55. Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Five
Mac
The black X on my palm smears all over my drumstick, smudging it until there’s nothing but a blob left as it does every night that As Above plays on stage.
Tonight, I added eye black above my cheekbones because I was feeling particularly dark just before we took the stage.
Not even my twin’s spiel to the masses about lifting yourself out of the darkness is getting me anywhere near the light and when the set ends, all I can think is finally .
I do my duty by running to the front of the stage, pose with my brothers, and toss my sticks into the grabby hands of fans.
Ignoring the way I want to linger, to watch security pull the final confetti speckled bodies down from the wave in hopes that maybe, maybe Jordan’s hidden in the line that protects us from the mob, I pluck the final pick from Fin’s mic stand. I run it over my fingers, then toss it, pinging it off Peach’s head on accident, and nearly grin when a fan all but bulldozes over the bodyguard to get to it.
He scowls back at me.
I flip him off and saunter backstage.
“Take me for a drink, Thompson.”
Scrunching my nose up at Dare like his statement smells as bad as it sounds, I shake my head. “The fuck would I do that for?”
“Because you’ve been avoiding me since the other night.”
“I’ve always avoided you,” I mutter and push passed him in search of a water.
“Not like this.”
“Bull shit,” I snap back and take a pull from the cold bottle placed into my hand. “Just because we had that one conversation does not make us pals.”
No, he thinks I’m the runaway.
Fuck him.
And he thinks I didn’t see him running comments about Jordan online, but I did.
So double fuck him.
“Don’t forget,” he murmurs with too much mirth for my sour mood and points in my face. “We also swapped spit.”
I make a show of guzzling some of my water, swishing it around in my mouth, then spitting the shit right at his Vans-clad feet.
“ Dude .”
Shrugging, I brush passed the other drummer once again, but before I let the growing crowd of roadies swallow me up, I throw a middle finger over my shoulder.
Smoking the same joint does not constitute swapping spit.
“Bro, hey, we’re gonna—”
“Nope,” I pop out to my twin and pat his shoulder as I pass. “Not losing to you again tonight. Ask Toby.”
I don’t stop moving until I catch the flash of orange hair and the new barbell through the bridge of Peach’s nose.
“Can we go?”
“Let me check in with Ian.” His green eyes bounce between mine for only a moment before his gaze drops to my chest. “You plan on taking that shit home?”
I want to tell him that home doesn’t exist. That there is no place left for me to belong, in peace, without this mind of mine wandering. This heart of mine aching. And though I don’t really want to go back to an empty hotel bed … I also don’t have it in me to be around all this … happy . These feelings. The giddiness of the after-show energy that my brothers all get. This weird sense of comradery and let’s spend even more time together.
Instead, I follow his line of sight and sigh at the earpiece and wires hanging down the front of my shirt.
He’s already waving down an audio tech when I look back up.
Once I’m less a battery pack and earpiece, Peach and I swiftly make our way through the crowd and out into the night air.
He radios our departure to the rest of security before we pull away in a blacked-out sedan.
“Hell of a show, Mac.”
I grumble a thankful response and slide farther into the seat.
“You wanna talk about it?”
My teeth clamp together as I watch the city pass by.
“No,” I finally mumble to the fogging glass.
There’s a rumble of understanding and a stretch of silence that falls over the car so long that I’m tapping out a beat against my thighs with stiff thumbs when he finally speaks again.
“He called you earlier.”
I sink farther under the weight of the reminder. “I know.”
More silence stretches, yet it does nothing to quiet my spiraling mind.
“Can I ask why you’re avoiding him now?”
I love him and it hurts too much to bear.
My exhale is shaky, my chest too tight.
Yet every morning I wake up without him in my bed is like a knife to my already bleeding heart.
“He’s annoying.” It’s what I settle on, but what I really mean is that Jordan Kauffman is a confused man with nowhere to put his curiosities except on me and I can’t carry them anymore.
But have I?
Peach snorts and guides the car into the hotel parking lot. “Sure is. But keep lying to me.”
He parks and kills the engine, turning to me in his seat instead of scanning the surroundings and I huff. “Aren’t you supposed to do bodyguard shit?”
“Sixteen cars in the lot, a couple sneaking into the side entrance that probably have a key and are staying here but drank a little much judging by her laugh, and an empty bus under the overhang. Red sedan has someone smoking inside,” he says without breaking his sight from mine. I blink, then turn to see the couple laughing as they stumble through the glass door. The bus. The red car with a window cracked and a lit cherry flaring red. I don’t count the cars, but I trust that there’s as many as he suggested.
“Shit, Peach.”
“Thanks,” he mutters smugly and props his elbow on the back of his seat. “Now lie to me again.”
Groaning, I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
He hums. “Acceptable answer.”
With a pat on my shoulder, he grabs the handle and clamors out of the car. I follow close behind as he leads me inside and up to the floor that As Above has for the next few days. It takes a second tap of the key card to let us off the elevator and another to open my door, but then he’s rushing back out of the suite and I’m left standing in the living space between the two bedrooms all alone.
Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do with myself.
My hand goes to the back of my neck as I take in the white walls and tan couch. The TV boasting the hotel’s in-room features on a continuous scroll. There’s a balcony beyond the French doors on the opposite side of the room, but I honestly don’t trust myself to be out there.
A closed door to the room I’m using.
Kitchenette with a stocked minibar including snacks.
I step closer when it beckons me, something seemingly misplaced atop the small fridge.
My brow furrows over the mixed nuts and pretzel bags still in place where they were when I looked this afternoon.
Wasn’t there a pack of Skittles?
Shaking myself, I slip my drumsticks from my back pocket and twirl them between my fingers as a distraction when I force myself to step away.
“Probably Rex stealing my shit,” I say under my breath as I cross the room. My plan of showering off this day before collapsing in bed sounds better with each step.
But when I push open my bedroom door, my entire body locks up on the spot.
A warmth crackles in my chest only seconds before it’s taken over by a red-hot rage that makes my fingers tingle and my spine snap straight.
“ Jordan ?”
“Hey, Vida.”