Chapter Twenty-Eight
Remi was curled over the dining room table, writing a song on the way to their next show, when Skye asked, “Have you seen the comments on your video?”
“No,” he said. He’d been trying to ignore social media lately, not wanting anything to mess with his head while he was in the middle of writing new music.
“You guys have several celebrities and bands commenting on it,” Skye said. “It’s kind of gone viral.”
“Really?” Liam said, getting up from where he’d been sitting on the couch to read over her shoulder. “What are they saying?”
“Everyone is praising you guys for stopping the show and trying to protect everyone,” Skye said.
“Sweet,” Liam said, elongating the word.
Skye’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. The bus made an awkward turn, jostling everyone as it pulled into the venue. Remi was close enough to Skye that he heard a man’s out-of-breath voice on the other end of the call but couldn’t make out his exact words.
“We just pulled in,” Skye said. “What do you mean protests—”
But the words died on her lips. Remi followed her gaze out the window.
“Holy shit,” Liam said.
The bus came to a stop as hundreds of angry people swarmed around them. They were chanting something. The hum of their vitriol and the rhythmic pulsation of their chants penetrated the walls.
It wasn’t just a group of mothers against Remi’s drug use. These people had found a lot more to be pissed off about.
“Protect Our Children” and “Repent Satan Worshippers” were hoisted on signs above their heads, along with homophobic slurs and threats and insults.
Rage burned through Remi’s veins as the words of their chant finally coalesced into a fully formed sentence. He didn’t even want to repeat the disgusting words in his head.
He strode toward the front of the bus and connected his phone to the speakers and played one of Tilted Haze’s most popular songs.
I’ll show you an abomination
A nation full of lies
Cruelty justified
For control of the domicile
Lie with a man
Lie with a woman
Lie to me
Tell me who to hate
Tell me who to love
Tell me how to live
Lie to me, Leviticus
He turned the knob up until the music drowned out the chant, until the pulse of the protesters’ hatred was overcome by the thumping of the bass. The rest of the band didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. A solemnity passed over their faces that Remi couldn’t let stand.
“We are not going to let them stop us,” Remi shouted over the music.
“We’re not going to have a choice if the venue canceled us, dude,” Liam shouted back.
Skye was already typing away at her laptop. “The promoter told me there were some nasty messages about tonight’s show on social media, but he didn’t say anything about a protest.” She grabbed her phone and started walking toward the back bedroom. “I’ll fix this. I’ll—”
“Look at that!” Ollie said, pointing out the window. The bus driver had been inching forward through the protesters, and they’d finally rounded the bend to see the front of the venue.
Fans were already lined up at the door. Huge groups of them twisted all the way around the building.
They’d brought their own signs and were chanting and cheering with the same passion—no, with more passion—than the protesters.
Tilted Haze’s anti-capitalist, anti-racist, anti-homophobic lyrics were written on big posters that people held out and proud over their heads, condemning the protesters with protests of their own.
Something hot stung the back of his eyes.
Remi almost couldn’t breathe. He’d been fighting and rebelling and digging his heels in for so fucking long, he didn’t even know how to handle this level of support.
He and West were the two freaks in high school that the rest of the guys beat up.
He’d always been yelled at, belittled, and made to feel ashamed of the way he looked and dressed and the stuff he cared about. Like music. Like expressing himself.
It slammed into him, the realization of what he’d done. He’d sold his soul to make his band famous, to make his words known. He had traded whatever afterlife there might be because he owed it to his bandmates, but also, he owed it to the world.
Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be living in this timeline. Maybe his music wasn’t supposed to be known, but it was now.
He’d forced his perspective down the throats of all the powerful people in society, the same way they’d force-fed their own corrupt and exploitative narratives.
“They love you guys, Remi,” Skye said to him, a hand on his shoulder.
He kissed her, grabbed her hips, and dipped her. She scrambled to grab the back of his neck and hold on as she kissed him back, both of them laughing as he righted her to standing. “Thank you, Skye. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She smiled. “Your music did this, Remi. The magic just made sure it got the recognition it deserved.”
A warm balloon of joy expanded in his chest, and he looked to each of his bandmates, seeing the same awe and gratitude in their expressions as they looked out the windows and took in the love of their fans.
They might have only been a rock band, but for a moment, it was all so much bigger than any one of them.
“Well, guys,” Remi said. “I think our fans would want us to give these fuckers something to be pissed about.”
Curious eyes swung to Remi.
“We should probably just ignore them,” West said.
“Probably,” Remi said as a devious smile spread across his face. “But our fans are standing up for us. Let’s put on a show for them.”
If West vetoed, Remi would stand down. West was always the one telling Remi not to fight in high school, but that never stopped either of them from acting out and courting the hatred of the bigots anyway.
As if by divine fate, a fan screamed at the top of their lungs. “We love you!” The fan shook their sign left and right. It read “There’s nothing more rock ’n’ roll than being queer.”
West laughed and turned back to Remi. “Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s give them a show.”
Remi’s grin widened, and Liam and Ollie bounced on their toes in excitement, already knowing where Remi’s train of thought was headed. Only Skye furrowed her brows as Remi pulled her close and said, “Hey, band manager, I need you to go shopping for us.”
The promoter had apparently been prepared for the craziness and had already hired extra security guards. Unlike the other canceled shows, this guy thought the protests were extra publicity for the venue, which was why he’d downplayed it all to Skye.
With extra security measures taken, the band was escorted into the venue after the tour bus got safely behind the gates.
Skye had already snuck out of the tour bus and went to the store to pick up all the items on Remi’s list while the boys went extra hard on their makeup.
There was the usual caked-on black eyeliner, but today, it was also accompanied by pops of colored eyeshadow, sparkles, and long fake eyelashes.
Skye bedazzled four crop tops with Tilted Haze on the front and had bought them all matching plaid skirts. They’d kept their regular shoes—combat boots, or high tops in Ollie’s case.
Remi was getting dressed in the back room when his phone lit up with an incoming call. The name that flashed made his stomach drop, but he took a deep breath and answered it anyway. He was in too good a mood. Nothing was going to get him down. Not even his mother.
“Hi, Mom,” Remi answered.
“Remington,” his mom responded in a cool tone.
There was a beat of silence. Remi fixed the laces on his combat boots.
“Well?” his mother said, exasperated.
“Well, what? You called me,” he said.
“Remington,” she said. “After the way you treated me on the anniversary of Emerson’s death, hanging up on me like that, you owe me a huge apology. The way you spoke to me was out of line.”
“No,” Remi said. “The way you spoke to me was out of line. Blaming me for Emerson’s death? That was fucked up. You owe me an apology, not the other way around.”
He felt himself slip over the edge into the familiar anger of his childhood. Most of it was toxic and tinged with bitter hopelessness, but he’d wallpapered over all of those memories and feelings in some doomed attempt to honor his brother’s memory.
She sucked in a breath. “You ungrateful piece of shit. I knew your ugly side would rear up again. Is this what fame did to you, Remington? Turning your back on your mother, your only family? What would Emerson think of that? He’d be so disappointed in you.”
Remi took a deep breath as her words hit him in the gut. She always knew just what to say to make him feel horrible.
He had long ago given up the notion that he might ever do anything that would make his mother happy, but he kept trying in memory of his brother because, despite everything, Remi could never turn his back on Emerson.
But Emerson was gone. He was dead and gone. And withstanding his mother’s abusive comments wasn’t going to bring him back.
“You know, Mom,” Remi said. “I don’t really know if Emerson would be disappointed in me. I don’t know if he’d be proud of me either. I hope he would be, but I don’t know because I didn’t really know him. Not really. And I’ll never get to know him either because he’s gone.”
“You always hated him,” she said. “You were always jealous. He was such a good, smart boy. He hated you for the way you treated me—”
“We hated each other because you made sure we hated each other!” Remi said. “You played us off one another. We hated each other because you manipulated us into it. Because you wanted the power to control us both.”
“Oh, please, Remington,” she said. “You’re going to make me the bad guy? Do you know how much I sacrificed for you? Every dime I’ve ever made went to raising you. I bought you that guitar. Those microphones. I let you play your racket in the garage.”
“No,” Remi said. “I bought my microphone and amps, and Aunt Joanne bought me my first guitar. You didn’t do anything other than yell at us every time we played that racket.”