Chapter Eighteen
“Thank you for rocking out with us. I’m Remi. That’s West, Liam, Ollie, and we’re Tilted Haze! Good night!”
Remi saluted the crowd in farewell as the smoke filled the stage and the lights went down, masking them from view. He jogged to the side and jumped off the five-foot platform, trying to keep the adrenaline pumping in his veins. The usual sparkle and fizz from the show was already waning.
He needed a drink. Or a bump. Stat.
The rest of the band was amped as usual. Liam jumped onto Ollie’s back, wrapping his legs around his waist, hooting and hollering as Ollie piggybacked him toward a group of women giggling in the corner.
West and Remi were right behind them. Liam hopped down and yelled over his shoulder. “Hey! Guess what! These girls know of a killer party!”
“Shocker,” West whispered to Remi, smiling.
“And they have blow!” Liam added. He rubbed his nose, making the ring in his left nostril glint in the light.
“They’ve figured out the way to his heart,” Remi whispered back to West.
West laughed. “Just follow the white-powdered brick road.”
“Can we not shout about coke backstage?” Skye asked, appearing out of nowhere. “At least until the press has left?”
“I’m a rock star, Skye,” Liam said with a dramatic eye roll. His dark blonde hair was all over the place from the headbanging he got into during the show. “They don’t expect me to be yelling about like…getting a good night’s rest or some shit.”
“Bring your non-boyfriend and non-girlfriend to the party, Skye,” Ollie said, adjusting the beanie on his head. He was swimming in an oversized t-shirt and big flood pants. Remi had never figured out how he wore beanies on stage and didn’t sweat his balls off under the lights.
“Yeah, puh-lease!” Liam said with his palms pressed together in prayer. Most of the glitter from his face had melted down, making his neck and chest sparkle.
“Are you going to sleep with them?” Skye asked, eyebrows raised.
“Course not, mate,” Ollie said.
“Scout’s honor,” Liam said, holding his palm up in the wrong sign for a Boy Scout.
Skye chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine.”
“No,” Remi said. “Skye and her boyfriend and girlfriend aren’t invited.” He knew he was acting like a child, but his frustration was sandpaper rubbing against his organs. Rather than continue to be scraped raw, he located a new target.
“Your jealousy is showing, Remi,” Skye said.
“I’m not jealous,” he said. “I’m just not interested in playing mind games with you and your demonic crew tonight.”
“No?” Skye asked with a tilt of her head. “Then what kind of games do you want to play with us?”
“Alright,” Ollie said. “I think we’ll be keeping the two of you separated for the rest of the night.”
“Don’t worry, no one will have to keep us separated. I’d never choose to spend time with him,” Skye said.
“The way you were moaning earlier would suggest otherwise,” Remi said.
“You weren’t even a good lay,” she said.
Remi sputtered. “Liar!”
Skye rolled her eyes and strutted away, answering a phone call as she went. Remi tried to pull his gaze away from the sway in her hips and the way her tiny shorts showed off just a hint of her ass.
“Are you fuckin’ daft?” Ollie asked.
“What?” Remi said, snapping out of some demon trance Skye had obviously put him under. “No. It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, nothing alright. You do realize she’s the only reason our tour hasn’t gone up in smoke. If she fucks off, we’re done for.”
Remi sighed. “Nah, Olls. That ain’t it. She’s only here because the tour is chaos. She’s a magnet to it. Feeds off it. She’s a manipulative demon.”
Liam laughed. “Like that girl you always drew for the band posters?” He stopped laughing, face sobering. “You know, actually, Skye kind of does look like her.”
“Coincidence,” Remi muttered. He could feel West’s hard stare at the side of his face.
He was saved from further inquiry by one of the roadies sprinting over and handing Remi his buzzing phone. “This has been going off for the last hour,” they said before disappearing into the flurry of people breaking down the stage.
Remi grimaced at the caller ID.
“Don’t answer it,” West said, peering over his shoulder.
“I’ve been avoiding her.”
“Good.”
“She’ll just keep bugging me if I don’t,” Remi said on a sigh. “Text me the address of whatever party you guys end up at.”
West gave a displeased grunt but left Remi to it.
He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile as he answered the phone. “Hi, Mom.”
“Remington, it’s about time you answered. I’ve been trying to call you for weeks, but you haven’t returned any of my voicemails.”
“Been busy now that we’re on tour,” he said, glancing around backstage. Where did Skye go? Was she with Laurie and Zara? Was she fucking them in his dressing room?
“Oh, sure. You being a big rock star now. Guess I shouldn’t expect you to have time for your mom. The woman who went through fourteen hours of labor and raised you.”
Remi couldn’t be sure if his blood pressure was rising from this conversation or where his mind was wandering off to, but it didn’t really matter.
Why are you such a fucking asshole? his twin brother’s voice added. Your mother is trying to talk to you.
“Is there something you need?” he asked, and then winced. The tone came out far sharper than he meant it to.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t just want to talk to my son? You always think I need something, Remi.”
Remi cleared his throat and walked to a vacant side hall, away from the crew. “No, no. Of course,” he said. “How—how have you been?”
“Oh, Remi. It’s been such a time! I went on this cruise with Darrell…”
Remi listened to her story and hummed at the appropriate moments. He asked questions about the cruise and her boyfriend and her life. He slid down the wall, nodding into his phone, and sat on the ground.
“And then Ruby, you know the bitch at work, well she started this rumor about me—”
Remi sort of zoned out for the next thirty minutes, only to be yanked back into the moment by guilt stabbing him in the gut every so often.
He should be paying attention. He should care about his mother’s life.
She was the only living family member he had.
He should try harder. He should call her more often.
She only talked his ear off because he so rarely took her calls. If he were a better person—
“…and anyway, I know now that you’re a big rock star you wouldn’t mind sending a little money to your mom, would you?”
Remi shook his head, snapping back from his thoughts. “What?”
“Did you not listen to a word I said? Darrell broke up with me and drained me dry,” his mom said. “And I need to get some new clothes for a job interview. I think this could really be the one, but I want to look good, dress for the role and all.” She kept rambling on about the job.
Remi patted his pockets, looking for a cigarette. He straightened his leg and stuck his hand down the tight pockets of his pants, fishing one out of the carton. Switching the phone to his other shoulder, he looked for a lighter and…
Goddamnit.
Where was a demon when you actually needed one?
“So can you? Send some money?” his mom asked. He gave up looking for a lighter and put the cigarette behind his ear. “I know you signed that big million-dollar contract. Surely you can spare your mother some money.”
“Sure, Mom,” he said, exhaustion thick in his voice. “How much do you need?”
This wasn’t the first call she’d made to him since he signed the record deal. She’d been calling him every week or so since it was announced the band had signed a contract. She didn’t ask for money every time she called.
Just every time Remi happened to pick up.
He didn’t mind sending her money though. He didn’t. He owed her. An uneasy feeling pitted his stomach. She raised him and put up with how awful he was growing up. How terribly he treated Emerson.
“Oh, not much. Maybe a couple thousand?”
Remi choked on his saliva. “A couple thousand?” Remi asked. “For clothes?”
“You have a million-dollar contract, Remington! Why are you so selfish?” his mom exclaimed.
Remi didn’t bother trying to explain to her for the millionth time that a million-dollar contract didn’t mean he had a million dollars in his bank account.
For one, anything the band made got split four ways between his bandmates, and for two, the million dollars also included the money the label would spend on producing their albums and the tour.
Remi really wouldn’t see any significant amount of money until the tour was over and he earned out.
But there was no point in trying to explain that to her. Again.
“It’s for interview clothes, and since I quit my old job, I’m a little behind on bills and—”
“Yeah, Mom,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll send you the money tomorrow.”
“Oh, good,” she said, her voice brightening. “It’s really the least you could do, but I think you should do it tonight. It takes up to three days for the transfer to go through.”
“Okay, I’ll do it tonight,” Remi said, gritting his teeth. “I gotta hang up now so I can transfer it.”
“Okay, Remington. I love you,” she said, but it was in the tone of a disappointed parent who was trying to guilt their kid into expressing affection.
“I love you too,” he bit out and hung up the phone as fast as he could.
Numbness blanketed him, his movements choppy as a slimy feeling coated his heart. He transferred five thousand dollars to his mother’s account.
Remi scrolled to West’s text with the address of the party and called a car.
He needed to get fucked up tonight.
The driver pulled up to the curb of a ginormous house.
Glass walls made up most of the front. The heavy thud of bass music played from the backyard.
Colored lights flashed from the inside, lighting up the grass.
People spilled out the front door, hanging around and smoking on the walkway to the entrance.
Remi spotted Liam right away. He was pretty fucking hard to miss since he was half naked and climbing over a balcony railing on the second floor. People were cheering him on from the front yard.