Chapter 12
TWELVE
Eric
? /CARNAL/House on Sand - Nothing More ?
“I think this goes without saying, but just in case it doesn’t, Tyler is off limits for the duration of this tour,” I say, breaking the silence that has fallen over us in the greenroom.
“And after the tour?” Josh asks as he digs though his bag, looking for who the hell knows what.
I hate the interest I hear in his voice.
Not that I’m surprised—Ty is incredible, so it only makes sense he’d show interest in her, but my stomach still twists at the thought of her with someone else—especially someone I consider family.
Someone I’d have to watch her be with as long as this band stays together.
“I don’t even want to think about that right now,” I say, picking at my nails.
“Shit,” Josh says. “I need to text…” he stops, snapping his fingers in the air like it’ll help him remember whatever the hell he's forgotten. “Why can’t I ever remember her name?”
“Who?” Kevin asks.
“My new assistant,” Josh says, patting his pockets in search of his phone.
“Kate,” we all say in unison.
“Yes,” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing in my direction. “Kate.”
“I thought you couldn’t touch her?” Max asks, turning the conversation back to Tyler.
“Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
“Why didn’t you talk her out of it?” Josh asks, and I sigh.
“She set her boundaries,” I say. “I chose to respect them.”
“Damn dude,” Kevin says with a laugh. “You’ve got it bad. If I didn’t think it was true before tonight, I knew it the moment I saw her sitting at your kit.”
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. These are the people who know me better than I know myself, and they know how long it’s been since I’ve given my heart to someone. Since I’ve wanted to be with someone.
Since I let someone other than my drum tech, Leo, touch my shit.
I sensed she had some kind of connection to the drums when I saw her studying them, but I knew it the moment her fingers twitched, and watching her let loose and lose herself in the music—in my music—there’s no way this woman isn’t my fucking soul mate.
Watching her play was such a turn-on that if it weren’t for the contract, I’d have sat on that throne and pulled her onto my lap and taken her right there in front of everyone.
Maybe I’ll be lucky, and this will all turn out to be a crush—an infatuation—and the more time we spend together, the less I’ll feel this…pull toward her. The feeling that she’s my true north. The thing I’ve been spending my entire life searching for. My salvation.
Or, more likely, my damnation.
****
As we make our way to the stage, I can hear the hum of the crowd, like a restless beast pacing just behind the walls. I can feel their energy already, just waiting for the first note. I twirl the sticks in my hand, the polished wood warm and familiar against my skin.
I pace, the adrenaline already pulsing through my veins, waiting for Ty to arrive.
The walls around us are covered with photos of the Dallas Cowboys and the cheerleaders, and the smell of sweat lingers in the air, mingling with the faint scent of cheap beer.
In a way, it’s comforting. This moment is familiar, but there’s something more now—something that makes my heart race faster than usual, and I can’t shake the gut feeling that tonight isn’t just another show… it’s the beginning of something bigger.
I glance around at everyone else; Max is sitting in the corner with his eyes closed, earbuds in, as usual. He’s always in his own little world before a show. It’s his way of blocking everything out before stepping on stage.
Kevin is pacing too, but with more intensity. His pre-show scowl is in full force—lips pressed into a thin line and brow furrowed. He’s a perfectionist and I know he’s already thinking about the setlist, the transitions, the crowd. He thrives on that tension.
Josh is standing in front of a mirror, staring at his reflection and checking the body paint he smeared across his bare torso.
Tonight, his entire upper body—from just under his chin to the top of his jeans—is painted solid black, and his hair is pulled back into a low bun.
He catches my eye, his lips curling into that little half-smile he has when he’s nervous but doesn’t want to show it.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low so I don’t disturb Max’s concentration.
He looks over at me, still half-lost in his own world. “Yeah?”
“You ready?”
He laughs, but I can see the unease in his eyes.
The first show of a new tour is always a bit of a question mark.
Everything’s uncertain until the lights go down and the crowd roars to life.
We’ve all been in this game long enough to know that you can’t predict how a show will go.
You can practice, rehearse, and overthink every detail, but when you step out on that stage, it’s all about the energy the crowd brings.
Another moment of silence stretches on, the muffled rumbling of the crowd the only sound. I close my eyes for a second, letting it wash over me. This is the part that gets me every time—the waiting. It’s never the performance itself that stresses me out. It’s the lead-up.
“Alright, guys,” Caleb, our tour manager, says suddenly breaking the silence. “Five minutes.”
I hop in place a few times and stretch my neck. My fingers twitch around my sticks, itching for the first hit.
Where are you, Ty? I wonder to myself. After ten years of doing this on my own, I should be slightly unnerved by how much I feel like I need her here with me, but I shove the thought away. I can go back to worrying about my clearly unhealthy attachment to her later.
With two minutes to go, Dani and Kate appear with Tyler at their side, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Ty looks stunning in a pair of distressed black jeans, Dr. Marten boots, a leopard print tank top, and a black leather biker jacket.
Her raven hair is curled in loose waves and she’s wearing makeup.
Something I haven’t seen on her since the night we met.
Everyone lines up as the intro track we chose to start the show plays over the speakers in the stadium and the crowd roars to life.
We go through our pre-show rituals—the high fives, hugs, and secret handshakes—and when I approach Ty and touch my forehead to hers, she smiles wide and everything else fades away.
“You look beautiful,” I shout over the noise, and she smiles wider.
“Bring them to their knees, Your Majesty,” she shouts back, and her low, sultry voice using the name she gave me the night we slept together has my dick wishing I was about to be pounding something other than drums for the next ninety minutes.
The lights dim, signaling the cue for Max, Kevin, and I to take the stage, and I can feel the vibration of the bass through the floor. I turn away from Ty’s beautiful face, run onto the stage, and settle in behind my kit.
When Max hits the first chord, the crowd loses their shit.
The lights hit me first, almost blinding, cutting through the dark like knives. The crowd is a blur of faces—arms raised, shouting, screaming—and I let go, letting the music take over, just like it always does.
I’m not just playing the beat; I’m living it.
Every hit, every measure, every crash of cymbals feels like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside me.
The crowd’s energy fuels mine—every cheer, every scream just pushes me harder.
The three of us lock in—the sound blending into something bigger than the sum of its parts.
Max’s guitar rips through the air, his intro shredding the atmosphere.
Kevin’s bass is steady and strong, holding it all together.
Then Josh hits the stage and his voice—raw and powerful—pulls us forward.
The first song feels like a blur, and I get lost in it. I barely notice the sweat on my skin, or how my muscles ache slightly—letting me know I took too much time off between tours. The music keeps me going, the sound keeps me focused, and the crowd—the crowd is everything.
When we make it to “Fall,” I look over where Ty is still standing at the side of the stage, and she is beaming—smiling so wide I can see it from halfway across the stage. The desire to stare at her for the rest of this show is so strong I have to force my eyes back down to my drums.
After that, I lose track of time. The remainder of the set is a rush of adrenaline as every song blends into the next—each one bigger, louder, faster. The connection between us and the fans tonight is electric. The kind of high you can never replicate. The best way to kick off this tour.
As it always does, the end comes too fast. Before I know it, we’re running back onto the stage for the encore and wrapping up the final song, and I’m slamming the last beat of the night into the drums with everything I’ve got left.
The lights come up and the stadium fills with the roar of eighty-thousand screaming voices as I toss my sticks into the crowd and run the length of the stage, touching the outstretched hands of whoever is against the rail.
Backstage, I can still feel the phantom vibrations in my hands from the impact of my sticks on the drums, my ears are ringing, and my chest feels like it might burst open from the adrenaline, so I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
The crowd’s roar is still echoing in my mind, but it’s fading, and in its place, there’s a familiar emptiness.
I know the high will come back the next night, and the night after that, but for now, there’s only the calm after the storm.
The strange in-between when the noise fades to quiet and my brain struggles to switch gears.
I look up and see Tyler standing and chatting with Dani and Kate but looking across the hall at me. I smile at her, push off the wall, and walk toward her, and she smiles back as I approach.
“Have a good night?” I ask.
“The best,” she says, a wide, gorgeous smile still etched across her face. “Do I really get to do this for the next six months? You’re not driving me back to the airport tonight and sending me home?”
“Not a chance.”
“God, I love my life,” she says, tipping her head back and laughing.