Chapter 19
When it was time to begin the second leg of our tour, we left at two in the morning.
If we’d thought the tour with Last Five Seconds was exhausting, we’d had no idea.
In fact, we found out later that the reason why Name of My Killer was looking for another opening act was that the first band who’d toured with them couldn’t handle the schedule.
What the hell were we getting ourselves into?
I was a little nervous but also excited, because even though the itinerary looked exhausting, we would be in far more venues.
I’d wanted to maximize our potential for profits, and this tour would do that.
Not only that, but we’d just have to split the revenue with the opening act—meaning we’d make a little more money—and there wasn’t much downtime, so few wasted days (one of them was Thanksgiving, and I tried not to be depressed that I’d be away from family for that).
When we boarded the bus, the same one we’d been on during our first leg, I just wanted to sleep—but when I heard Cy asking Mick a bunch of questions, I had to tune in.
What did the money look like in terms of streaming and sales?
Zack jumped in and said he’d been talking with the label over our week-long break and said they didn’t have numbers for us yet.
And Mick told us to try to get some sleep because we’d be performing later that evening.
Although the seats weren’t comfortable, this time we’d gotten smart—we’d brought pillows and blankets to keep on the bus for sleeping.
And we’d need to this time, considering we had a crazy schedule.
In fact, Mick had already told us we wouldn’t be in hotels as much; we’d either shower at the venue or at a truck stop.
Most of our time would be spent in the bus.
Again, my frugal heart warmed at the notion of saving money.
I curled up next to Zack in his seat and he wrapped an arm around me as we tried to get comfortable.
Over the week-long break, we’d been nearly inseparable.
The first day we’d spent at home and all I’d done was sleep.
That night when I’d told my mom I was spending the night at Zack’s, we had a long conversation—at first, she’d been upset, but then she asked if Zack and I would spend half of our time off at her house so she could see me.
We both agreed. My mom didn’t get home until around four o’clock on the weekdays and Zack’s mom, still on a weird schedule, left in the early afternoon and got home around eleven at night. So, either way, we had a lot of alone time.
And we were still enjoying exploring each other’s bodies, having sex several times a day when we were alone.
Having him curled up next to me now in the bus brought all those memories flooding back, but we couldn’t have sex here and now—and we really did need to sleep.
Uncomfortable, though, I was having a difficult time, so I grabbed my phone and started looking at the itinerary I’d saved on there.
We’d be in some of the same cities we’d been on during our first tour, sometimes in the very same venue.
This time, however, we would be performing in thirty-one shows instead of sixteen in six and a half weeks instead of four.
“Go to sleep, babe,” Zack said.
“I can’t.”
“You’re making it hard for me to sleep.”
He was right, of course, but it irritated me anyway. “Fine. I’ll sleep in my seat.” With that, I picked up my pillow and blanket and moved to the empty seat in front of Zack.
Still, it was hard to drift off. The seats weren’t made to substitute for beds and, even though the pillow helped, I had a difficult time falling into a deep sleep—and there were a couple of times the bus stopped to gas up that didn’t help.
When we stopped at a gas station, some of us would get up to use the restroom and, by the time we returned to the bus, we had to struggle to fall asleep all over again.
Despite a lack of sleep, by the time we arrived in Salt Lake City in the early afternoon, I was excited. I felt like somehow this leg of the tour would right all the wrongs of the first one—less wasted money and time and more exposure to eager fans.
While we waited to get on stage, Cy said, “Who’d a thought a bunch of conservative Mormons would like listening to our shit?”
“All that repression, man,” Zack said. “It’s gotta come out somewhere. I’m glad we can help.”
Braden said, “That’s such a stereotype. Not all these guys are Mormons. There are other people who live here too, you know.”
Cy just rolled his eyes and shook his head as if Braden had missed the joke. But I was on Braden’s side—Cy had seemed completely serious.
The energy that night was undeniable. I didn’t know if it was because of Name of My Killer’s fan base, the location, or just the fact that we were actually excited to be performing again, but all four of us were smiling onstage, having a hell of a good time.
From my perspective at the back of the stage, it was fun watching the guys, especially when they did synchronized headbanging to the beat of my drums.
We were a real fucking band, and it was moments like these where I saw it clearly.
At the end of our show and breakdown, I was grateful that I hadn’t pushed for a smaller road crew this time to save money—because a leaner crew would have meant we’d need to help.
And Zack had been so damned sexy on stage, I wanted to touch him right after. Fortunately, he felt the same way. When he knocked on my door, I grabbed his hand to pull him inside. He said, “Nope. Come with me.”
Then when? I needed to feel him inside me now, and I didn’t plan to have sex with him in a truck stop shower stall when we got back on the road. But I definitely wanted to shower and had no idea when I’d get to do it. Mick had it all mapped out but, for now, Zack had other plans for us.
As he led me outside, I caught a glimpse of his face under the glow of the lights—grinning, looking reckless, no doubt fueled by the intensity of an amazing first show. That expression reminded me of when we’d been in high school, when he’d seemed far more innocent than today.
And it wrung my heart.
I loved that Zack of old, and I loved this Zack now…and both needed me. I needed to rescue the old Zack, help him re-emerge to save this version who seemed hell-bent on killing himself.
Pulling me by the hand, Zack led me to our bus, parked next to the monstrous real bus that had Name of My Killer’s logo on the side. It dwarfed ours, giving us a glimpse of what our future might be like. They also had a smaller van that housed all their equipment.
I had no doubt they had a shower on that bus.
Outside, though, it was cold—but I was still so hot, the cool air felt good.
Inside the bus was a little warmer, and Zack pulled me to the back where it was darker.
It was so quiet in there and the only things I could smell were vinyl, leather, and a faint odor of diesel.
Zack sat in his usual seat and brought me with him…
that same seat that had been so uncomfortable, we hadn’t been able to sleep together earlier that day.
But now I didn’t care. Even though the space was cramped, I wanted him as much as he wanted me—and I’d barely sat down before his lips crashed into mine, messy and raw. When I touched his chest, I could feel the damp sweat on his t-shirt, cooling off now that we were away from the hot stage lights.
He pulled my shirt up, fondling one of my breasts as he kissed me, and I fumbled with the belt looped through his jeans. Once again, I imagined him on stage, now a rock god fueling the fantasies of all our female fans, and he was mine—here and now.
Only mine.
Just as I touched his dick, I heard loud voices outside—and realized they sounded familiar.
It was our road crew.
Shit. Were they getting ready to board the bus? “Zack?”
But he didn’t listen. Instead, he pulled me onto his lap so that my back was against the side of the bus, my head hitting the window. Then he wound around himself so that he was hovering over me as he unzipped my pants.
That was when I heard clanging and more shouting as I realized the crew was loading our equipment into the back of the bus. How long would it take for them to finish? As soon as they were done, we’d be back on the road—heading back to Denver, of all places.
Our lips met again as we pulled our jeans down enough to join each other, and my leg hit the armrest on the aisle, but I wanted him, regardless of how we did this and despite everything going on around us.
It was wild and reckless—and I didn’t want to stop, because I was finally with the man I’d always pined over.
The bus rocked from the force of something the crew was doing at the back, and my breath caught in my throat. Of all the things I desired, I did not want to be caught half naked, like an animal, by any of those guys. I whispered, “They’ll hear us.”
“Not if we’re fast.”
When Zack entered me, there was another metallic bang at the back of the bus—and, had I not been on the verge of orgasm, I might have wondered why the hell they were so rough with our equipment. Instead, the way it made the seat tremble, I gasped—half from trepidation, half from pleasure.
As the crew continued talking and loading the equipment, every clatter outside became almost like a drumbeat, and Zack and I moved against each other’s bodies to that frenetic rhythm.
My damp skin kept sticking to the vinyl seat, and my knee ground into the seat.
But then it was like I could drown it all out.
Here was Zack—my man—speaking to me in a language that was all our own, and even though it was cramped and imperfect, it was like heaven.