduction album, the crumpled wings on the front stretching from shoulder to shoulder.
Something told me these two didn’t agree on much, which probably made football season at their house about as interesting as they’d been in mine.
“Sorry, but egg cartons won’t work; they'll barely cut the vibrations, let alone muffle the sound. Your best bet is acoustic foam. My folks stuck a soundproofed shed in the backyard for me once they realized I wasn’t going to give up learning to play.”
“It’s been nine months,” the guy replied, “and I don’t see that kid giving up anytime soon.
He used to come home and rush through his homework so he could play video games.
Now he rushes through his homework to get to that drum kit.
He threw a fit about not being able to come here tonight, but he’s only fourteen. ”
And this gathering was clearly for the 21 and over crowd.
At least these guys were chill. Talking to a guy who, while annoyed about the noise, wasn’t trying to dissuade his kid from learning the instrument I loved seemed a hell of a lot better than the game of pool taking place to the left of me.
Robbie had gotten talked into some kind of competition involving vodka shots and was already chalking up a pool cue.
“If he hasn’t found it yet, Ozius has a YouTube channel that’s entirely drum tutorials,” I explained. “I used them myself when I was learning.”
“So that’s your connection to the band,” the brother-in-law said. “See, I told you he wasn’t someone’s secret love child! Now pay up.”
Oh, fuck my life.
Seriously?!
I slammed my tequila back and asked for a second while the drummer kid’s dad pulled out a twenty and forked it over.
If it wouldn’t have been seen as rude, I’d have facepalmed and grumbled a whole slew of curses, because damn! Instead, I blew out a breath and remembered what Draven was constantly trying to drill into our heads.
Image is everything.
“Yeah, that’s how I got to know Ozius,” I said.
“I commented a great deal in the beginning, asking questions, picking his brain about techniques, and eventually he offered to mentor me. Fast forward to today, and I’m playing in his band.
I guess it proves what my old man always said about hard work paying off. ”
The man nodded, looking thoughtful. “I guess the drums aren't as bad as wasting time on those games. Would have preferred the piano, though, or a guitar; at least they unplug.”
“It could have been worse,” I offered, pointing to the brother-in-law. “He could have gotten him bagpipes.”
I took my time sipping that second tequila while the drummer kid’s dad turned to the brother-in-law and shook a finger at him.
“Don’t even think about it, or so help me, I will buy your husband season tickets to the Wild, and I don’t mean for one.”
“You wouldn’t,” the brother-in-law shot back.
“I will if some damned bagpipes wind up in my house!” the other snapped.
“Now how will that look, with Tyler’s birthday coming up?" the brother-in-law said, smirking in a way that might have been teasing but might not have been, considering the whole thing with the drums. “An uncle’s got to be consistent.”
“And that uncle can consistently freeze his ass off in the stands for a season too,” the other retorted.
Instruments, season tickets to professional hockey games, if these guys had that kind of money to throw around, it was no wonder they’d paid to have a private party with us.
That was a crazy amount of disposable income I hadn’t even begun to wrap my head around yet, though there was a bunch of it sitting in my bank account now that I’d signed the contract to join the band.
Fuck sipping, I downed what was left in the bottom of the glass and asked for a third as they started bickering.
It was only then that I realized that everyone else in the room had surrounded the OG band members, leaving me to entertain a pair that would have been good character studies for the creators of Looney Tunes.
This was going to be a long night, even with drinks in my system.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Rebel and turned to study the man, who still wasn’t smiling, laughing, or joking around like he usually did at events like this.
Instead, he just looked bored and irritated as he sat on a table, treating the crowd to a guitar solo.
It sucked that there was a roomful of people between us and that we’d been unable to go back to the hotel because I’d have loved to sit and listen to the new song.
And maybe, just maybe, slip in one more stolen kiss.