Chapter 4
Noah
The next four or five days were hard. Kiki and I didn’t say much to each other, and I didn’t want to upset her any more than I already had. She was still healing from the delivery, so I tried to let her sleep as much as I could. The truth was, I didn’t know how she would handle everything once I was gone, which just reinforced my need to make more money.
I hated how hard this was, and it made me hate myself for being in a situation where I couldn’t hire a nurse to help her. Bri and Bash, her husband, had gifted us a night nanny for six weeks, but Kiki was saving it for when I was gone since I could only take two weeks off. I didn’t know what else to do. Nobody’s Fool wasn’t in a position to keep me on the payroll for any longer than that since they were an opening act.
The problem was that she didn’t want me to be out on the road at all, but it was the only thing that had ever fulfilled me. I loved Kiki, but I knew you couldn’t base your entire self-worth on the feelings you had for someone else. That was part of what had sent me down the addiction road in the first place and I never wanted to go there again. Especially not now that I had so much to live for.
After the car accident that took the lives of my friends and crippled my then-girlfriend, it felt like I’d lost everything. My friends, my girl, myself. Alcohol and crystal meth had tricked me into believing nothing else mattered. Now I knew better, of course, but getting clean had been the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, especially the second time. And I absolutely couldn’t screw up again. Ever.
I had a family, and they needed me.
“One of the good things about working for a caterer,” Kiki said, pulling a foil pan of chicken and rice out of the oven. “We have enough food to last us weeks, and they keep bringing more.” In addition to the food they’d brought when Beth had been born, we’d also been getting all of the catering company’s leftovers, so we didn’t need much in the way of groceries and all we had to do was stick stuff in the oven or microwave.
“Yeah. We have good friends.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
She shifted from one foot to the other, as if she had something else she wanted to way. And she looked so damn sad. Even with her hair up in a ponytail and no makeup, I thought she looked beautiful, but the main thing I’d seen in her since our talk the other morning was sadness.
“What’s wrong?” I asked softly. “Talk to me, Kiki.”
“You haven’t wanted to talk.”
“I have, but it seems like no matter what I say, it upsets you, and I don’t want you to be upset right now.”
“I’m not upset,” she muttered.
“Then why have you been avoiding me?”
“We have a newborn and we’re busy.”
“We literally have nothing else to do but take turns holding, feeding, and staring at her,” I replied. “And she’s been sleeping pretty well, so we can’t even say we’re not sleeping.”
She looked away.
“You want me to quit,” I said finally, waiting until she met my gaze.
“I want you to do something where you come home at night.”
“I don’t have any skills to work nine-to-five,” I said. “I didn’t even graduate high school. I’m not good with math, and I’m not well-read. I don’t know anything about cars, my computer knowledge is limited to video games, and I don’t think I’m cut out for construction.”
“Marla would give you your job back,” she said. “And you could work your way up to waiter or bartender and?—”
“You want me to be a bartender?” I asked, suddenly frustrated. “So we can live paycheck-to-paycheck, and if one of us breaks an arm or leg, we’re fucked?”
She threw up her hands. “I’ve been doing just fine waiting tables. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen and waiting tables pays the bills. There’s no reason why we can’t both do it for a while. Until you find something else.”
“I can’t just leave the tour. They’re counting on me. They paid for me to go to rehab. They’re paying me right now even though I’m not working. Is Marla going to give us paid time off?”
“Not yet, but she’s working on a benefits plan.”
“I have benefits.”
“But you’re not here, and they don’t cover me or the baby!”
“They going to cover the baby now that she’s here, and they’ll cover you once we get married.”
“You haven’t wanted to talk about getting married either.”
“We don’t have the money, and I don’t want to elope.”
“Everything is about money with you,” she yelled.
I was so tired of this conversation. “Because without it, life is fucking hard. You know that as well as I do.”
We stared at each other for a few beats and then my phone began to ring.
Since I didn’t want to yell anymore, I decided to answer it even though I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Noah, hey. This is Z.”
“Hey, Z. What’s up?” William “Z” Zerkesian was the lead guitarist for Onyx Knight, and while I knew him, he’d never called me before.
“Listen, we have a situation. I know you and your girl just had a baby, but I could really use you. Roddy fell and broke his leg so he’s out of commission for six weeks, maybe the rest of the tour. I’m willing to pay anything you want, within reason, if you’ll roadie for me while he’s recuperating.”
“Seriously?” I nearly choked.
I made about half of what Z’s roadies made so even asking for double, which I knew was doable, would be incredible.
“I can probably get by another four or five days, but I could really use you next week. The timing is horrible, so name your price. I’ll even spring for a nanny or whatever to help your girl with the baby while you’re gone. Whatever you need. I can make some calls, get the union to send me someone, but I need someone I trust, who already knows the set. And that’s you.”
Fuck.
Kiki was going to kill me.
But how could I say no? He was offering me a potentially ridiculous amount of money.
“I have to talk to Kiki, so let me call you back,” I said diplomatically, since in my head the answer was a resounding yes, but Kiki was watching.
“Cool. Talk soon.” He disconnected, and I turned to her.
She was going to be pissed, but if Z paid for someone to help her for the next six weeks or so, and then we still had the night nurse gift from Bri and Bash, she’d have help for close to three months. At that point the tour would be over, I’d come home, and we could re-evaluate.
Right?
I really fucking hoped so.