Chapter 6
Nix
A fter Ender stormed out of the penthouse last night, I put my headphones in and went to lie in bed. Maybe I should have followed him to ensure he was okay, like I usually do, but I needed the night off. One night, when I didn't have to be responsible for anyone except myself. I don’t regret it.
I love the band. The guys have become like family in a way, but somehow I’ve adopted this role where I'm tasked with keeping everyone in line.
I've been the one listening to Glen’s lectures when things get out of hand.
I'm the one who has to smile for the fans while the others simply trek inside and coordinate the charity events. Hell, I even feed Ender’s hamster, Dave, on occasion.
Most of the time, I do everything willingly, so nobody else has to, but sometimes it starts to feel like too much. A person can only carry the weight of the world on their shoulders for so long before their muscles start to wear out. My muscles are beyond sore. They're damn near tearing.
So much has changed over the last two years, and I’ve just felt this constant need to prove myself.
It’s my fault for not giving myself time to rest. People-pleasing is just what I’ve been conditioned to do.
Oddly enough, it provides a sense of control that I sometimes need.
I know it's not sustainable, but usually it works.
Joining a band wasn’t originally how I saw my future going.
Even being alive is a blessing, considering the things I had to endure.
If it weren’t for the Peters, I could have ended up so much worse off.
I was twelve when they first took me in, and fourteen when they officially adopted me.
One court hearing after another, they stuck by and fought for me even when I didn’t think I deserved it.
Their love and gentleness gave me something to believe in, and I appreciate it more than anything.
My adopted father's obsession with music is what eventually led me to discover my passion for the drums. He bought me my first set, got me lessons, and continuously pushed for me to pursue this little dream.
I think he knew I needed it more than I was able to admit.
There's something freeing about slamming those wooden sticks down over and over. It’s my form of release, a safe way to channel any sort of emotion that feels overwhelming.
When I realized how much music also meant to me, my adopted father set me up with some of his friends in the music industry. I played with a few bands here and there, performing at smaller venues and outdoor lawns. It was great, but nobody had the drive I did to make it big.
Eventually, I found myself in the sights of Glen Perkins, and he set me up with an introduction to Nowhere Forever.
I came into the band after Rocky, Ender’s brother, passed on.
They were grieving, and none of them were interested in pursuing music anymore.
That spark they had was shrouded in loss.
Had they not been contractually obligated to continue, I don’t think they would have, but the contract was signed, and some things were out of their hands.
As much as they hated the idea of me, they needed a new drummer. We met for the first time, and they were radio silent for days. Glen put me up in a hotel, insisting they would come around, and he was right. All it took was their label releasing their first single without their knowledge.
A few months later, we all fell into a new routine, and it was like I belonged. Rocky died before Nowhere Forever made their first official public appearance, so as far as the fans are concerned, it’s only ever been me as the drummer.
River and Lane were the easiest to connect with. Ender took a little longer, and even now, he still likes to pretend like I don’t exist, but the four of us have a bond. It’s kind of inevitable when you spend all day, every day together.
I’ve decided to do something a little out of character tonight.
I’m not going to follow the rules or keep everyone in line.
Instead, I’m going to ditch security and experience a little bit of life, via disguise, of course.
I’m not trying to have any of our crazy fans recognize me.
I just want to go out, have a drink, and watch some live music.
I'll go back to being the obedient little drummer tomorrow.
Hopping off the bed, I pull a black hoodie and black jeans from one of my bags, reminding myself that at some point I should unpack everything.
There’s a pair of dark-framed glasses without a prescription in my backpack that provide the perfect camouflage, and I top off the outfit with a black beanie.
Stepping in front of the mirror, my eyes scan my reflection. This outfit should conceal me as long as I end up somewhere dark. I laugh under my breath. Yeah. This is a bad idea. Oh well.
With a deep breath, I reach for my Vans and slide them on before making my way out of my room.
There's nobody around, which doesn't surprise me. Everyone’s caught up in doing their own thing. Lane and River are likely locked up in their bedroom doing, well, probably each other, and I’m sure Ender is getting into trouble somewhere.
I walk directly out of the apartment where security stands, eyeing me wearily. Don’t worry, buddy. You know I don’t do anything fun. There’s no reason he won’t believe what I’m about to tell him.
“I’m just going down to the lobby. I’ll be right back,” I lie.
His face twists, debating whether or not he should follow me, but he nods instead.
My predictability works to my favor as I walk down the hallway and, without looking back, take the elevator to the main floor.
This is where things get a little more complicated.
Paparazzi has become my least favorite part of this whole rockstar thing.
They don’t care about boundaries or respect.
If you’re famous, you’re simply a potential paycheck.
Me being part of Nowhere Forever means I’m a walking target.
I stalk over to the front desk as fast as I can, keeping my head hung low. The worker peers up, immediately recognizing me despite my glasses and politely asks, "Sir, how can I help you? "
"Do you think you could call me a cab?"
The worker looks confused as he glances around the lobby, surely looking for my security. "I... um..." He hesitates.
"I would consider it a personal favor," my gaze flicks down to his name tag, "Michael."
His eyes narrow slightly. Shit, there it is, the moment he decides to use this to his advantage. "My girlfriend is obsessed with your band. Is there any way we can get tickets to your next show? They sold out immediately, and with what I make here, I haven't been able to afford resale."
My lips purse. Michael is smarter than he looks.
"How does two floor tickets with VIP meet and greet included sound?" I ask, determined to speed this along before anyone else notices I'm here.
"Let me go grab your cab, sir. Where should I tell him you're going?"
"I'll handle it. Just come get me when it's ready."
He nods, stepping away with haste. A few minutes later, he comes back inside and nods in my direction.
I speed walk through the main door, covering my face as much as possible past the cameras, and slip directly into the open door of the cab on the curb.
The people holding the cameras weren’t fast enough, and my entire escape was seemingly unnoticed.
Nix, one. Paparazzi, zero.
"Where to?" the cab driver asks, and I pause as I decide .
"North. I'm not sure what the place is called, but I'll tell you where to turn," I lie, again. This is becoming a habit for the night.
I have no idea where to go, but it’s the city. I’m confident we will drive past a place that will just feel right. About twenty minutes into the ride, I have the driver make several turns, and a small sign in front of a bar catches my eye.
"Stop right here," I tell him as my eyes scan the building.
This isn’t the main part of town. There are a few cars, but nothing that would indicate this would be a place where people are busting down the doors to get in. It’s the perfect setup for an undercover rockstar to have a laid-back Saturday night.
"If this is where you're intending to go, can you hop out so I can be on my way?" the driver blurts out, interrupting my thoughts.
“Would you be willing to wait for me?”
The man is older, maybe in his late fifties, and has more grey hair than not. Wrinkles around his tired eyes tell me he’s been working longer than he probably should.
“I’m sure you can call another cab. I have a quota to make.” He shakes his head.
"I'll give you a thousand dollars if you wait one hour," I blurt out before I have time to fully think it through.
Bribing someone isn’t the most humble thing I’ve ever done, but we’ve made it this far. It would be a shame to go back to the apartment without having at least one drink. Besides, I have the money. Why not spend it ?
The driver narrows his eyes, not fully convinced.
“Just one hour. Please. I can't be caught up waiting for another cab to come all the way out here."
"One hour for a thousand dollars?" His mind is spinning, likely wondering who the hell I am and why I would give so much money for so little time.
"One hour and I hold onto your phone until I get back," I add, ensuring he won’t be able to search who I am and blow my cover.
"I’m not giving you my phone.”
“I’ll give you another thousand dollars if you do.” I sweeten the deal.
“Why would I agree to that?"
"Because you want the money." I tilt my head to the side, questioning what he’s going to do.
“I want half now.” The lack of trust seeps out of his withered mouth while he points to the barcode to some payment app on his dashboard.
I pull my phone out, scan it, and make quick work of transferring the first half of the money I agreed directly to him.
He huffs in disbelief before finally extending his phone in my direction. "I could use a nap. You have one hour. If you’re not here, I’ll come get you myself."
I grab it, quickly stuff it into my pocket, and push open the door. It’s best to get on with this as quickly as possible, before he changes his mind. One at a time, my feet lead me across the street, and I make it inside, my eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light.
It’s bigger than it looks from the outside, with tables and chairs spread about.
There’s a decent amount of people in here, but none of them even bother glancing my direction.
I start at the bar, ordering a draft beer before slipping into one of the vacant tables toward the back as the next act walks onto the stage.
Time seems to fly by, and the hour is almost up. It's been nice to experience the real world like a normal person, and I find myself wishing I had bargained for longer. There’s time to watch one more performance, so hopefully it’s a good one.
The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen saunters on stage and stands in front of everyone with a guitar in hand, completely terrified. Is this the first time she’s ever been in front of a group of people like this?
I’m captivated by everything about her. Her very essence draws my attention as I take in her dark jeans, which accentuate her perfect hourglass figure.
She takes a few breaths before locking eyes with me, and my entire world freezes.
I’m fairly certain that at one point, I stop breathing as she peers into the very depths of my soul.
When her eyes finally fall closed, and her delicate fingers glide across the guitar, her angelic voice floods the room.
"Shatter me with your memory."
One line of her song is enough to hypnotize me as she sings a beautiful yet tragic melody. The very sound of her voice lulls you in. It’s pure perfection. She's a temptress who seduces you without trying. I’m entranced, lost in a frenzy that I never want to end.
She sings, "Can you see me? Will you come for me?" and I know I need to see more of her. Unfortunately for me, I can’t tonight.
I glance at the time on my phone just as it seems her song is nearing the end. As much as I hate leaving, I have to. My hour of freedom is up.
With regret, I stand and walk out of the bar right as she finishes. It’s in that very moment that I decide the two of us will see each other again. The next time I come back here, I’ll formally introduce myself and deal with the possible consequences of her recognizing me. She’s worth every risk.