36-Kit
I almost feel like a normal bloke again.
Hot pizza mixes with whatever cleaner housekeeping used this morning, but after weeks of tour buses and green rooms with rank, stale air, the odour is indulgent. The carpet’s downy, and the mattress is stiff enough to actually support a spine. A real bed’s decadent.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a monstrous slice of deluxe, I take a bite, cheese stretching as I pull it away.
Seth’s sprawled across the foot of the bed like he’s trying to occupy every inch of it.
Silver sits neatly in the desk chair across from me, legs crossed as they finish the Characters of Calcutta anthology I loaned them.
Greg has claimed the armchair in the corner, cold ale in hand, looking like he’s finally found inner peace.
“I forgot what a proper mattress felt like,” Seth groans, stretching until something pops.
“I nearly cried when I saw the duvet.” Silver pokes their head from behind the pages, a lavender strand of hair falling across their face. “An actual duvet.”
“Don’t get too attached,” I say through a mouthful. “We’re back on the bus tomorrow.”
Silver flicks a bit of thin crust at me. “Oh, don’t spoil it.”
The door bursts open, and Louanne and Whitney sweep in like they own the place, hoggish eyes already on the pizza boxes.
“Oi, let’s have a gander,” Louanne says, lifting the top box with a grin.
“Hands off.” Greg sits up so quickly he nearly spills his drink. “There’s not enough to go around.”
“Oh, I’m just a bit peckish.” Whitney turns to him, black-lined eyes blinking with innocence. “Besides, there’s loads.”
“These were from the fans.” Silver sets their book on the desk, pointing at the handwritten notes taped to the boxes. “The girls are more than welcome.”
“That’s a bit dodgy, innit?” Whit halts the slice of pepperoni halfway to her lips.
“I’m sure they’re not tryin’ to kill us,” Louanne says with a stuffed mouth.
“It came directly from the shop,” Silver assures Whit as they walk over, reaching for another slice. “No poison here.”
Pamrata and Liane spill into the room with their usual chaotic laughter. Liane connects her phone to a speaker, and poppy music starts as Pamrata steals the last slice of Seth’s veggie pizza.
A shrill knock cuts through the noise.
“I’ll get it,” Greg states, setting his bottle on the end table before heading to the door.
My stomach drops before I even know why. Two men from the hotel step inside, one I recognise as the manager, followed by Hayden, one of our security, and an officer from the Philadelphia PD.
“Morning.” The cop’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and voice like gravel. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Greg crosses his arms over his unbuttoned shirt; his phone gripped in his hand as though he’s ready to dial a closer at a moment’s notice. “What’s happened?”
Terrence, the hotel manager, steps forward, his wrinkled hands wringing. “Some of the rooms have been compromised.”
Not again.
Hayden takes off his ballcap, combing tattooed fingers through his black curls. “Some shonky wanker on staff leaked the room numbers. We’ve already had three attempts to get up here. One person tried to bribe a housekeeper, and another was subdued while attempting to climb the fire escape.”
Seth mutters, “Ya mean, we don’ get ta stay?”
“You’re staying in the hotel, but we’re switching rooms between the crew and the talent,” Hayden continues, his chiseled face stony and walnut glare stern. “Techies take the compromised floor, and you lot will get moved to the lower level.”
“So, Kit’s not getting a suite tonight?” Greg frowns as if that’s the worst thing when this is a complete shambles.
“Brilliant,” Silver says, finishing up their pizza. “I was just getting comfortable.”
Liane, portable speaker in hand, sighs. “We can’t have nice things.”
I stay quiet because I know exactly why this is happening. Fans don’t climb fire escapes for Seth or bribe staff for Silver. They don’t stalk Louanne.
Guilt settles in my gut like wet sand.
“Kit,” Seth says quietly, draping an arm around me as he slinks to my side. “This isn’t yer fault.”
I stare out the wall-sized window, pondering whether it’d break if I ran through it. “Isn’t it?”
“You can’t control what people do.” Greg’s gaze is glued to his screen, probably already threatening to sue the hotel. “You’ve done everything right. You’re doing your best.”
Pamrata sits on my other side, nudging my shoulder as she nicks my half-eaten pizza. “Jungle mein mor nacha kisne dekha?” She giggles when my eyes must bug outta my head, translating, “Who saw a peacock dance in the jungle?”
“I’m not following, mate.”
Pam brightens, nude lipstick cracking as she chews. “You’re a peacock, Kit; you were never meant to hide your talent in the woods. Despite all this bollocks, it’s worth it for people to see your gorgeous feathers.”
“Or in this case, muscles,” Liane says, pumping out her arms like a pro-wrestler.
“All right. Enough doom and gloom.” Greg pockets his phone and claps his hands once. “You’ve got a few hours before call time. Go out and explore. There’s a botanical garden nearby with a little market. It’s gorgeous out there, and I’ve got it all squared.”
“I could go for a wander.” Whitney springs up from the couch, nearly knocking over the empty boxes.
“I’m in.” Louanne stretches as she stands. “I’m sure Lys will fancy a good stroll through the flowers.”
All of them turn to me, but I hesitate, because going out means being seen.
“Come on, Kit,” Silver says gently, patting my knee as they crouch before me. “It’ll be good for you.”
“You’ve been cooped up for days,” Pamrata adds, kicking my foot with her combat boot as she stands. “A walk won’t kill you. Doctor’s orders.”
“The sun might burn the bloody bastard.” Seth grins, silver rings biting skin as he cups my chin. “But we’ll risk it.”
I huff a laugh despite myself, and Greg raises a furry brow. “Well?”
“Fine.” The room erupts in cheers, and I sigh in defeat. “But only for a bit.”
I grab my wallet, phone, and face mask, tossing them into my sweater pocket. Living post-COVID makes the excuse to keep the bottom half of my face hidden a lot simpler.
“Take this to the new room?” Greg asks security, gesturing at the mess I’m leaving behind.
“Already on it,” Hayden says, taking my duffle from atop the dresser.
Louanne grabs a half-eaten slice for the road, and Seth pockets two cans of sparkling water from the mini-fridge like he’s smuggling contraband.
“Right then.” Greg opens the door. “Off you go. Don’t get lost.”
“We won’t,” Pamrata says, giving the old bastard a peck as she passes him.
I step into the hallway last, glancing back at the empty pizza boxes and rumpled bed.
I want to stay a bit longer, but the others are already walking ahead with Yensil, chatting, teasing, and nudging each other without a care.
Whitney loops her arm through Louanne’s while Seth and Silver argue about which direction the gardens are, oblivious to the danger I’ve put them in.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending I’m not the problem.