by Kacey Shea
“Seriously, you don’t understand what it’s like to listen to those two go at it every night.” Austin points and Lexi pulls away from my touch.
“Damn it, Austin, I told you guys to use headphones,” I say.
“You could hear us?” Lexi covers her face with her hands. “Oh, God.”
“Yeah, and you sounded just like that. On repeat.” A chuckle leaves Sean’s lips.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! Yes, Trent!” Austin mimics in an exaggerated pitchy scream.
I reach for the first thing I find, a water bottle, and chuck it at him.
“Fuck!” he cries when it smacks his chest.
“Fine!” Bedo shouts. “Two weeks off. Then you’re in the studio. It’s only one single. Shouldn’t take you too long. But there’s one other thing . . .”
There’s a collective groan because Bedo’s not smiling at all this time, and I’m not sure what anvil he’s got left to drop.
“The bad news.” His lips pinch together as he meets my stare. “Off Track Records wants a permanent drummer. I’ve been putting off the issue for months, but they’re done waiting. We need to make a decision.”
Austin groans. “Dude. That’s major. Even if we start looking now, it basically eats up our entire break.”
“I booked a trip to Maui.” Sean sinks into his chair with a frown.
Austin nods. “Yeah, that’s not cool.”
“What about Iz?” I interrupt.
Bedo tilts his head. “I thought he was off the table.”
“He was, before this tour. But I think he’s more than proven himself. He might be an ugly fucker, but the man can play. I think he’s earned his place, but that’s just my opinion. Austin?”
“He’s old as fuck too, but I’m okay with that.”
“Sean?”
“He’s a good guy, even with the . . .” Sean pinches his fingers around an imaginary joint and mimes an inhale.
“That’s settled then. I’ll draft up the offer before tonight’s show.” Bedo stands and walks to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turns to narrow his gaze. “Thanks, guys. This tour might be coming to a close, but we only go up from here. We’re just getting started, I hope you realize that. Opportunity is on the horizon.” He nods once. “Bring it tonight. LA loves to rock.”
“How’s everyone feeling tonight?” I shout into the microphone. The lights beat down, the heat is thick, and I set down my Fender so I can pull my shirt off. Screams rise with the motion, and as entertaining as I find my fans’ affection for my bare chest, there’s only one woman’s attention I care about.
I glance at the guys, strap on my guitar, and speak into the mic as planned. “So, we have a special surprise for you tonight. You guys like surprises?”
My smile pulls wide at their enthusiastic applause.
“That’s what I thought. So, there’s an announcement I’d like to make, but I need a little help from our opener. Lexi Marx.” I turn, holding up a hand to shield my eyes from the stage lights. I know she’s backstage, in the wings, waiting and watching.
Turning back to the audience, I enlist their assistance. “Maybe she needs a little encouragement. Lexi Marx. Lexi Marx . . .” They take over the chant and I turn to wait. Iz taps the bass pedal to the beat, Austin calls out Lexi’s name with our fans, and Sean throws up a fist, his head rocking in time.
When those black boots and fishnets hits the stage, attached to a very annoyed glare, my smile grows so wide it hurts my face. The crew runs out and sets up a second mic next to mine. I can’t help but wrap my arms around her waist and drop a kiss on her head.
“What is this?” Lexi reaches up on her toes to shout in my ear.
“Just go with it,” I say and hold her hand, strutting back to the mics with her by my side.
Austin strums his guitar, Iz crashes the cymbal, and I use my hands to quiet the cheers of the now raucous crowd. I step up to the mic but my eyes remain fixed on my girl. “So, we met Lexi at the beginning of this tour. I’ll go on record that she’s the first chick singer I’ve ever dug. And that has nothing to do with the rumors we’re dating.”
She rolls her eyes and the crowd cheers louder.
“Because we are. Dating. And I love this woman so damn hard, I want everyone to know it. The guys and I came up with a little surprise. A way to say thank you for putting up with our shit this entire tour. For letting me in when I know you’d rather not. For being the best thing in my life. For turning me into some lovesick fool when I used to be immune. For loving me back the way I love you.”
Iz bangs his sticks together and counts us off. Austin and Sean join in with the recognizable melody. We grunge it up, because we’re Three Ugly Guys and that’s what we do, but Richard Marx has nothing on this performance.
The words leave my mouth, filled with everything I am, and Lexi’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as I sing to her with a promise I’ll never break. When we get to the chorus, she smiles and even sings along. With everything I am I belt out the guarantee that wherever she goes, and whatever she does, I’ll always be waiting for her. She could break my heart, say anything and try to push me away. I’ll always be hers. This eighties rock ballad, however cheesy some might think, perfectly echoes my feelings for her.
Her eyes widen and blink with every word. I know she won’t cry before an audience, but she wants to. Not because she’s sad or even scared, but because she feels this too. Every time my heart beats, it beats for her. She’s my world tour, my greatest award, better than any bestselling album or performance. I never intended to fall in love. I never wished for this, but Lexi turned my best laid plans upside down. She showed me when life gets off track, sometimes a little detour is all it takes to set things right.
Thank you for reading Trent and Lexi’s story! Continue on to watch Sean discover his happily ever after.
38
Sean
Sweat gathers on my brow and my stomach drops as if it’s the first time I’m about to play for an audience. Never mind ten years on the road, an international tour, and a set at every festival under the sun. I’m a bona fide rock star but my palms are sweatier than a virgin’s on prom night. Not that I’d know anything about that. I didn’t even go to my prom.
This is it. The big time. We’re playing the fucking Grammy’s, baby!
“Five minutes!” Some assistant shouts through the backstage chaos, as if we weren’t counting down the seconds before our time in the spotlight. The words barely register over my nerves and the cacophony of movement between commercial breaks. The show’s an orchestration of madness like I’ve never witnessed before.
Not only that, but we’re up for two awards: Best Rock Single, and Album of the Year, which is a fucking long shot. The show’s only half over but we’re waiting, not so patiently, until Three Ugly Guys can take the stage for a duet with the latest solo rock sensation, Lexi Marx. She’s the daughter of rock legend Richie Sands who passed a few months ago, but more importantly, she’s dating one of my best friends who also happens to be the lead singer of our band. Trent and Lexi are so damn happy and if she weren’t practically a sister, I might be jealous.
Adjusting my in-ear mic for maybe the thousandth time, I try to keep the jitters at bay. I’m not a front man but it doesn’t matter the size of the crowd or the levity of the stage, after all these years I still battle the burst of anxiety that erupts from stepping into the limelight. Today’s opportunity is filled with more than the norm. The pre-party drinks at the house and the shots we downed in the limo held my worries at bay. Or they did until this moment.
“Three minutes. Please come this way.” A girl dressed in all black with a staff badge waves for us to follow her to one of the two stage entrances. Trent and Lexi go hand in hand, the rock music power couple they are, as if this were any other show or they were headed out to breakfast.
“Fuck, Sean! Fucking Grammy’s!” Austin slurs through a loopy smile as he pushes off the wall and slaps my back too hard. I’d like to s
lap him back, but I’m certain that’d knock him over in his current state of inebriation. His body sways and he reaches out to use a pretty blonde for balance. By the wide smile on her face she’s thrilled to oblige.
“You ready, Iz?” I stand and give my black shirt and black jeans a final brush off. I’ve never put much effort into my stage outfit since most days we toss our shirts into the crowd after our opening song, but for this, like other big events, our label brings in a stylist. They decided I’d play the dark horse, all black everything to match my dark eyes and mood. The media loves my stewing bad boy persona. I admittedly don’t smile all the time, but it’s not ’cause I’m pissed at the world or struggling with inner turmoil, it’s just my face.
Ever since the paparazzi caught photos of Lex and me “together” they’ve had a plethora of theories as to why I’m so angry. Their favorite lie being that I hold unrequited feelings for Lexi, and that Trent stole her from me. Don’t get me wrong, Lexi’s gorgeous, witty, and a kickass woman. And yeah, the first time we met I wanted to get with her, but as soon as it was clear she only had feelings for Trent, and him for her, any lustful desire toward her was forever crushed. I don’t covet something that’s not mine, and I’d never go after one of my bandmates’ girls. Which only makes the media’s interpretation all the more hilarious. They can write whatever they want. Hell, they do anyway.
“Iz?” I repeat and this time give his shoulder a little shake.
With amber shades covering his perpetually bloodshot eyes I can’t make out his exact expression, but the fact he doesn’t even attempt a move to stand troubles me. He’s high all the time, but he gets things done on-stage. Or at least he has been over the past year. As for being nervous, this isn’t his first time at the Grammy’s; he told us earlier he worked backstage in his younger years, back before he toured as a roadie for Whitesnake. Iz is older than all of those guys, too. We’ve never asked his exact age, but he’s gotta be well over sixty. He was our roadie for a while, but stepped up to play drums when we needed him.
“Sean! Iz! Let’s go!” Trent’s eyes are wide as he shouts from across the room. A roadie waits with my Fender and the woman in charge of this entire show frantically points at the stage.
“We’ve gotta play, man. Pull yourself together.” I loop my arm around his back and under his armpit to hoist him to his feet. My dedication to fitness comes in handy at this moment because as tall and scrawny as he appears, Iz isn’t light. Not when his feet don’t move, and his head lolls onto my shoulder. “Come on, Iz! Walk, man,” I say into his ear, but I don’t slow down or wait while I drag him across the busy room.
We gather more than a few side stares, but I don’t have time to give a fuck. In fact, I’m not even careful with his body in hopes that all the jostling will wake his ass up.
“What the fuck?” Trent’s eyes widen with concern.
“That can’t be good.” Austin’s words roll together and he laughs.
Lexi rushes to my side and lifts Iz’s face between her hands. “Iz, wake up! We need you. Nap time is over.”
Maybe it’s the fire in her voice, or the fact she’s a woman, but it’s enough to bring Iz back to consciousness. He pats my back and mumbles something incoherent as he steps to my left.
I take my guitar from the sound crew and loop the strap around my shoulder. “Thanks, man.” I bump up my chin in a nod, and slap out a quick riff to work the nerves from my fingers.
“I need you onstage. Now!” The woman in charge points past the curtains that divide this space from the big show onstage. “Go, go, go!” She whispers a shout into her mic as we pass her on the way to the side stage. We practiced all of this yesterday, from the placement spots to stand on to which cameras to rock out to. Lexi takes her place opposite Trent up front, and Austin jogs to the far side of me, but my attention’s distracted by Iz. He climbs behind the drum set, but almost slides off the seat before he catches himself on the snare.
“Iz? You feeling okay, man?” I ask, though it’s clear he’s pretty messed up.
He lifts his chin, his head lobbing twice before his shades focus my way and he gives a thumbs up. The audio from the main stage pipes into my ear, the short introduction, and before I can turn toward the crowd, the curtains swish open.
Austin wails on his guitar, a killer riff that intros into our most played song of last year. It’s the same one up for Single of the Year. Now it’s Iz’s turn to pick up the beat, take over the song, and lead us through a jam we could all play in our sleep. Good thing, too. Because we’re live and on national television. Only where Iz is supposed to crash in with a cymbal, there’s a different sort of clatter. The audience of industry professionals erupts in an audible gasp and I spin in time to witness Iz tumble over the side of his bass drum, off the riser his set’s on, and slam to the ground.
“Shit!” Austin exclaims into his mic before the audio team can cut him off. I don’t wait for Lexi and Trent to react. I’m running straight over to the man who has become not only a band member but a friend.
“Iz. Iz!” His name rolls from my mouth and I sling my guitar onto my back as I fall to my knees. I’m afraid to touch him. Not exactly sure what’s going on, but before I can think what to do, there’s a team of paramedics surrounding his crumpled body, rolling him to his side as his limbs jerk with a convulsion that steals whatever’s left of my composure.
“Iz, it’s gonna be all right. They’re gonna take care of you.” The words don’t even sound like my own, but my lips move anyway.
“Sir. We need to work here.” One of the medics taps me on the shoulder and it’s only then I lift my gaze to find they’ve closed the curtains to the audience. Lexi grips Trent’s arm as he holds her in front of him, and Austin just shakes his head. I don’t understand how they’re so far away when Iz needs help.
“Sir. I’m sorry, but we need space. We need you to move,” another medic demands.
I’m horrified, glancing down to Iz’s jaw slack and eyes dilated so wide he doesn’t even look human. Or alive.
Strong hands grip my shoulders and my first instinct is to shove them away. “Sean,” Trent’s voice pulls my stare away from Iz. The fear in Trent’s gaze mirrors what must be in my own. “He needs help. Let’s get out of the way. Let them do their job.”
I nod and with Trent’s assistance I get my body and mind to cooperate enough to move to the side. We circle the medics at a distance, and our manager Bedo joins us, along with one of the publicists from Off Track Records. It feels like eternity but it’s only a few minutes before they’re rolling Iz off the stage strapped to a stretcher and toward the nearest hospital.
Bedo ushers us to a far backstage corner. His lips pinch with irritation and the scowl he wears when we’ve really fucked up. Which I guess we have. Three Ugly Guys just caused a major disruption to the largest televised music event in the industry. I should care. I’m sure this doesn’t bode well for us or the future of our band, but I can’t get the image of Iz out of my mind’s eye as he practically rolled over his drum set before crumpling to the ground.
“We need to go to the hospital,” I blurt and Bedo glares, pushing us all forward until we’re safely tucked in a corner away from prying eyes and listening ears.
“Mics off? Headsets.” He holds out his hand and waits until we unhook and return the equipment that took makeup and wardrobe almost an hour to expertly hide. “You!” He shouts to some poor stage hand, and piles it all into his hands. “Take care of this.”
The young kid only nods, his eyes wide when he takes us all in. I don’t know whether he’s starstruck or the news of what happened onstage has made us a freak show.
“Thank you,” Lexi says, and that finally snaps him out of his stare. He rushes back to whatever task he was doing.
“Tell me right now. What was he on?” Bedo’s hard gaze meets each of ours.
“On?” Austin shakes his head and laughs though it holds no humor. “What wasn’t he on?”
“This is
n’t funny. You all were center stage. The biggest fucking opportunity of your careers and you pissed all over it. We worked so damn hard for this, and after what just happened . . . you’ve got jokes?” Bedo’s face heats with his words, and the blotches of red on his cheeks match the fine linen square kerchief tucked in the pocket of his white tux.
“I’m not laughing because it’s funny. It’s not. But you know as well as we do that Iz smokes whatever the hell he wants. We don’t keep track.”
“You all knew he was lit before taking the stage tonight? You didn’t think to warn me?”
I glance around and find the exact spot Iz wouldn’t get up on his own before we were called onstage to perform. He’s high all the time, sure, but that wasn’t normal behavior. Should I have said something? I knew he was off. Guilt, heavy and unnerving, settles in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“He does it all the time! Why would we think anything of it?” Trent says. His tone grows and matches Bedo’s irritation. “Maybe you should have been backstage with us, managing our band instead of enjoying the fucking show. Maybe you could have stopped this.”
“Trent!” Lexi scolds and shakes her head. “We’re all upset right now, but this isn’t anyone’s fault.”
“She’s right. We need to concentrate on Iz. Let’s go.” Austin moves toward the back door but Bedo holds out an arm to stop him.
“Hold up. You’re not going anywhere. Not until we decide how we’re going to handle the press.”
“Our friend is fighting for his life and you’re concerned about how it looks? Fuck this shit. I’m going to the hospital. You all can figure out how you want to spin it without me,” Austin challenges and walks past Bedo without a second glance.
“This is bigger than you think,” Bedo calls out, but I’m not sure whether that’s more for him or us. I don’t wait to stick around.