Chapter 20 Elijah
TWENTY
ELIJAH
On show days, I find it hard to eat.
If I manage to stomach anything, it always comes up thirty minutes before stage call.
The orange bulb at the end of my cigarette glows in the dark as the smoke dances in the air.
After three shows in Toronto, Canada, we leave in the morning for one show in Montreal.
We hit up four more cities in Canada before moving on to the States.
However, the more and more I visit Toronto, the more I want to stay here.
It’s a vibrant city with a hundred things happening all at once, but the multiculturalism here is inspiring. All I want to do is explore. There’s no paparazzi chasing you down here, unless it’s at an event where they know our attendance is mandatory.
I feel free.
I’m sad to move on and say goodbye.
The light breeze hits my face. Leaning back in a chair with one foot planted on the railing of my hotel balcony, I inhale slowly and deeply. Blowing out through my nose, I flick the ash away.
Hearing footsteps make their way toward me, I instantly know I’m going to hear a mouth full, even if they’re intruders in my room.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to fucking kill you.” Axel grabs the cigarette from my fingers and stomps on it with more aggression than needed.
“You said you would stop,” Rowan points out, dropping to the seat next to me.
Missing the nicotine already, I shrug. “I never pinkie promised.” Keeping my eyes forward, I let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Guess what’s coming your way,” Axel demands, hitting me on the back of the head. “News articles explaining what these cancer sticks do to your body.”
“I already know,” I grumble, hating the fact that I’m slightly addicted to them.
“So, why don’t you stop?” Rowan asks, extending his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.
“Maybe because he’s addicted,” Axel snaps, giving him a look like he’s crazy.
“Elijah is weird. For all we know, he smokes because he likes the smell.” Rowan almost doesn’t finish his sentence before laughter bursts out of his mouth.
“Are you portraying your own insecurities on him?” Axel smirks. “You can admit it; this is a judgment-free zone.”
Rowan flips his bandmate off before muttering something under his breath that I can’t quite understand.
After their daily catfight, the three of us just sit in comfortable silence before the distant sound of the hotel phone rings. Walking over, when I pick it up, the hotel staff informs me our room service order is on its way.
“Guys, get in here,” I call out to the two fuckers, who are still on the balcony, bickering again.
Like my little ducklings, they jump up. For the rest of the night, we sit around and watch reruns of motorsports and pig out.
Something new we’re doing for this tour is the meet and greets after sound check and before the actual concert. Our fans had the option of purchasing VIP tickets. There was only a limited amount of tickets available to the public, so whoever was able to snatch them up was lucky.
We take pictures with the fans, answer their questions, and sing three songs before going backstage to prepare for the show. Initially, I thought this would make me exhausted, but connecting with our ride-or-die fans reminds me why I used to love stepping on that stage.
Amelia pulls out a piece of paper from a bowl that holds questions from our VIP fans and reads it aloud. “Do you have any preshow rituals or lucky charms?”
Amelia crosses her legs and folds up the paper.
“Speaking for myself and not my brothers, rituals are so important to me before doing a show. Touring can be physically and mentally exhausting. That’s why I stay offline and present while I’m not onstage.
I meditate and get ready in a specific order. That’s a must for me.”
“I never take off my rings.” Leonidas shows the small crowd the silver rings that shine on his slender, tattooed fingers. “I’ve never taken them off, so I’m scared what could happen if I do.”
The crowd laughs.
“Elijah, do you have any preshow rituals or lucky charms?” Amelia asks.
Tilting my head to my shoulder, I think. “I can’t think of any lucky charms I may have. But I find having a routine while touring is very important. It helps me have a clear mind, which can feel impossible while constantly on the move.”
Amelia rushes to pull out another slip of paper from the plastic bowl. “Next question is … if you weren’t a singer, what would you be doing? This is such a good question. Leonidas, do you want to answer first? I need a second to think.”
Taking her cue, he muses, “I think I’d be a hockey player.”
The fans ooh and aah, definitely picturing him in hockey gear.
“Growing up, I never watched hockey, but my girlfriend is Canadian, and since the sport is practically a religion there, she made me get into it. Now I’m just as obsessed as any other Canadian.
So, I would like to say I would be a player, but getting checked into the boards doesn’t seem like a fun time. ”
I let out a booming laugh. “I would pay for front-row tickets to see that. If I wasn’t a singer, what would I be doing?” I ponder my answer. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a bus driver. I thought that was so fucking cool—I still do.”
Amelia cracks up and slaps my knee.
“I think I would look sick in a firefighter uniform though …” I trail off, looking at my siblings because I don’t have anything else to say.
“I could picture you saving cats from trees.” Amelia winks at the crowd, and they all cheer. “I would like to be an entrepreneur. Creating my own makeup line is an absolute dream of mine.”
“Do it!”
“I would go bankrupt.”
All I can see are people’s arms jumping up, flailing in the air.
With pursed lips, my sister extends the bowl full of questions to me. “Maybe one day. Nothing is ever impossible … remember that,” she points out in a motherly tone.
I will my fingers to stop the slight shake as I grasp a piece of paper. My face goes blank as I read the question. The writing is messy and sloppy.
What the fuck?
A team meeting is needed after this because these questions should always be reviewed before we get them. Now I’m sitting here, flabbergasted, trying to find a way around this question without giving anything away.
Seeing that my face has turned white, my brother and sister give me questionable looks, urging me to say something. Don’t they get it? I don’t want to bring Lily into this life because I know how it feels for your life to not be your own anymore.
Who’s the girl with the black hair? She looks a little too comfortable for someone who just showed up. What’s her story?
I see red. Is steam coming out of my ears?
I hold back the urge to find the person who asked this and shake them.
“Noticed a new edition to the group. Who is the girl with the black hair?” I simplify the question and give the audience—specifically for the person who asked this—a stern look. “She’s a staff member,” I say, but what I really want to say is, Fuck off.
I can see the uncomfortable gulp that travels down Amelia’s delicate throat.
“Thank you guys for all the questions. So excited to see you all at the show.” Leonidas stands and waves.
Following his lead, I nod with a small smile.
“Hope you love the show!” Amelia waves as we all walk offstage.
Two out of the three of us are nervous while I’m bustling with anger.
Levi stands backstage with Stella, showing her something on her tablet.
“Where is Fay?”
He jumps at the urgency in my voice.
“Last time I saw her, she was in the catering room—”
I don’t let him finish as I stride to her, wanting an explanation as to why she didn’t ensure our privacy was respected.
I hear Leonidas whisper-yell behind me, probably informing Levi on what happened.
“He has a right to be fucking mad. I would be too,” Levi simply states.
“Fay, we need to talk,” I declare, bursting through the door and finding her eating and chatting with the lady of the hour, Lily.
Both of them startle and turn with accusing glares.
“Damn it, Elijah. Don’t you know to give a lady a warning before your alpha male comes out?” Placing her plate down on the counter where all the buffet platters are, Fay makes her way toward me.
Lily stays in place, eating a mozzarella stick with newfound curiosity.
“The questions that fans submit for the Q and A—are they reviewed before we get them?” I raise a brow when she looks confused.
“Of course they are. Did something happen that I’m not aware of?”
I shove the slip of paper into her palm, and she reads it. I know she understands why I’m so frustrated when her brows furrow.
“This is unacceptable.” I leave no room for argument. “I don’t know how this passed the inspection, but we need to work on this or else I won’t be participating in another Q and A.”
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m so sorry.” She places a comforting arm on my tense shoulder before rushing out of the door. Leaving Lily and me alone.
Why is my heart doing this ridiculous fluttering thing? She’s just looking at me, damn it.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Lily teases, looking too beautiful for this harsh world.
“Oh, you know, just rock-star things,” I say, walking farther into the room and leaning on the table beside her.
Last thing I want to do is worry her with people’s bullshit.
One of the things that was holding her back from accepting Levi’s job offer was being in the public eye.
She has never liked attention on her, not even positive.
From the age of five, Lily would rather be invisible than seen … and that hurt me.
What would happen if I confessed that people were already starting to notice her? That they were making up all sorts of speculations? How a hashtag was created for her and it was trending on every social media platform?
Selfishly, I don’t want her to know because she might leave. I would never admit this out loud, but having her with me for these last three weeks has made me braver.
I watch her grab another mozzarella stick.
Not sure if it’s the sight of her now-greasy lips or the gooey cheese, but I block out every logical thought from my brain when I lean forward and break her satisfying cheese pull by biting the stringy cheese.
The salty, warm cheese explodes on my tongue, causing a deep groan in my throat.
With my head between her frozen fingers, holding half the stick, and her shocked face, I nearly bite her when I take the rest.
Her lips are so close to mine, but I force myself to step back.
Licking the grease off my lips, I send her a smirk. “Thanks for the snack.”
I turn my back to her and leave.