Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  Ignoring the side-eye Mosaic gives, I dab on some cologne for good measure and fill the pockets of clean black jeans with the necessaries. My thumb catches the screen of my phone as I slide it in my front pocket, highlighting the new message.

  I should head outside and organize an Uber, but instead, I’m back on the armchair like the little bitch I am, dying to know what she said.

  A: I didn’t reply straight away because I had to sit back and do my best to work out if you’re kidding or if you’re honestly that dense. I wanted to believe you’d send a reply like that because you thought it’d be funny to play dumb, but honey, you were never the brightest bulb in the pack, were you? So, I’m going with you being honest and that you really don’t know what you did to hurt me. And, if you hoped I’d spare you the trouble and explain it right now, then you’re more naive than I first thought. This isn’t a conversation I want to have over text, Emery.

  Fuck. We’ve gone full-fucking-circle.

  E: Why do you have to make it so complicated?

  A: Why can’t you see what’s right in front of your face?

  What is she talking about? All I can assume is that she’s back on the “Let’s all hate Deanna” bandwagon again. I get it; the girls don’t get along. They never did; right from the start. Who fucking cares? What’s it to her who I’m with?

  E: You made a choice when you cut me off years ago, Alice, so I don’t see how you think you have a right to judge who I’m with now.

  A: I didn’t make a choice, Emery. YOU DID. That’s what you’re too fucking blind to see.

  I get halfway through typing out a few things I probably shouldn’t say when her curt response kills any hope I had of a retort.

  A: I’ve got a career to save and fucking around talking with you doesn’t do me any favors. Goodnight and goodbye, Emery.

  Nope. I toss the phone aside and kick the coffee table with the heel of my boot for good measure, making Mosaic bolt upright. She’s carried this grudge for too fucking long. Like hell, I’m going to let another decade pass before I prove that I didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I can’t even recall what the reason was we started talking all those years ago, but I sure as fuck remember how it felt when she doused ice-water on our friendship and went radio silent.

  It fucking hurt. Here was this girl that I’d spilled my guts to; told her things nobody else knew. A chick who not only wanted to listen to my ramblings about music, but fucking understood it because she lived it too.

  I’d struck gold, with Alice, and she didn’t seem to feel the same about me.

  I drop a loaded sigh, fingers buried in my hair as I lean forward. Dismissal is fine. I’m fucking used to it. Jesus. Look up the fucking word “rejected” in the dictionary, and I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of me. But with no explanation?

  That shit grates my balls. If you can’t find the guts to front up and let me know why you don’t like me, makes you a coward in my book.

  My gaze drifts to the toes of my boots, my phone resting on the floor beside them. Should I even bother heading out for a fix? Easy answer. Yes. Yes, I do.

  The fridge is empty. I have less than half a bottle of vodka and not a thing to mix it with. There’s nothing here that makes me want to stay at home.

  Mosaic sighs heavily, his head back on his paws.

  “You know I don’t mean you.”

  He peaks his doggy eyebrows in the way that immediately makes me feel like shit on a stick.

  “Okay. Or my parents.”

  He drops his eyes with a heavy sigh.

  “Don’t do that, buddy. You ain’t being fair.”

  When he doesn’t relent, I get up and walk away. The last thing I need is a fucking dog on my case as well.

  My coping strategies might not be the healthiest but, hey, they’ve got me this far, right?

  That has to count for something.

  FOURTEEN

  Alice

  “Wild Child” – W.A.S.P.

  “My, God, you’re a hot piece of ass.”

  Tilting my head, I stare out at Jasper from beneath my lashes. “Really?” Three weeks on tour with them and he has not let up trying to get me into his bed—once.

  The six-foot-two slice of Heaven tugs one side of his bottom lip between pearly-white teeth. “Mm-hmm.” Hungry eyes devour my choice of outfit in the half-light of the side stage.

  An a-symmetrical crop top detailed with strategic strips of leather that give the goods a boost. A micro-mini pleated skirt that provides plenty of glimpses of my bare ass. Two-inch platform boots that reach to my knees, laced at the front and adorned with half-inch spikes on the heel. And enough gothic-inspired jewelry to start my own shop.

  “I especially love this part.” Jasper’s pointer traces a line across the exposed swell of my breast.

  Uh-huh. The crop has inserts cut out that show slivers of side-boob.

  I felt sassy—so sue me.

  “I pity the guy,” Jasper quips, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Who said there’s a guy?” I lean down to use the small mirror tucked inside a workbox and check my side-braids.

  He checks my ass.

  “When a woman looks like a night full of sin and sacrifice, there’s always a guy.” He helps tuck a wayward strand of hair back into the faux-hawk part of my style. “You know …” More lip-biting. “I could help you forget all about him.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Jasper. You do realize your reputation is literally printed in the non-disclosure agreement we have to sign before coming on tour with you?”

  He drops an exaggerated sigh and turns away. “I know. I asked for it to be put in there.”

  “What?” I chuckle.

  He seriously chose to have a clause added explaining his sex-addiction, and that under no circumstance are we to encourage mixing business with pleasure?

  Jasper shrugs before running a hand through the side of his golden mane. “What can I say? I don’t trust myself, so I need everyone around me on board.”

  “You do realize there’s an obvious cure for your addiction?”

  His eyes widen as though I told him I have the answer to eternal youth.

  “You get a girlfriend,” I enunciate slowly, before adding, “Or a boyfriend, in your case.”

  I’m met with an unamused glare. “Ugh. If only it were that simple.”

  “Why isn’t it?” I take a step back to let a tech past.

  “Because I like variation,” he states with a toss of his hands as though it’s that simple.

  Fria picks her moment to slide into the conversation, tucking herself against his back to set her hands on his taut waist. “You should get that clause taken out, J.” With the ease of a snake, she slides around to his front, placing herself between us. “You know that I’d re-sign and sort you out in a heartbeat.”

  A purr rumbles in Jasper’s throat. “The contract becomes void when you’re not on tour anymore,” he murmurs.

  I roll my eyes and pick my moment to take leave. We have fifteen minutes until we’re on stage, which is plenty for what they want to do. Fuck my life. Knowing Jasper and his proclivities, he’d probably just bend her over and plough her right here and now.

  I’m praying that is not how this night progresses. Otherwise, I’ll be wishing for a few minutes alone with a handy tool of my own rather than an outfit I secretly hope Emery will cop an eyeful of on socials.

  I’m so damn messed up. How the hell can I be mad at someone and still want them so badly?

  Certifiable—I tell you.

  “They do know that’s, like, against the rules, right?” Shanae mutters at my shoulder.

  I sharpen my dazed eyes and look to the left to find Jasper entangled with my drummer; lips glued to her neck.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I close the gap in seconds, wrapping my hand around Fria’s arm to yank her out of his hold.

  The shocked look on their faces would be hilarious if she hadn’t already pissed me off by sleeping with an off-limits gu
y. Sure, there was no actual contract stating Emery isn’t fair game. But that’s what makes this instance so bad.

  “Get in your damn corner,” I bark, pointing to where our gear is set-up amidst Lords of London’s chaos. “We’re on in ten, for crying out loud.”

  “Sorry, mom,” Fria sasses with a head wiggle, retreating to where Shanae holds her head in one hand.

  “And you.” I spin on Jasper. “You might be the star of this show, mister, but I will not stand by and let you do whatever the fuck you want, especially when it messes with my set.”

  A wicked smile spreads across his swollen lips. “I mean it, Alice. I think I’m in love with you.” He clutches both palms to his chest. “You’re the perfect woman, you know that?”

  “Perfect because I refuse to succumb to your charms,” I mutter, heading for the girls.

  He reaches out and manages to slap me on the ass before exiting toward the dressing rooms. I have never, not once in my life, met a guy with a personality like his. For an insecure rock star, he sure manages to command the room wherever he goes.

  “You over it yet?” Fria snaps as soon as I’m in earshot.

  “Excuse me?”

  The disgust in her side-eye is only paralleled by the set of her flat lips. “I’ve had enough of you acting like my goddamn mother.”

  “Somebody has to. Otherwise, you’d either be a crack whore for a band or pregnant in some backwoods town by now.” Low, I know. But fuck it all, I’m over her shit too.

  “What the fuck makes you think you should be in charge of us, anyway?” Fria snaps.

  Shanae reaches out to set a gentle hand on her arm. “Hey. Settle down.”

  “No! I’m tired of Alice thinking this whole band revolves around her just because it’s her name in the title.”

  “If it wasn’t for Alice,” Shanae argues, “then you wouldn’t have a band to be a part of. You best remember that.”

  Fria shakes her off and steps farther into the wings to wait for her cue.

  “Don’t jeopardize your relationship with her just because you feel you need to stick up for me,” I say.

  Shanae shakes her head, still staring after Fria. “Nope. I’m done with her attitude. She has no gratitude for what she’s been given at all.”

  “We don’t know her past,” I explain. “She may have her reasons for being so thorny.”

  All Shanae and I know of our drummer, is that if we hadn’t caught her trespassing, we would have never known her talent. And she would probably still be homeless.

  “So.” My bassist grins, one eyebrow peaked. “Why the outfit?”

  “God,” I groan. “Not you too.”

  “It’s totally a guy, right?” She wiggles her brow. “As in, a guy with a name that starts with E?”

  “Emery,” I deadpan. “Just say it: Emery.”

  “Emery,” she mock orgasm moans.

  I smack her on the shoulder, making Shanae giggle.

  “It is, though, right?”

  “I hate him,” I half-lie. “And I want him to hate that he can’t have me.”

  Her eyes widen, lips tucked together. “That’s a deep line of revenge. He really hurt your feelings when he turned you down, huh?”

  “He didn’t turn me down, though,” I clarify. “That’s the issue. He fucking teased me with what was never mine to have, and that was way worse.”

  A gopher leans in between us, one ear covered with his cans. “Five minutes, ladies.”

  Shanae gives him a thumb up as he leaves and then carries on our conversation. “Why don’t you just talk to him about it? Explain why you’re upset about it.”

  “I can’t.” It’s not that easy when the feelings that created the hurt never went away.

  “Well, if you don’t, you better get used to the idea of this kind of thing”—she gestures to Fria—“happening more often.”

  I glance at our drummer’s back. “I wouldn’t care if he hadn’t shoved it in my face.”

  Shanae makes a show of checking out my clothes once more. “Clearly.”

  “It’s complicated.” I don’t expect her to understand when I haven’t told her the complete truth.

  “Because he has a girlfriend, right?” She sighs.

  Maybe she does get it.

  “So, what’s the plan? You play petty games like making him sexually frustrated—if he even sees any footage of you at all—and then what?”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. What do I expect him to do? Ditch the bitch and come crawling to my door? Unlikely considering that he had the chance to do it once before.

  “I’m pathetic, right?”

  “Nah.” She smiles, eyes on stage as the lights begin their intro for us. “You’re just love-struck.”

  “I am not in love with him.”

  “Sure.” She slings the strap of her guitar over her head and takes a step forward. “Whatever you say, boss.”

  The last change before we’re lit on stage begins, meaning I have two seconds to get in place. I’ve got no time to second-guess my outfit. Barely enough time to second-guess myself.

  The last show of what could possibly be our last tour. And how will I remember it?

  As a woman desperately seeking attention from a guy she let slip through her hands.

  Epic.

  FIFTEEN

  Emery

  “Heads Will Roll” – Sum 41

  “When was the last time you opened a window in here?” Mom bitches, leaning over Mosaic’s bed to crack the sash. “Have you been outdoors in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “Nope.”

  “You know,” Toby quips, watching my mom with a sly grin. “There’s this whole other world outside touring. You should try it sometime.”

  “Ha, ha.” I toss a dirty sock at him. “In here, I’m safe from Deanna. I told Mom and Dad to say I’m out if she turns up.”

  “I’d rather she didn’t show at all,” Mom grumbles, swiping up the laundry on her way out.

  “That’s low,” Toby grumbles after she’s left. “Using your parents to do your dirty work.”

  “You should have seen the nutjob,” I argue. “She went full loco on me and stalked my ass to the fucking tour bus.”

  He cocks an eyebrow as though surprised. “She showed up?”

  I shake my head. “Pinged my fuckin’ phone and asked why I hadn’t shifted for hours.”

  He hides his amusement behind one hand—poorly.

  I knew I shouldn’t have let the judgmental asshole in when he showed unannounced, but I had fuck-all chance at turning him away when it was my mom who let him up. Pitfalls of staying with your parents between tours.

  “Leaving home is over-rated, anyway,” I say, returning to our original discussion. “Especially when you can get booze delivered to the door.”

  “Jesus.” He picks up a discarded cookie bag and hurls the empty paper toward the wastebasket. “You’re a fucking mess. In every way imaginable.”

  “So, I keep being told.” He doesn’t catch my retort, too busy playing mother. “Why the fuck are you here, anyway?” He lives hours from me. I’m not even worth a day trip most of the time.

  The exact reason why Kris and I stayed in this city when Toby and Rey moved closer to our recording base: we like to be left alone to our vices.

  “I figured I’d stop in on my way home and make sure you made it back in one piece.”

  “On your way home from where?” I straighten on the sofa, dragging my ass onto the cushion properly.

  He hesitates, empty beer bottle crammed in the crook of his left arm. “I made an in-person visit to check Rey actually made it to rehab this time.”

  Fuck. Our lead singer has battled his Bipolar Disorder from the moment he was diagnosed as a teen. Several times he’d said he’d do therapy, even going as far as to pay for a private facility, but until now he’s never stuck the plan out.

  “Did he seem okay with it?” I ask quietly.

  “As okay as you can be when you’r
e checking yourself in somewhere to fix your fuckin’ head.” He sets the drained bottles down in the empty carton the table and sighs. “It’s day one, man. Let’s see how long he lasts before we start deluding ourselves into thinking it might change something.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  He found love on this tour: Rey. A little spitfire violinist who challenged his bullshit at every turn. We all thought she was the one until Rey pushed back too hard and she cut and run.

  He didn’t take it well. At all.

  “How long do we have before we need to start laying tracks again?”

  “Few weeks.” Toby’s longs legs fold as he drops his ass onto the worn leather armchair. “You got any ideas for new content?”

  I scratch the stubble growing in on my chin. “Nope. Not really.”

  There are a few progressions I’d played with on the odd quiet occasion this last tour, but nothing I could lay down for the guys to build on.

  “Why does each one get harder than the last?” our drummer groans, hands scrubbing his face.

  “Because every time we do our best, man,” I explain. “And the next time we try to outdo that. It’s almost impossible to outdo your best.”

  “It worries me, you know?” His narrowed eyes fix to mine. “How long is it until we can’t do any better? How long have we got before we’re yesterday’s news?”

  “Yeah, I get you, man.” I slump down the seat again, knees slung wide. “I figure that as long as we don’t sell out, we’ll stay regular enough.”

  “Sell out how?”

  “Change our sound too much to meet trends. Change our look.” I shrug. “Anything that doesn’t fit with who we really are at heart.”

  “Wise words,” Toby mumbles, gaze distant.

  Mosaic pads across the room, giving Toby a curious look before trekking straight past and into my waiting hand. “You should get a dog,” I muse.

  “Why?” Toby laughs.

  “Because they love you even if your music sucks.”

  He chuckles, shaking his head as he rises to his feet. His limp mohawk falls in his eyes, shielding his expression from me as he turns to continue picking up.

  “Leave it.” I pat the seat for Mosaic to get up beside me. “I’ll do it later.”