Down Beat Page 11

  My stomach ties itself in knots when he blows me a cheeky kiss before ending the call.

  Rey Thomas just blew me a goddamn kiss.

  I may as well have French kissed the guy on the red carpet for how I feel in this moment.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Rey

  “Bullet With Butterfly Wings” – The Smashing Pumpkins

  Yeah, Wallace told me in not so many words where I could stick Tabby’s seven hundred dollars. She doesn’t need to know where it comes from, just that she has it back. Fucking raping bastards. She’s not exactly somebody who can afford that bullshit.

  I jog down the concrete steps two at a time, blistering to get on stage and get my frustrations out. Toby shoots me a scathing glare as I approach the steps, much the same as he would when I dropped him in the shit with Mom as kids. I ignore the moody bastard, and weave between where he and Kris play at the rear of the stage to retrieve my guitar.

  Fuck him and his self-righteous pep talks. Does he honestly think that grilling me twenty-four seven is going to do any good? Way to shove the splinter in a little deeper there, brother.

  I take position at the front of the stage and stare out over the grassy area that will be alive with a sea of moving bodies tonight. Emery crosses to where I stand and knocks his foot into my calf as he strums his bass. I catch his encouraging smile and give him a sharp nod before pulling out my pick and tearing into the song.

  For the next hour my worries lessen piece by piece. Each break between songs gets easier to bear, each time we play our cohesion more and more evident. By the end of the sound check I’d almost say we’re back on good terms.

  Almost.

  “You get water backstage tonight,” Toby drops casually as he pulls the dust cover over his drum set.

  I set my guitar in the stand and frown. “Water?”

  “Can’t have a repeat of last night,” he states. “Not when we have two sold-out shows that will kill us to cancel.”

  “And why the fuck would we cancel them?” I thrust my arms across my chest, widening my stance while he continues to avoid looking at me.

  “Can’t play if you’re passed out, hey?”

  “Fuck you.” I make it halfway off the stage before he calls me back.

  “You really going to place this on me, Rey?”

  I spin on my heel, considering the implications of laying my brother out. “I never said any of this was your fault, Toby. So don’t go putting words in my fucking mouth. I get it’s my fault,” I shout, throwing my arms wide. “I get that. But what doesn’t help is you constantly making me feel like shit for slipping, okay? I’m a fuckup, yeah. I know that. You know that. But making me feel as though I can’t ever be anything else doesn’t help.” I shake my head, adding before he gets a chance to speak, “You fucking label me before I have a chance to do it myself, so maybe yeah, this is a little your fault. I never was the good kid, was I?”

  He says nothing, lips twisted as he stares me down. He knows I’m right. I know I’m right. I wasn’t the good kid in the family. Toby was the all-star sportsman, our sister the academic genius that excels at everything she does. Me? I’m the misfit, the square peg in the round hole.

  I never fit in. I still don’t. I just figured out how to build a career around it.

  “Ignore him,” Kris says quietly as I pass him side of stage. “He’s just being a big brother.”

  “Yeah?” I scoff. “Well, right now the last thing I need is my goddamn family.”

  He frowns, the concept seeming foreign to him. “Come on, man. Your family loves you.” He swallows, and I realize what a jerk comment it was to make to him before he says the next line. “At least yours acknowledge who you are.”

  “Shit.” I scrub a hand over my face, and then glance at Toby. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

  He shrugs, jerking his head to indicate we should keep walking. “No sweat. It’s easy for people to forget shit about me when I hardly ever say a fucking thing, right?”

  I grin at the guy, thankful for his friendship. He’s a dark horse, a bit of a recluse, which is an oxymoron in itself given his career choice, but he’s an all-round good guy. He cares too much, and I guess this persona of his is the only way he knows how to cope with that.

  “What are we having for dinner?” I ask as we descend the stairs into the tent set up behind the temporary stage. “They ordering in here, or are we heading back to the hotel?”

  “Think it’s up to us.” He snatches a bottle of sports drink off the free-for-all table. “What do you want to do?”

  “Hide and pretend my drunken ass isn’t plastered all over the interwebs at this very point in time.” I collapse into one of the beanbags and look for Emery. “Where did Em go?”

  Kris shrugs as Toby jogs down the stairs. He shoots me a heated stare, and then marches out the exit flap, punching the canvas out of the way as he goes.

  “It’ll blow over.”

  I shift my gaze to Kris and sigh. “Fucking better.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, still set on silent. I twist onto my left hip and dig it out. A little bit of me hopes it’s Tabby. The bigger part of me knows it wouldn’t be.

  Still can’t hurt to check.

  Mom. Shit.

  I lunge from the beanbag and stalk out the exit, much to Kris’s interest. Toby stands in the middle of the grassy parking lot, phone to his ear.

  “You still on the phone to her?” I holler as I approach. “Couldn’t fucking let me sort this out myself?”

  He turns his back to me, still talking.

  “Hey!” I shunt the heel of my hand into the back of his shoulder, forcing him forward a step.

  He spins on me with nothing short of murder in his eyes. “Hold on.” His hand slides over the end to cover the mouthpiece. “She messaged this morning after seeing you on Facebook, so I’m doing what you should have and reassuring her that she doesn’t need to check your fucking life insurance is up to date.”

  “Fuck you all.” I back away, head shaking. “You’re all so convinced that that’s where I’m headed again, huh?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Maybe. I don’t know. That’s the glorious thing about being bipolar: you never know what you’re going to get week to week. Life is literally a box of fucking chocolates.

  “Should we find out?” I run for the scaffolding that supports the rear of the stage.

  Toby hurriedly talks into the phone before disconnecting.

  I eye the goddamn structure, breaking it down like a kid would the jungle gym, and then start to climb.

  “What are you doing, Rey?”

  “Seeing if I feel like trying to fly,” I yell back as I make it past head height.

  “Get down!”

  I catch Kris in my periphery as he wanders out of the tent to see what’s going on.

  “All you’re doing is proving how fucking immature you are!” Toby yells.

  I lean off the structure, held in place by one arm hooked around the pipe steel. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You think I’m a joker, always fucking around, never taking anything seriously.”

  “Show me otherwise,” he hollers. “Get down here and fucking prove you’re not.”

  I climb higher, my boot slipping as I take another step. Adrenaline charges my veins. I can see over the fucking back boundary fence of the stadium from here. “Ever wonder why I act like a clown?” I yell. “Ever wonder why I get blind drunk?”

  Toby throws his hands up at his sides, neck craned to see me. Kris lights a cigarette.

  I twist around to face them, elbows hooked over the steel behind me as I lean out over the dizzying height. “Because it’s easier than being me,” I say with a mixture of humor and sadness. “It’s easier than having you all feel sorry for me, easier than seeing the same fucked-up pity you, Cassie, Mom, and Dad would give me when we were kids.” I let my arms slide out, the thrill and the danger making my skin feel charged with electricity as I hold on to the scaffolding by j
ust my fingertips. “It’s easier to be who everyone expects you to be than what they don’t understand.”

  “Fuck, Rey! Be careful!”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tabitha

  “Rx (Medicate)” – Theory of a Deadman

  “You haven’t moved, have you?” I give Kendall the side-eye as I walk through our apartment.

  She smiles sheepishly from her position on the sofa. “I got up and went to the bathroom. Twice.”

  “Well done,” I sass. “I’ll add a gold star to your sticker chart.”

  “Bitch.”

  I blow her a kiss. “You love me.” With a heave of my arms, I lift what’s left of the meager groceries I picked up onto the counter.

  “Hey, let me help.” Kendall slides off the sofa and crosses to the kitchen. “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing, honestly.”

  She pauses, packet of pasta in her hand. “No, really. How much?”

  “I mean it. Nothing.” I sag against the counter and break the bad news. “I dropped the milk and it spilled everywhere, all over the sidewalk.”

  Kendall cringes. “Shoot. Do we have any?”

  “One bag.” I twist my lips in apology. “The damn handle on the shopping bag broke.” I point to the plastic now tied in an assortment of knots that would make a Boy Scout cringe.

  “It’s okay.” She returns to putting the dry food away. “I can probably fleece a jug from work if we get desperate.”

  “We’re not thieves.”

  “Not yet.” She gives me a wink. Her eyes track around the room as she frowns. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “At the theater.”

  Her frown deepens.

  “It was locked.” I put a bag of apples in the fridge. “I got there in time, but nobody was around.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Wait until Monday and hope that my things are there, safe and sound.”

  Kendall’s lips purse as she looks me over with worry. “That’s pretty crap, though. If they’d said something last night we could have taken the stuff then and there.”

  “They did say something,” I tell her. “They told me to come today between nine and twelve.”

  “Do you think they meant tonight?”

  I stare at her a fraction too long for it to be normal. “I don’t know.”

  She puts the last of the groceries away while I rack my brain for what exactly the guy said to me. Truth be told, I can’t recall if he said morning or night now; I simply assumed morning.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kendall offers as she sets aside the fresh cheese slices and bread. “We can sort it out later. Grilled cheese?”

  I nod, pouring us the first of our new bottle of wine. Yeah. We’re classy as all fuck.

  “Did you hear from Toby while I was out?” I take a sip from my glass, doing my best to hide any possible telltale signs that I spoke to Rey.

  “I did actually.”

  It’s not as though I want to keep it a secret from Kendall, it’s more that I simply don’t feel like sharing. As PG as the conversation was, it felt special—ours.

  “He, um.” She frowns down at the bread as she prepares it. “He said they had some more issues with Rey today. He wouldn’t elaborate, clearly, because how can he trust me, you know? We’ve only just met. But he seemed cut up about it.”

  “Oh, that’s not good.” I take another sip, hoping my bullshit act of surprise will fly with her.

  Their argument pre-practice must have been a doozy.

  “Did you get ahold of John?” She layers the bread and cheese in the pan.

  I nod. “Said it might take a couple of weeks for the money to come through, but I think I can manage with credit cards until then.”

  “If you need me to spot you a little, you know I will.”

  I hand Kendall her glass. “You don’t have that much lying around, hon. I’ll be fine.”

  I refrain from giving her the full story a second time. Explaining about the fees only leads on to me having to explain why I’m no longer paying them. And again, I don’t want to share my conversation with Rey just yet.

  “Let me know when it’s ready, yeah? I’m just going to see if I can get in touch with anyone to find out exactly what time I can get into the theater.” Liar.

  Kendall nods, ass against the edge of the counter. “Sure.”

  I take my wine to my room, kicking the door most of the way closed behind me as I enter. Perched on the side of my bed, I sip my drink with one hand, peering out the corner of my eye to see my phone screen in the other.

  T: How did your practice go?

  In all reality, it’s none of my business. So we shared a moment? What does that make me now? His best buddy?

  I stare at the message thread, at the little blue circle with the tick that tells me it’s been delivered. Yet his profile picture doesn’t slide into place. Even after the fifth time I wake the screen.

  Must be busy.

  “How did you get on?” Kendall edges my bedroom door open with her elbow, plates in hand. “In here, or out there?”

  “Out there.” I rise from the mattress, frustrated at both my empty glass and the lack of reply from Rey. “Couldn’t get in touch with anyone.” It’s not a complete lie.

  “Don’t stress. I’m sure it’s safe there until Monday.”

  “Yeah. More than likely.” I accept the plate she holds out for me as I reach her, trailing behind my best buddy as she leads the way back to the living area.

  “What’s next for the great virtuoso?” she asks, her mouth already filled with warm bread and gooey cheese.

  I shrug, balancing my plate carefully as I drop onto the sofa, one leg folded beneath me. “I guess I work on some more original pieces and see if I can get more followers.”

  “When are you going to start selling on something like Spotify?”

  I take a bite of the grilled cheese and groan as the creamy flavor coats my taste buds. I neglected to eat before I headed out this morning, my ravenous stomach reminding me of that as it growls in appreciation at the food I currently funnel it. “Um,” I mumble, finishing my mouthful. “I need to save to pay for a proper recording studio.” I swallow, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I need decent quality if I put it up on a site like that, not just my shitty YouTube tracks.”

  “Look into it,” Kendall instructs with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure there are ways around it. You can’t tell me that there isn’t some workaround for artists who record at home?”

  I shrug as I take another bite. “Dunno.”

  “Babe. Finish your mouthful before you talk.”

  I swallow down the mouthful a little too early, eyes watering as I answer, “You’re one to talk.”

  Kendall pulls a face as she dryly asks, “What?” with her mouth jammed full of grilled cheese.

  The laughter feels good. Real good. Especially after the shitty start to the day. My thoughts drift back to Rey as we eat in relative silence, to the way he turned my day around with one simple off-the-cuff phone call. He ended it too quick for me to thank him for giving me that pick-me-up, but I guess that’s what life with somebody as well known as him is like: constant snatched conversations in the brief moments of respite between the demands of a tour.

  My gaze drifts to the hallway as I pop the last bite of bread into my mouth.

  I’m not too proud to admit that I’m becoming addicted to the little hits of him, even after a few short days. But one thing I know for sure sets me apart from most of the other people who feel the same way is that my addiction has nothing to do with who he is in name, or what that earns him.

  I don’t like Rey, the lead singer of Dark Tide. He’s arrogant, loud, and careless.

  I like Rey, the guy who loves to play his guitar and sing about the things that torture him most.

  I like Rey the artist.

  Now I want to know Rey the man.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Rey

 
“Bullet” – Hollywood Undead

  Ever seen a security guy relive his youth? No? Then I’m telling you now, it’s a fucking sight to behold.

  When Toby realized that every step closer he took meant another inch I leaned out over the distant ground, he sent over Kris. Yeah, Kris. The guy who then asked if I’d like a cigarette when I got down.

  I went higher—fuck them both.

  And that’s when they called in the big guns. The security guard, Lenny, looked to be at least fifty years old and probably the same number of pounds over his optimum weight range. Didn’t stop the guy scaling that scaffolding like a motherfucking gorilla in heat, though.

  Got to give the guy credit for how he managed to subdue me, all while ensuring we didn’t both fall and break our goddamn necks. Shoulder still burns a little, but I think I got my point across.

  “Do you ever think of anybody but yourself?”

  Or maybe not.

  I sigh before turning to address Toby. We have thirty minutes until show time and he’s been aiming shots at me all fucking afternoon.

  “Do you?”

  Two simple words that leave him shaking his head. “Just grow up, Rey. I get it; you’re the baby of the family. But that’s not an excuse to continue to act like a fucking child.”

  He storms off to the far end of our “VIP lounge,” the only section of this marquee they’ve set up for us that has huge industrial blow heaters to ward off the cold.

  Yep. It’s fucking pissing down out there. Water pours from the heavens as a silent “fuck you” from life. Still, our fans are ready to go; the warm-up chants the crew has them making do their thing and build the buzz.

  “Tell me you called your mom,” Emery asks. He chews on a stick of jerky as he waits on my answer.

  He turned up right as Lenny pinned me to the grass, a knee to the middle of my back while everyone waited on me to promise I wouldn’t pull a stunt like that again. I agreed. I won’t climb the scaffolding again, but I hold no responsibility for whatever else I might attempt.

  “Yeah, I called her.” Got the whole myriad of emotions from her: anger, worry, distress, and finally guilt.