by Emme Rollins
He'd been watching. He spoiled it. I couldn't be with Kent again until this problem was well and truly handled and I couldn't stand the thought that it might not be handled by the end of tonight.
On the other hand, I knew Kent had probably made Jason sign something huge and legally binding. That was his thing, after all. One way or another, the Jason thing would be over after tonight.
I just hoped Jason's career wouldn't suddenly take off. I couldn't think of a person who deserved it less.
Again my nerves spiked and I leaned in to Kent.
“Relax, Rebecca,” he said. “We'll take care of this. You don't have to do a thing.”
A knock on the door drew my attention. A guy I recognized as one of the pit crew stuck his head in. “Excuse me,” he said, “but the opener is about to go on stage, and they wanted to drop in first.”
The opener. Jason's band. Fuuuuuck me.
“Of course,” Kent said. “Show them in.”
My whole body went cold and still. I barely heard Kent say, “Relax,” but I felt his warm arm tighten around me, a reassuring squeeze. I licked my dry lips and tried to nod even though I felt vaguely sea sick.
The door closed, and not a minute later it opened again, and in trooped Sweet Lobotomy.
First came Jason. Of course. He was the lead singer and guitarist, he loved to be up front with everything. He strolled into the room, giving us all a once over. I knew he wouldn't have told anyone about his public humiliation in the hotel lobby, but the fact that he'd managed to get one over on us gave his smile a smugness that I wished I could punch out of him. He nodded to each of us, though he skipped over Sonya, and when his eyes met mine he grinned.
Behind him followed Ricky the drummer and Sean the bassist. I didn't know them very well since Jason was the only constant member of the band; he'd been through at least two drummers and several bassists since the band's conception, and he'd stopped inviting me to rehearsals long before I got to know Ricky and Sean. Mostly I knew them from parties where they would do blow and get incredibly fucked up. They were both spineless burnouts that let Jason shove them around, and I suspected now that when Jason had stolen from our friends and blamed it on me, that he had been buying drugs for himself and then dealing to the rest of his band.
Not that I was much better than them. Just breathing the same air as Jason made me feel like I was falling backwards in time, spiraling back down to the days when I worked myself to the bone to keep us in food while he fucked around and stole money and pumped himself full of toxic chemicals.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that things were different. That Carter and Manny and Sonya were my friends. That Kent was next to me, a warm weight in the world, anchoring me in the here and now.
I clenched my fists in my lap, and I saw Jason take me in. His grin grew wider. He'd come to lord it over me.
He turned to the band and leaned forward, extending his hand to shake toward Carter, who was sitting nearest to him. “Hey guys!” he said, chipper and cheerful as though this were the first time we were all meeting. “Great to meet you. I'm Jason Davis.”
Carter looked at the proffered hand as though he'd never seen anything like it before.
After an uncomfortable silence, Jason cleared his throat and pulled back. “Anyway,” he said. “This is Sean, and that's Ricky. We wanted to drop by and thank you for this opportunity.”
My teeth clenched. As if he'd earned this opportunity. As if we were giving it to him of his own free will. The worst thing about Jason was that he probably thought that he had earned it.
Then Manny laughed. “Oh, it's no trouble. Are you guys ready?”
Ricky gave him a little nervous smile. “Been waiting our whole lives for this opportunity.”
“Well,” Manny said, “don't you worry too much about it.”
Jason's band exchanged quick glances. “Uh,” Ricky said. “Worry too much about what?”
Manny raised his brows. “The press,” he said. “Everyone's out to rip us a new one. People love a winner, and they love to watch a winner fall, too. Got like five or six of the harshest bloggers out there looking for mistakes.” He waved the drink in his hand. “Don't worry about that, though. They probably won't notice you.”
A small, awkward silence reigned. “Oh,” Ricky said. “Thanks?”
“Don't mention it.”
Jason cleared his throat again. “Well, thanks for having us,” he said, and took a step back, but Sonya stood up and pointed at Sean. “Sorry,” she said. “Which one are you?”
He licked his lips nervously. I didn't blame him. Sonya looked magnificent. “Er, Sean. I play the bass.” He gave her a big smile.
She looked him up and down. “Oh,” she said. Then she sat back down, pulled out her phone and started texting.
“I think we'll be getting ready then—” Jason started.
“Have you ever played such a large venue before?” Carter asked. His eyes were wide, all innocence.
Ricky shook his head, staring around the room as though he thought he were dreaming. “No, never.”
“Oh, well then can we give you some advice?”
Ricky and Sean nodded. Jason's smile was going a little glassy.
“Okay, well, the first time at a place like this, you might get stuff thrown at you,” Carter told them. “Like, I don't know, ice, shoes. Someone threw a shoe at me once and gave me a bloody nose.”
“Oh god, yeah,” Manny said. “You hear about the panties, but you never hear about the glass tumblers when someone's had too much to drink. Had to have five stitches in my scalp because of one of those.”
Ricky's hands twitched. “Oh,” he said. “Does that happen often?”
“All the time,” Manny told him. “The best is when you can tell the crowd is slipping away. It takes just one wrong note and they'll turn on you like dogs. It blows. Oh, hey, you guys want something to drink before you go out? Loosen yourselves up a little bit?”
“Yes!” Sean and Ricky said together.
Manny smiled and leaned over, opening the little minifridge that sat next to his couch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled vodka, poured out two large plastic cups full of vodka, and passed it over to the band. “What about you?” he asked Jason. “You want some? It's smooth, none of that furniture stripping shit.”
“No,” Jason said. “I think we need to go warm up, not get too much to drink...”
But of course it was too late. I don't think I've ever seen anyone try to shotgun an entire red plastic cup full of vodka, but Sean and Ricky sure did give it the old college try. They were only able to finish half the cup before handing them back, spluttering and coughing.
“Thanks,” Sean said through the tears. “That'll help.”
“Help what?” Carter asked. “You're not nervous, are you?”
“No,” Jason said quickly.
“I am, Ricky said.
Carter frowned. “Well, try not to be nervous. If you're nervous you're probably not ready for the big time. Are you sure you want to do this? You've practiced enough?”
Ricky looked sick.
“Because you don't have to do it if you don't think you're ready.” Carter's voice was all concern and thoughtfulness. Everything about his demeanor suggested that he was only concerned for the welfare and future of Sweet Lobotomy. He was going to make his mark on the acting world someday.
Then Sonya looked up from her phone. “Wait,” she said. “Is this the opener?”
“Yes,” Carter told her.
“Oh,” she said, and laughed.
Jason's face was growing darker and darker. “Yes, well, thanks for your advice,” he said, the words coming out in a rush as he glared blue murder at Sonya. She didn't even spare him a glance, just went back to texting.
I watched all of this, first with dread, then with a sick, growing fascination. This was psychological warfare, blatant and yet still completely effective.
“We'll be going now,” Jason continued. “See
you onstage.”
“Break a leg,” Manny said. “Or your skull, I dunno.” He gave a cheery wave and Carter laughed as though Manny had just made a funny joke.
Sean and Ricky laughed hollowly, and then Sweet Lobotomy left the room.
Silence descended. Then Manny giggled.
“Well, that's the best I could do,” he said. “With any luck one of them will piss themselves on stage.”
“Jesus,” I said. “I'm nervous and I'm not going on stage.”
“I wouldn't count on that,” Kent said. “Would you like to go out and watch?”
“Should I?”
He smiled down at me, a devastating, devilish grin. “I think you should.”
He stood up and helped me to my feet, then led me into the hall. Together we wound through the cold, white, corridors of the backstage area before reaching a dingy door. Kent pulled me through it and into the club proper.
I was certain we'd be noticed. Kent was not the sort of guy who went incognito easily, but to my shock no one looked twice at him and I realized that no one would be expecting to see him in the crowd at his own concert. Besides, the inside of the Snake Pit was so dim and dark that I could barely tell who he was, and I was holding his damn hand.
We circled around the back of the crowd, as unobtrusively as possible, before Kent found a spot against one of the pillars holding up the roof that remained unoccupied. Leaning against it, he pulled me to him, dragging my body into the cradle of his own, curving around me. My ass pressed against his crotch, and as we stood there in the dark, waiting for the show to start, he ran his hands over my body with a lazy, deliberate air, and I felt him begin to harden against my backside.
My breathing picked up. We were out in the open, out in public, and yet shrouded in anonymity. Rough fingers slid under the hem of my shirt and skated over the skin of my stomach, dipping into the waistband of my jeans. My back arched, pressing my ass against his erection, and he leaned down and hissed in my ear.
“If you don't stop that, I'm going to take you out back and fuck you in the alleyway, and you'll miss the whole show.” His hot breath sent shivers down my spine.
My knees turned to jelly and the space between my legs ached. It occurred to me that I would probably prefer that outcome.
I circled my hips, grinding into him.
Behind me, his body rippled, thrusting against me, and I felt more than heard his groan as on the stage, Sweet Lobotomy filed out and picked up their instruments.
Even the sight of Jason couldn't destroy the hot, crawling desire clawing through my body. Kent's teeth were at the crook of my throat, scraping over the sensitive skin, and my brain was fogging over, blocking out everything that was happening outside of the circle of his arms.
His mouth traveled up to my ear and he bit my earlobe, hard. “Pay attention,” he said. “You won't want to miss this.”
I wanted to say it was hard to pay attention to anything that was not Kent Hudson at that moment, but his hand stealing up to cup my breast sort of divided my attention. I was still shocked we hadn't been noticed, but all eyes—most of them tipsy—were riveted to the stage.
The first thing I noticed was that Ricky didn't look so hot. His face was pale as a sheet of paper and had a waxy sheen to it. Sean was looking the same way, except slightly worse. He stumbled and moved like an old man. Only Jason exuded confidence and star power. I prayed they would see through him. Star power can make people forgive a lot.
Jason leaned into the mic as he adjusted his guitar around his neck. “Hey there, San Diego,” he said. “Good to see you guys. We're Sweet Lobotomy, and we are here to rock your world!”
The crowd sort of milled about and didn't pay attention.
Oh god, I thought. Please don't do this.
But Jason seemed perfectly content to play the role of rock star rather than the role of lover who had to prove himself. He started noodling on his guitar before Sean even had his bass on, and Ricky sat at the drums looking confused.
Music picked up. The same music I'd heard him practicing for the entire time I'd known him. It was astonishing how little he had changed it or altered it in the past few years. I knew it by heart, too, or the first few bars anyway: it was the song that was the ringtone on my phone. I couldn't even remember the name now, it had changed so many times.
Of course he would choose that song. The worst song. I hated it so much. I prayed that the set would be over quickly.
The crowd stood fairly still, some of them watching the stage, others talking, but gradually the noise died down to a soft little susurrus of whispers as Jason wandered on, through the long, winding intro. People started getting anxious, waiting for the song to start.
Then Jason began to sing.
I felt it. The shift in the crowd. The subtle tipping of the scales. And it was not in Jason's favor.
I'm the first to admit I don't really know much about music, but I have never, ever been a fan of Jason's band, even though I swore up and down that his songs could be world changing—privately I felt that world-changing could also mean world-destroying. Destruction is a change, right?
But now in the middle of the restless crowd, I suddenly had the feeling that maybe I didn't know as little about music as I thought I did.
Off to my left someone was openly sniggering, while over to my right two teenage girls tittered with the titillation of watching a very bad show.
Someone in the audience shouted, “Booooo!”
“All it takes is one mean drunk,” Kent whispered in my ear. “No one is here to see them, and if they aren't good...” His voice trailed off, but I knew very well how cruel crowds could be. Jason had been in front of his fair share of hostile audiences, but given Sean and Ricky's reactions, I would have bet money that they'd never performed before. Jason had burned through all the bandmates that were worth anything, and now that he was getting his chance, he had these two burnouts to back him up. I almost felt sorry for them. Almost. I knew what they were like when they were wasted.
Jason paid the crowd no mind, but Ricky's rhythm stumbled, and poor Sean's shoulders tightened and lifted.
Kent's arms were around my waist, warm and solid. I tightened my hands on his forearms as the song wandered on. I'd always told him that he needed to learn to cut things, but to Jason his music was perfect.
The crowd grew more and more restless as Jason sang. The boom of the music wasn't quite enough to drown out the murmurs, and when Sean stepped up to the microphone I braced myself.
Sean leaned in to sing the harmony in the chorus, sharing Jason's mic. They both opened their mouths wide and took deep breaths.
For the briefest moment, I fretted that the chorus would change the course of the night. That people would suddenly decide they loved Sweet Lobotomy. Blogs would give them glowing reviews, and I would be doomed to watch Jason achieve his fame and fortune.
And I was on the verge of a full blown meltdown when Sean chose that moment to open his mouth, make a little hurk! sound into the microphone, and then blow chunks all over Jason's face.
The music came to a grinding halt—except for Ricky, running the drums and off in his own little world.
A collective gasp came up from the audience. Then someone started laughing. Another person joined in, and another and another and another...
Laughing at him.
I knew Jason. His pride was the most important thing to him. Watching his eyes grow wide and wounded as the crowd began to boo and hiss.
“Get off the stage!” someone yelled at him.
Looking around, he couldn't seem to find an exit, or even a towel to dry off with.
Sean leaned over the side of the stage and puked again. The crowd screeched and surged backwards, while Jason howled with rage and tackled Sean, fists flying.
Before I knew it, Kent had flipped us around, pressing me back against the column and shielding me with his body. He towered over me, and my whole body responded in a way that was incredibly inappropriate gi
ven the near-riot happening around us. I just wanted to climb him like a tree, twine my arms around his neck and slide him deep inside me. I wanted to reach up and pull him down into me. My whole body burned with desire at his protective stance, and my heart beat a hundred miles a minute.
He leaned down and spoke in my ear over the roar of the crowd. “We should get backstage,” he said. He let his hands run over my breasts very briefly on the way to my hands before he pulled me through the crowd. We reached the Employees Only door just before the lights went up in the house.
We'd no sooner reached the safety of backstage than a commotion pulled our attention over to the wings behind the stage entrance. Jason was shouting. I watched in a trance as one of the pit crew pulled his struggling, kicking body off the stage and toward the back.
“Chill out, man, just chill out,” the crewman was saying, but Jason was having none of it. His teeth were bared, his voice ragged and hoarse, and his shirt was soaked with Sean's vomit. I could smell it from where I stood.
“Let me go, you motherfucking motherfucker!” His flailing foot caught the crewman on the knee. The poor guy grunted and went down like a brick just as Jason's eyes fell on Kent and me.
“You!” he screamed. “You bitch. You set me up. You set me up!”
And he charged right at me.
In a flash, Kent was standing in front of me, guarding me with his body. I stood there in shock; Jason had systematically destroyed my self-esteem and self-worth, but he'd never hit me. But now... now there was murder in his eyes.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jason and Kent collided, their bodies smashing into each other, and the sound made my stomach turn. Jason drew back and punched Kent in the ribs and I saw him grimace as he looped his arms around Jason's neck and put him in a headlock.
But that sort of thing doesn't stop crazy people. Jason's arms kept swinging, his fists smashing into Kent's stomach and kidneys. Kent bore it stoically, as though this were the sort of thing he dealt with all the time.
Jason is just like Kent's father, I thought. The thought came out of nowhere, and suddenly I saw how strong Kent was. Had he fought his own father? Had he fought his demons this way?