Rock My Body (Black Falcon #4) (4 page)

I follow our bodyguard to the Escalade. Kyle uses the key fob to unlock the SUV, and we both hop inside.

As I pull the heavy door closed behind me, I reconsider leaving. I should go back in there and hammer things out with the guys now. After all, I don’t want tonight’s show to be tense. But my head’s still a little foggy from the coke I snorted, and I know I won’t be able to speak to them rationally about this until I’ve had time to calm down.

I scrub my hand over my face. Tension in the band always fucking sucks—it’s even worse to be the cause of it. They blame me for it, I know, but they don’t see that all this shit started with them not caring enough. Not being committed enough. Not living for the band like they used to.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kyle asks, killing the silence that has allowed me to go deeper into my own thoughts.

I sigh. “What’s there to talk about? The guys just kicked me out. They’re pissed, I get it, but it won’t last. We never stay mad at each other. We’re brothers.”

Kyle adjusts in his seat as he stares out at the road ahead. “That would be great. Things were going so good for a while, and I hate that there’s this underlying tension between you guys. It makes things uncomfortable for us all when you guys aren’t getting along.”

“Come on, Kyle. Things haven’t been that bad. We’ve been through far worse.”

He sighs. “If you say so. I would just hate to see this great thing you all have going fall apart.”

“We’re not going to fall apart,” I say with a slight huff.

We’re quiet for the rest of the ride. I don’t really feel like rehashing band issues with Kyle when I’m not even sure what in the hell is going on myself. After I spend a few hours sleeping and getting my head clear in my hotel room, I take a long hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My shaggy sandy-blond hair is a bit shaggy, a far cry from the short buzz cut I used to sport. Lately, I haven’t really felt the need to be so clean-cut. The green of my eyes looks a little dingy, a little lifeless, but that’s not completely my fault. Anyone in my shoes who’s losing everything they’ve ever worked for would look the same way.

I rake my hair back with both hands and sigh. We just have to get back on track. I’ll go to the guys and promise to stay sober, as long as they agree to start taking this band more serious. What we need is a heart-to-heart, as brothers. We need to squash this beef between us so that we can get back to doing what we do best—making great music.

I grab my backstage pass and slide it around my neck and slip out the door. I call a cab to take me back to the arena. It’s time to get this shit back on track.

With a clear head, I set out to have a discussion with the guys about us all changing our ways, mending what the last few years have broken.

The cabbie drops me off near the back gate of the arena and with the help of my pass, I have no problem slipping into the backstage area on my own.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. It’s nearly nine, the time we are scheduled to take the stage after Gabby’s band, Sex Arsenal, opens for us. A few of the roadies nod at me as I pass by them on the way to the stage.

One roadie I’ve been partying with quite a bit lately, Lou, stops in front of me the moment he recognizes me. “Tyke? What are you doing here, man?”

My brow furrows instantly. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Lou’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but he quickly closes it and shakes his head. “You’re right. Forget I said anything.”

I clap him on the back as I pass by. “All right. Catch you later.”

I shove my hands deep into my pockets as I keep pushing forward, thinking about how odd Lou’s reaction to seeing me was. I mean, why wouldn’t I be here? We have a fucking show to do. He’s obviously been smokin’ something.

The rumble of Gabby’s voice blasts through the arena. “You guys have been an awesome fucking crowd! Thanks for coming out early to hear our set. I need beer money, so make sure you pick up our newest record and buy a goddamn T-shirt out front.” There’s a roar of support from the fans. “Give it up for Black Falcon! They’re about to come out and rock your faces off. You assholes will love that shit! We are Sex Arsenal! Goodnight!”

After a couple thumps on the bass drum, the only noise left is the hum of the buzzing crowd. It won’t be long until we take the stage, so this little talk with the boys will have to wait until our set is over.

I begin tapping out the beat to “Ball Busting Bitch” with my thumbs which are still wedged in my pockets. Even though that’s one song I didn’t write, I still love it. It’s the song that put us over the top, and I’ll be forever grateful to it for our success.

I nod my head to the melody repeating in my brain, but the moment I round the corner and my gaze falls on the guys with Sergio Alvarez from Embrace the Darkness, the song drops out of my mind.

What the ever-lovin’ fuck? We hate those douchebags. Since when did we decide to get fucking chummy with their bass player? I don’t know the guy personally, but if he’s in Embrace the Darkness, then he’s got to be just as big of an asshole as Donovan and Striker.

I lift my chin and head straight for them, determined to get to the bottom of this.

Noel elbows Riff, who is busy explaining chords of some sort to Sergio while Trip looks on with a frown on his face. After Noel spots me, he nods to Trip who finally notices me, too. I hate this tension between us. I’ll be glad when we squash all this later tonight and shit
finally
gets back to normal.

“What’s up, guys?” I meet each one of their stares a little longer than necessary, but I’m trying to get a read on the situation.

“Sergio.” Even I can hear the tension in my voice as I greet him with uncertainty, trying to figure out why he’s here, since his band isn’t on this tour with us.

Sergio’s mouth twists as his eyebrows shoot up like he’s surprised to see me. He looks to Riff, who only shrugs at him, before he says, “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

Sergio rotates the strap on his shoulder, sliding his bass onto his back before walking away. I turn back to the guys and Noel runs his hand through his hair while Riff pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing my attention to his crazy Mohawk. I know these moves; both of them revert to their nervous tics when they are frustrated and don’t know how to handle it. I swing my gaze over to my brother, who grabs the bill of his baseball cap and adjusts it so it’s covering most of his jet-black hair.

I fold my arms over my chest. “All right, fucking out with it. What aren’t you telling me?”

Trip puffs his cheeks and blows a rush of air out through pursed lips. “We just didn’t expect you to show up, that’s all.”

I scrunch my brow. “Where else would I be? We have a show—of course I’m going to be here.”

My twin licks his lips carefully and then swallows. “The thing is, Tyke, we thought we were pretty clear earlier—”

I don’t even give him a chance to finish. “You mean about throwing me out of the band?” I wave him off dismissively. “You guys were pissed, and I get why you said it, but we can sort all that out after the show. I’ve already forgiven you guys.”

They exchange expressions bordering on surprise and sadness.

“Look, Tyke, we—”

My brother throws a hand out to stop Riff from saying anything else.

“Let me,” Trip says, turning to me. “Tyke, we love you, man, but you need help. I know you believe you have a handle on all this partying you’re doing, that you’re in complete control, but the truth is you don’t, and you aren’t. I’m not sure what’s going on with you because you won’t talk to me—or any of us—but whatever it is, you need to figure it out.”

I don’t know whether to be excited that we’ve finally come to a point where a discussion about this band and my issues with what’s happened to it is finally going to happen, or to get pissed that my own brother can’t tell that I don’t have addiction issues. I’m in complete fucking control.

“I’m so glad that you’ve finally seen there’s a huge problem with the dynamics of the band and are ready to fix them. After we play tonight, I’d love to sit down and talk about adding more dates to the tour.”

“No, Tyke.” Trip shakes his head. “We’ve tried talking with you before, and no matter what we say to you, I know you aren’t going to stop partying.”

I roll my eyes. “I can stop any time I want. I just choose not to. I don’t see what that has to do with the band.”

“We can’t have you with us while you’re using,” Noel chimes in. “I know more than anyone how easy it is to get out of control. If it weren’t for you guys being by my side while I went to rehab—”

“Jesus Christ, are you fucking serious?
Rehab
? I don’t need fucking rehab.” Just where in the fuck do they get off? I’ve never been as bad as Noel was. Okay, so maybe I missed a few shows where he never did when he was using, but it was only a few times.

I scrub my hands down my face. This is so fucking stupid, but I know they won’t let me get out of rehab if they’ve made up their minds that I need treatment, so I might as well give in and get this over with.

“Fine. You want me to go to rehab? I’ll go as soon as we wrap up the tour.”

Trip takes a step toward me and starts to put his hand on my shoulder but hesitates, then shoves it back into his pocket. “You can’t wait until after the tour, Tyke.”

“Of course I can.”

He shakes his head. “No, you can’t. You can’t resist Gabby, and she’s on the rest of the tour with us. We think it’s best if you went now.”

“Now?” I question. “But, who will—” I stop myself because I don’t even need to ask the question. I’ve already figured out the answer. “You assholes already replaced me? Before I get a fucking say?
Sergio Alvarez
? You’ve got to kidding me. He couldn’t hold a fucking candle to me on his best day.”

“Come on, man. Don’t be a dick,” Riff says. “Sergio’s a good dude.”

I lick the corner of my mouth. “A good dude, huh?”

Just because someone’s a nice person, it doesn’t mean they’ll work in the band. These assholes will find out soon enough that I’m not replaceable. Hell, I’m going to teach them a lesson. Leave them high and dry, not giving them the satisfaction of kicking me out.

“You know what? You don’t have to worry about me anymore because I fucking quit. Have fun keeping this piece of shit band together without me because none of you will put in the work like I do.”

I turn and head away from them, listening for them to call my name and beg me to stay and work things out, but it never comes. I sigh and shake my head. Before long, they’ll be begging for me to come back. It’s only a matter of time.

The rest of the night is a hazy blur…

Going to a bar downtown with Lou…

Music…

Women…

Lots of women…

An assortment of pills…

A bottle of Jim Beam…

Getting behind the wheel of the Escalade I borrowed from Kyle. Driving down the road, drinking straight from the bottle, wondering how my life got so fucked up. Feeling lost. Unwanted, and unloved.

Seeing a concrete wall blocking a housing development and thinking it would be better if I weren’t around anymore. After all, who would fucking miss me?

The last thing I remember is mashing the gas pedal to the floor.

Unlatching my seatbelt...

Then...nothing.

“Mad World” – Gary Jules