33. Asking Toto for Directions
33
ASKING TOTO FOR DIRECTIONS
FELIX
Creatures In Heaven By Glass Animals
D usty crosses his arms over his chest, the ink of his tattoos shifting as his fingers tap a restless rhythm against his forearm. He looks like he’s babysitting a gang of unruly kindergarteners, his patience stretching thin but not quite snapping—yet.
“Chicago was a clusterfuck,” Dusty says, his voice rough, like the scrape of boots on gravel. I don’t disagree.
“The crowd was out of control, and security were dicks,” Bash says with a shrug, his voice low and steady.
“We can’t let things get out of hand like that again,” I say, my tone firmer now, the memory of the night still fresh in my mind.
Dusty nods, his jaw tightening. “We hired local in Chicago. It won’t happen again. We’ve got our own security now.”
I nod back, the tension in my chest loosening just a fraction. What I once thought was overkill now seems necessary.
Dex’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Is no one going to address the elephant in the room?”
I raise a questioning brow at him.
“If no one’s gonna ask, I will,” Dex says, his grin sly. “How the fuck did Dusty manage to get such a hot wife?”
The room stills for a heartbeat, and then Dusty pushes off the table with a growl that’s half amusement, half warning. Dex is already on his feet, darting for the door like a spooked rabbit.
“Boy, you better run,” Dusty grumbles, his voice chasing Dex down the hall.
I hold my hands up, palms out, signaling my innocence. “I had nothing to do with that.”
Gunner and Bash rise from their seats, the meeting unofficially adjourned.
“See you at practice?” Gunner asks, his tone expectant.
“I’ll be right there,” I reply, slinging my guitar strap over my shoulder.
Dusty chuckles, his grin breaking through the lingering tension. He hooks a thumb in the direction Dex fled. “Did you see how fast he ran? That kid left skid marks.”
I press a fist to my mouth, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh. Clearing my throat, I compose myself. “You have a very lovely family.”
Dusty’s smile softens, but there’s a weight behind his next words. “I know you’re wondering the same thing.”
I freeze mid-step, caught in the crosshairs of his gaze. “I didn’t say anything,” I protest, holding my hands up again. The last thing I need is to get flattened by a six-foot-five, tattooed roadie before noon.
Dusty smirks, his expression knowing. “I get it. I’m not rich or handsome.” He pauses, his voice dropping into something quieter, steadier. “But I’m dependable, and I take care of my family. Women want a man. Not a boy.” He points in the direction Dex ran.
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I furrow my brow, wondering if this is some kind of surrogate fatherly warning about Maggie. Now that he knows we’re together, it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s not like my own dad hasn’t drilled this lesson into me since birth. I nod, appreciating the sentiment, even if it feels a little pointed.
The warmth of family fills me, just like it did at the bonfire last night. It’s not just the band anymore; it’s the whole crew. I’ve heard my dad’s stories of being on tour, of the way it bonds you, but I’m only now starting to feel it. The tour has begun to feel like a hurricane, sweeping me up inside and pulling me in a million directions at once and none of those are landing in Maggie’s path lately. It carves an unfamiliar emptiness within me, as if half of my heart has vanished. The feeling both terrifies and exhilarates me, a beautiful ache I can’t escape.
Dusty slings an arm around my shoulders, his grip a little too tight to be casual.
“I like you, kid,” he says, his voice low but firm. “But if you hurt Maggie, I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll land in Kansas and you’ll be asking Toto for directions.”
I swallow hard, the threat landing with a thud in my chest. Dusty loosens his grip, and I step back, adjusting the collar of my shirt.
“Toto?” I ask. “Like the band?”
Dusty shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “Jesus, fuck, you’re young.”
He pats me on the back, his hand heavy. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” Then he’s walking away, as if he didn’t just threaten my life.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. I drag it out, the screen lighting up with a text message.
Speaking of my own father…
Dad: I saw what you pulled in Chicago.
I brace myself for shouty caps, holding the phone tight as I sigh.
Dad: I’m both pissed and proud.
I stare at the message, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Leave it to my dad to encapsulate my entire existence in one sentence. Pissed and proud—yeah, that tracks.
My phone rings and my brother’s name lights up the screen.
“Hey, I’ve only got a minute, what’s up?” I greet.
“Oh, but you have time to rescue girls from security during a performance,” he teases, and I look up at the sky.
“Out with it,” I prod.
“I just figured enough time had gone by that I could give you shit for that Chicago stunt of yours I saw on YouTube,” he says, the satisfaction in his voice palpable.
“There’s nothing to give me shit about,” I sigh into the phone, keeping my stride brisk. “Security were being dicks, and I wasn’t going to let them manhandle my girl,” I admit.
There’s silence on the other end. “Yeah, Maggie and I are together. Don’t be fucking weird about it,” I say, but I can’t keep the grin out of my tone.
“Alright,” he concedes, and I can hear the disbelief in his voice because I’ve never called anyone ‘my girl’ before.
“Since when do you let a girl get in the way of your music?"
“She’s not getting in the way of my music,” I retort.
“Um, excuse me. You stopped. A fucking. Show,” he exaggerates every word as if trying to drill in his point.
“What would you have done?” I challenge.
Gus is silent for a beat. “If it were Thea I would have let them take her to jail and leave her in a cell without Dr. Pepper.”
“Bullshit, brother,” I laugh.
“Let’s get back to the part where you’re pussy whipped,” he says.
“Don’t know what you mean,” I deflect, my tone still light, but the truth is written in the grin I can’t suppress.
“That’s not what my Reddit feed said,” Gus retorts, and I can’t help but laugh. “Because grocery shopping screams domesticated.”
“Since when are you into celebrity gossip?” I tease back but I can’t help the unease that our grocery store trip was on fucking Reddit.
“Since you’re too famous to hang out with me now, it’s the only way to see what you’re up to,” he teases.
“Fuck off,” I throw back quickly, but shit, I’m laughing so it doesn’t have the desired effect.
“See, you can’t even tell me to fuck off properly,” he chuckles, and I shake my head.
“Believe me, I mean it the way it’s intended. Laugh it up fucker, I’ve got to go,” I sign off and jam my phone back in my pocket as I approach the backstage area, shaking my head and still smiling, goddammit.