Chapter 12
(Kit)
The view from my throne atop the raised drum kit stand afforded me an amazing view of the ocean of people who’d turned out for today’s five-band event.
With us as the co-headliners.
Damaged Saints had played right before us, and opening the whole show had been Savage Roar, who we’d been told would be joining us on the road just before Rocktoberfest, after the last of their current engagements were wrapped up.
Draven had been scouting them for months, and they’d more than proved that they were ready to be the third act in the world tour Draven was busy arranging for next year.
We were fuckin’ going global, baby, and kickstarting the whole thing in the UK.
I’d dreamed of seeing castles my whole life.
Now I’d have the chance to do so and wander cemeteries older than the country I lived in.
Draven had already promised train rides that would let us see the English countryside and time to wander Edinburgh and Inverness.
Just thinking about it had me hyped, so I poured all that energy into the skins and pounded away.
I was on top of the world, quite literally, with the perfect view of Rebel and Dash swaggering across the stage towards one another for their sweet-ass guitar and bass duel.
Watching them circle one another, each instrument issuing a challenge that the other responded to, always amped up the energy level of the crowd.
I’d seen Rebel play while bent over backward before, but the performance they put on tonight, with Dash pressing his boot against Rebel’s chest and actually pushing him into that bend without either of them losing a beat, was nothing short of spectacular.
Dash stood over top of him, both of them playing their hearts out while the crowd and I ate it up.
Since the night I’d gotten so fucked up he’d had to drag me back to my room and put me to bed, Rebel and I had been spending more time together.
A good chunk of it was with the rest of the band, polishing our new songs, but in those moments when Draven cut us loose to do a bit of exploring, I got to hang out with him, and he always chose cool places for us to check out.
No stolen kisses though, not yet. Not even close.
When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes, which always looked sad these days, like he was wrestling with something.
Or brooding. I kept hoping he’d talk to me about whatever it was, even if I was the new guy in the band.
His bond with the others might be longer and stronger, but my bond with him was growing.
Rebel didn’t need any help regaining his footing after Dash moved away from him; he just sat up and did this tiny hop during Dash’s part and was right there playing back-to-back with him when it was his turn to join in.
The fans were eating it up, so much so that a large mosh pit had formed in the center of the crowd, with several smaller ones breaking out all over the place.
If it hadn’t been for the metal railing and the cops stationed between it and the stage, some of that chaotic slam dancing probably would have spilled up here, which would have sucked for our equipment, though man, it would have been a blast.
Bodies crashed into the barricade, and my stance on how much fun it might have been began to shift when I saw someone stagger and cling to it so they wouldn’t hit the ground like the person beside them.
Then the song sped up as we raced to the end, and I added my drums as their duel concluded, and I lost sight of whether or not the person who’d fallen had gotten back up.
I was slamming out that beat when Rebel’s guitar screeched as he peeled it off and shoved it at Johnny, staggering him as he hopped off the stage and vaulted the barricade.
The officers never saw him coming. They were confused, trying to figure out what had happened as Rebel started shoving people, who shoved back and started trying to make him the center of the mosh pit.
Arms and elbows flew, bodies leaped and spun, and several people crashed into him, but Rebel wasn’t having it.
He shoved someone harder and pointed to the ground.
Oh shit.
The fan.
They hadn’t gotten back up.
I stopped playing, and Dash did too, while Johnny had moved to stand on the stage right in front of where everything was taking place.
“Hey, hey,” Johnny called. “You guys need to back up and help that kid.”
From my perch, I could see the moment when it clicked with some of them, and their eyes followed where Johnny pointed.
Even the officers started heading that way, as Rebel and a couple of large guys in leather were able to help the fan to their feet and hoist them over the barricade, where there were officers waiting to escort them to the EMTs.
There were always some at every show, though most nights they were only needed for those who’d fainted or got dehydrated.
"Thanks, guys!” Johnny said and received a roared "you're welcome" in response. “You know we’re all about having a good time, right?”
Hell yeah! Came the resounding chant. Johnny waited for it to settle down a smidge as the two guys in leather, along with one of the officers, helped Rebel back over the barricade.
“Alright then, we’re going to make that happen,” Johnny said. “But I need you all to watch out for one another so no one else gets hurt; can you do that for me?”
The hell yeah’s started back up again, and by then, Rebel was struggling to climb back up on the stage. Johnny ran over to help and nearly got pulled off the stage due to their size difference until Dash grabbed hold of the back of Johnny’s jeans and helped him get Rebel up there.
The height of the raised platform my drum kit sat on would have meant I’d need a boost if I’d climbed down, so I hoped I was making the right decision in not trying to help.
People were still chanting "hell yeah" as a somewhat unsteady Rebel lifted his guitar strap over his shoulder, then promptly sat on part of the riser in front of my drum stand, making it impossible for me to see more than just the top of his head.
My eyes met Johnny’s when he turned to look at me, and as soon as he nodded, I launched into the intro for our next song, but some of the energy was clearly lost when Rebel never reengaged with the rest of our bandmates.
It was still a kickass show, and I was dripping sweat by the time I finished, stood, and threw my sticks into the crowd after taking a bow.
I had to wait for the raised platform with my drum kit to be lowered before I could get down.
By then, Johnny and Dash had Rebel between them and were helping him down the steps off the stage, while I trailed behind wondering what the hell was going on with him.
As I reached the bottom of the steps, several things happened at once.
Rebel’s legs completely gave out, and Johnny staggered under the sudden increase in weight and fell to his knees.
Rebel wound up half sprawled on him, saved from faceplanting by the hold on him Dash had been able to maintain.
Sully, who’d been at the bottom of the steps along with the rest of our guards, bent and scooped Rebel up like he weighed nothing and carried him into the dressing room and away from the prying eyes of the other bands as well as the fans with backstage passes.
I followed too, as did the rest of the band and our guards, someone’s voice on the walkie calling for EMTs to come to the backstage area while Johnny lightly smacked Rebel on the face, trying to bring him around.
What happened? Did he get overheated? Draven’s text-to-speech device could barely be heard over all the other voices in the room, until Sully stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that brought about immediate silence. Was he drinking water during the set?
“I saw him kill a couple bottles early on, but I couldn’t see anything but the top of his head after he sat down,” I explained, since I was standing right beside Draven.
“He waved me off when I offered him a bottle,” Johnny said, still lightly patting Rebel’s face, but the only sound the man had produced so far was a low groan.
His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them, despite Johnny pleading for him to.
“Yeah, I tried to offer him one too, and he shook his head at me,” Dash added. “He clung to his guitar the whole set. Whenever I glanced over at him, he was staring at the strings, which he never does when he plays.”
I was just stepping around behind the couch when I noticed streaks of red all over Johnny’s chest. “Johnny man, you’re bleeding,” I said, all eyes turning to him now, including Draven’s, as he rushed to get to his boyfriend’s side.
Johnny rubbed his fingers through the mess and shook his head. “It’s not mine.”
Frowning, he bent over Rebel and carefully turned his head. “Shit, it’s his.”
“What the fuck?” I yelped, leaning over the back of the couch to get a better look. “Shit, it is.”
“Did that happen in the crowd?” Dash asked.
“I think so; they tried to start a mosh pit around him when he jumped the barricade,” I said just as the EMTs stepped into the room and backed everyone off but me, since I was the only one not in the way.
“He’s bleeding from somewhere on his head,” Johnny informed them. “He jumped into the crowd earlier to help a fan, then sat for the rest of our set. We think he got hurt out there.”
“We’ll take care of it from here,” the female EMT said.
She had a bright red ponytail trailing down her back as she started taking Rebel’s vitals.
Before long, they maneuvered a backboard beneath him so they could load him onto a gurney.
Not only hadn’t Rebel opened his eyes, but he hadn’t even moaned when they’d shone a bright light into them and tried several times to elicit a response by rubbing the center of his chest. Completely limp and eerily still, he just lay there as they wheeled him out the door to the waiting ambulance, with the rest of us trailing behind them.
Dash shot me a look full of fear, and I slung an arm over his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
I was terrified too, but they’d known him longer.
It didn’t feel right to let my fear show when Johnny was wiping the tears from his eyes with the hand that wasn’t clutching Draven’s in what looked to be a death grip.
The vibe was somber when they loaded him in the back of the ambulance, Sully hopping in the back to ride with him since only one of us could go and a guard needed to remain by his side at all times.
It had almost resulted in an argument between Johnny and Draven, because Johnny had desperately wanted to go, but he’d learned to respect the difference between Draven in the role of Daddy and lover and Draven in the role of manager.
“Sully is going with him; I’m following in the SUV with Jett,” Draven declared. “You three are staying here for the signing. I’ll update you as soon as I have something to share.”
That he said it, voice raspy as he strained to speak every word loud enough that it could be heard, instead of using his text-to-speech device, was further proof of the gravity of the situation.
Nodding, Dash and I held our hands out to Johnny, who crumbled in our embrace the moment he’d finished hugging Draven.
For a moment we just stood there, clinging to one another, my shirt growing damp with Johnny’s tears.
Cool air hit my cheeks, and I realized they were wet too, and when Dash lifted his head, his eyes were red as his tears shimmered beneath the lights.
Our guards had surrounded us, giving us the time to pull ourselves together.
How we managed it I didn’t know, just that one by one, we did.
I pulled my t-shirt off so I could try to wipe the blood from Johnny’s chest, but it had dried and only flaked off in places until Vale passed me a bottle of water.
I doused my shirt in it and used it to wipe Johnny’s chest clean as he swiped at his eyes.
“Alright guys,” Johnny said, voice still a bit shaky, but like the leader he was, it grew stronger with every word. “Let’s get our asses in there, get our pictures taken with people, and sign whatever they shove in our faces so we can get to the hospital.”
“Dear metal gods in the sky, please don’t let this line be a long one,” Dash muttered as we headed for the door.
The plea I sent up was silent and vastly different from his. The only wish I wanted the metal gods to answer was for Rebel to be okay.