Shame Me (Rock Stars on the Rise #2)

Chapter 1

Alot of people seem to think of turkey and pumpkin pie and cranberries as Thanksgiving. Others focus on the football.

But this year, more than ever, Thanksgiving to me meant family. I spent an entire week with mom and grandma and grandpa, and on that Thursday, the actual holiday, I enjoyed the company of cousins and aunts and uncles I hadn’t seen in months or years, relishing every hug, every laugh.

And I tried not to think about Zack.

Or Once Upon a Riot. Or any of the things I’d left behind—clothes and books, a shitty job, and the enormous, unending, insomniac city.

Here in unassuming eastern Colorado, life was quieter and slower, giving me more time to think—really think—about my life.

Losing Zack had felt like the end of the world, but I’d been there before with him.

This time had hurt worse, but I realized as the days went by that I wasn’t going to die.

During the quiet moments over the week, I asked myself what I wanted to do with my life, and I realized that I had grown to love playing drums, and I loved it to the bottom of my soul.

I was able to express my damn heartbeat, for heaven’s sake, to put my emotions on display through the rhythm, to control every song at its basest level, and no one could take that away from me.

Playing the drums well was a skill I’d acquired, something I’d worked hard to master…

and now I was considering letting my broken heart take that away from me?

What would I do if I didn’t play the drums?

And the hardest question to ask: even if I couldn’t have Zack as my boyfriend, did I really want to never see him again?

These were the questions I had to grapple with during the frequent moments I had alone over the week—and taking a walk down the quiet streets of my grandparents’ neighborhood, I was able to clear my mind enough to come up with rational answers.

I wanted to play drums for a living.

I wanted to stay in Once Upon a Riot.

I wanted to try to remain friends with Zack—but I didn’t know if I could. I wouldn’t know until I saw him again.

So I decided to begin with a text message.

Braden had been the only one in the apartment when I’d made the last-minute decision to leave, and I’d asked him to let the other guys know. I hadn’t heard from Zack since, so that should have been a clue as to his real feelings towards me.

Not that I needed a hint. He’d been pretty open and honest about it—and it still hurt. But I wasn’t going to let the fact that he’d become a big asshole take away what I was realizing I loved to do.

I decided to keep the text simple, test the waters. Touching his name on my phone screen, I then typed in the little box. Hey.

I started packing my luggage with the freshly laundered clothes my grandmother had placed on my bed an hour earlier.

She cracked me up. I’d been washing my own laundry for years, but she insisted on doing it for me, and I wasn’t about to argue.

It was just nice not having to scrounge up money to do it.

And, underneath all that, it was nice to feel loved.

When I heard my phone make a noise, I glanced over to see that Zack had replied. Hey. You all right?

That was a loaded question if I’d ever been asked one. And what would he say if I told him the truth—that I was not all right, that my heart felt like shredded beef? That, as much as I loved him, I could feel something like hate brewing, bubbling, festering deep inside?

That, despite everything, I would be his faithful lackey for all time, just so long as I could be near him?

But I wasn’t going to say any of that. To protect my heart, I had to keep my true feelings from him. It had to be business as usual—Dani, the friend; Dani, the drummer; Dani, the faithful band member and roommate.

Something else, some other idea, was beginning to take shape in my brain, but it wasn’t clear to me, not yet. I was holding on to it with unadulterated hope, this survival plan forming in my mind, but it hadn’t come clear to me yet. I had to finish processing the other emotions first.

Yeah. You?

I walked over to the dresser, the one I’d used at my grandparents’ house every time I visited, and started packing up my makeup and jewelry while I waited for Zack’s reply.

I hadn’t really said much and didn’t want to.

Zack didn’t really want to know if I was all right.

He only wanted to know if I was okay with the terms he’d set down a week ago.

And the answer was no. No, I wasn’t okay with them…but it wasn’t just up to me. I had no say in the matter. If I stayed with the band, it was as his friend and bandmate only. There was one catch, though: he could tell me he was off limits, but that couldn’t stop me from loving him.

Are you coming back?

Oh—cutting to the chase. I’d expected more small talk first. I hadn’t planned on jumping right into the thick of things.

I picked up my phone and set it down more than once, stopping myself from typing some of the nasty things my bitterness encouraged me to do, like asking if he needed to fill my position in the band or if he’d found a new roommate yet.

Finally, though, I put more things in my luggage and then sat on the bed. After I typed Yes, refusing to let him know that I’d be there later that afternoon, I just stared at the screen, waiting to see if he was going to say something else.

He didn’t.

But at least it was a start.

The very next night, we had our last show of November.

I hadn’t remembered Zack booking it, nor did I care.

But it was great being up on stage again.

Even though I’d only been gone a week, it felt like eons, because I’d been in another world, one of love and comfort and small-town living, and I’d done more soul searching than I’d admit to anyone else.

And now, here, banging on the skins felt so damn good. Like I’d been born to do it.

But there was more to it than that. Live performance was nothing like drumming during practice. Here in front of dozens and sometimes hundreds of people I felt an energy, almost like electricity, in the air, charging my performance as if a battery were plugged into me.

I decided, right then and there, that I loved making music and the rewards of the crowd, and so, if I’d had any residual doubts, they dissipated with that show.

None of us ever talked about my “disappearance.” Braden welcomed me back with literally open arms and Cy gave me a “Hey,” which was probably as good as it got with him—and the crowd watching us that night never indicated that they knew anything else.

And, if I hadn’t already made up my mind, what happened after the show would have solidified it.

We were backstage where we’d moved our equipment after the show and were slowly hauling it out the back door to the van, which was half a block away.

A light snow was starting to fall, as if the clouds were upset that evidence from the previous snowstorm had disappeared so quickly.

As we walked with as much as we could comfortably carry, Zack asked, “Are you guys okay with sticking around for the second show?”

We all said it was fine, but Cyrus said, “You wanna drive home in snow?”

“It’s hardly doing shit. See?” Zack shuffled his boot against the ground while walking. “It’s not even sticking.”

Braden moved his arm to adjust the strap hanging from his shoulder because his arms were full. “We have some Jack in the van, right?”

“Is the internet free?” When Braden shook his head not getting Zack’s reference, Zack clarified, “You bet your ass there’s Jack in there.”

I hated being the voice of reason and so I kept my mouth shut, but at least Cy had some wisdom to offer. “Guys, they’re watching us because we’re underage. It would be stupid and irresponsible to go in there wasted. We’ll never be invited back.”

If anything would make an impression on Zack, our future as a band would hit the mark.

When we reached the van, we began putting equipment inside the cargo area in the back as Zack pondered Cy’s words.

“You know, you’re right. I’d never forgive myself if I fucked us over for a repeat visit just because we wanted a little taste.

” He looked at Braden as he took a drum out of his arms. “You okay with waiting till we leave?”

“Yeah, sure.” I couldn’t tell if Braden really thought he was okay, but he never argued with our leader.

Never.

When we were finally done, we re-entered the bar and tried to find a good place to see the stage. It was a small venue, a place regulars called “cozy” and “intimate.”

Intimate enough that the bartender recognized us immediately. When he saw us, he asked what we’d like to drink. Spying the excited look in Braden’s eyes, he said, “Nonalcoholic beverages, of course.”

“Of course.”

The guys all had Coke or Dr. Pepper on the rocks, I assumed because it would at least appear in the dim light like a mixed drink. But I asked for water. I was super thirsty and didn’t mind anyone figuring out what I was really drinking.

I moved closer to the stage, though, because after all that sitting, it was easier to expel all my excess energy if I was moving and standing.

In between the third and fourth song, a guy I estimated to be in his mid-twenties moved a little closer to me and asked, “You ever see these guys in concert before?”

“No. It’s my first time.”

“Ah, so you haven’t even heard their best songs yet.”

“If you say so. If this is their lame music, I can’t wait.” I couldn’t wait until people felt that way about our work as well.

Right before they started playing the next song, the guy asked, “Hey, could I maybe get your autograph later?”