Chapter 18
(Kit)
“Man, do you remember the night we went wandering around that waterfront carnival in Plymouth and you wound up dancing with that dude in the bear costume?” Knightly said as he refilled their glasses, then waved the bartender over for another bottle because there wasn’t a whole lot left in the first one.
“Hey, you were dancing with the clown,” Rebel replied.
Knightly had given up offering me any after Rebel declared that I was on babysitting duty for the night.
Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d attempted to press the issue, even going so far as to ask what the hell the point of our bodyguards was, but Rebel had shut that shit down hard by telling him that if he kept pressing me to drink with them, we were leaving.
Shocked the hell out of me, but I appreciated it after my last run-in with Tequila.
“Was a fine-ass clown,” Knightly replied.
“Don’t you mean it was a clown with a fine ass?" Rebel shot back.
“One in the same, my friend. I thought I taught you that?”
Something flickered in Rebel’s eyes, enough to make me wonder what else Knightly had taught him and if us coming here tonight was really a good idea.
We’d been mobbed when we first arrived and spent the first two hours taking pictures with fans and signing t-shirts, bras, jeans, and whatever else they’d wanted us to before we’d been able to slip away to a dimly lit table near the bar, where no one seemed to notice us.
The rest of our bandmates were still surrounded, camera flashes going off in their faces. I felt a little bad about abandoning them, but I’d have felt worse if I’d abandoned Rebel.
“Clowns were never my thing,” Rebel replied as he and Knightly eyed each other before kicking back their drinks.
Knightly raised an eyebrow. “And bears are?”
“The right kind, hell yeah!”
Damn, well, that was a new fact to file away. Drumming had left me cut, with a well-defined upper body, but I was nowhere close to being in bear territory and was suddenly hit with a pang of disappointment.
“So look,” Knightly said, pouring them both another drink. “I didn’t just come here to talk to you about clowns and bears.”
It was like he’d flipped a switch when he said that, changing the mood in an instant. Rebel slid the glass between his hands, an absent-minded gesture as he stared across the table at me.
“Are you paying attention?” Knightly asked.
“What’s that symbol?” Rebel asked, completely ignoring him while pointing to the tattoo that covered the back of my left hand.
“A Dara Knot,” I replied.
“That’s cool, he said, reaching over to trace a few of the lines. “Does it mean something?”
“Rebel!” Knightly snapped.
“In a minute, damn, I wanna know what it means,” Rebel said, removing his fingers from my person so he could pick up the drink and knock it back.
I might have been new to the band, but even when we’d been in Vegas, I hadn’t seen Rebel drink this much.
“Wisdom, strength, and endurance,” I explained, smiling fondly at the memory.
“There’s one etched into the back of my grandfather’s pocket watch.
When I was a kid, and wouldn’t stop interrupting conversations, he’d hand it to me.
I never fiddled with it, just traced over the pattern. It was my first tattoo.”
“Somone waited ‘til he was legal,” Rebel said, voice already a bit slurred and seriously, it was starting to feel like he’d forgotten Knightly was at the table, and the man was sure as hell heated about it too.
The looks he shot me were pure aggravation.
“Had to,” I admitted. “I promised gramps.”
The new bottle arrived, and Knightly immediately started pouring, despite how glassy-eyed he and Rebel already were. I didn’t care if Knightly had an issue with it; I tapped Rebel’s hand to draw his attention.
“Slow down, Rebel, seriously,” I warned. “Before someone has to toss you over their shoulder and carry you out of here.”
“Umm,” Rebel moaned, needing a few seconds before he was fully able to focus on me. “Yeah, slowing down might be good.”
“Dude, no, slowing down is always bad,” Knightly declared as his frown deepened to the point where I feared laser beams would shoot out of his eyes and fry me on the spot.
Rebel eyed the drink in front of him, then me, and I shook my head, hoping he wasn’t too impaired to make good decisions; otherwise, I was going to have to find another way of cutting him off.
“I’m drunk,” Rebel declared and slid the drink over to Knightly.
“Hardly,” Knightly said, sliding it back. “I’m pretty sure the term is blissfully buzzed.”
“Mmm, that should be a song title or something,” Rebel muttered.
“Then drink up and write it,” Knightly encouraged. “You never know, it might turn out better than Desperate and Deranged did.”
Rebel’s fingers closed around the glass before he shook his head and shoved it back to the center of the table this time. “There was puke on the pages.”
“Yeah, but the song is still one of your band’s top hits,” Knightly pointed out.
Just as I was about to snap at him and smash the fucking glass on the floor so Rebel would stop being tempted, Rebel swiveled in his seat and tugged lightly on the back of Sully’s duster. The man half turned, still keeping one eye on the room as he peered down at Rebel.
“I’m drunk,” Rebel said, words beginning to slur.
"Yeah, you are, kid,” Sully said.
Rebel nodded, and I swear it was like he was looking for help from Sully, or guidance. “I shouldn’t drink anymore.”
“No, you should not,” Sully and I both confirmed for him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Knightly complained. “This is the first chance we’ve had to sit face to face and catch up in almost a year and I still haven’t gotten the chance to tell you about the project I have in mind for us.”
I was really starting to hate this guy. Not only that, but the way he was pressing Rebel to drink was setting off warning bells that made me want to get him the hell out of there.
“My catching receptors are broken,” Rebel managed, switching the subject away from alcohol. “Did you already tell me what you’ve been working on?”
Good for him.
Just in case, I drew the drink closer to me and further out of his grasp so he wouldn’t be tempted or forget his resolve not to drink as the conversation went on.
“I was trying to when you got a sudden fascination for Celtic knots,” Knightly said as he raised his own glass and drained it “So look, a couple months ago I was out on the balcony smoking up and watching the ants.”
He paused to refill his drink, having to concentrate as he poured so he wouldn’t spill it.
"Sounds…fun?"
Knightly snorted at that and shook his head. “It was boring as fuck, just like your buddy over there holding your drink hostage.”
“Kit’s cool,” Rebel muttered.
“Not from this vantage point.”
Rebel shot him the bird. “Don’t be an ass.”
I couldn’t have kept the grin off my face if I’d tried. You tell 'em, Rebel.
“You wanna get the fuck out of here and see if we can find some real fun?” Knightly offered after he’d killed yet another drink. “We can take the bottle with us. It’s already paid for. I’ll tell you all about Acoustic…Acoustic, awe, fuck, I forgot what I named it now.”
“Naa man, I think it’s time for Kit and me to get back to the hotel,” Rebel declared, the last word so slurred it came out sounding like showtell to me. “We’ve got a snow, umm, show tomorrow night, remember?”
“Told you I’d be there, didn’t I?"
Rebel nodded, though it was more a series of jerky head movements that ended with his hair in his eyes. His eyelids were beginning to droop, along with his head, which kept dipping lower and lower. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to wind up hitting his face on the table.
“Yeah, ya did,” Rebel slurred, much worse this time. “Front row. See ya from the stage. I’ll catch you after. Hang out, just us.”
“Sorry, we head for Texas right after the show,” I informed him.
Knightly just narrowed his eyes at me and shook his head. “Killjoy.”
“Douchebag,” I grumbled right back.
Rebel’s head jerked up as he glanced between me and Knightly. “Huh?”
“That was us saying goodbye,” I declared, standing and moving around the table so I could help Rebel up.
It felt like my tequila night in reverse, with me helping him out of the pub, Sully leading the way, and Vale bringing up the rear and watching our backs.
Outside, Rebel sucked in a long, deep breath and managed to stand a little straighter, no doubt because the air here was fresh, crisp, and not filled with smog.
“Stay here, I’ll bring the SUV around,” Sully declared, making eye contact with us to be certain we were paying attention.
I was, but I couldn’t tell about Rebel. His head bobbed up and down, so I hoped that was a yes.
At least with Vale remaining with us, I wouldn’t be the only one on hand to stop him from trying to wander up the block if he decided to do so.
Fortunately, he held still until Sully pulled up beside the cars parked on the curb, with enough room for the rear door to open between the gaps between the bumpers.
It took some doing, with him fumbling to get his foot in and me shoving him from behind, to get him in the backseat.
By then, he couldn’t manage the seatbelt, so I buckled him in and reached across him, rolling down his window in case he needed to puke.
“Wise decision, choosing to get out of there before you got any more shitfaced,” Sully said as he pulled into traffic.
“Prolly better sooner,” Rebel slurred as he slumped against the door.
“You’ll hear no arguments from me on that one,” Sully said. “By the way, if you throw up in here, you’re cleaning it up.”
“Not gonna puke, not that dizzy. Started hatin’ the way Knightly was ragging on Kit.”
“Your friend's an asshole,” I grumbled.
“Always. Not much changed over time.”
“How the hell do you even know that guy anyway?”
Rebel groaned and shifted around until his head was pillowed on his arms. "Kicking it after shows. Hang out. Get wasted. Good times.”