August, with his strong arm muscles, had one arm each around Damon and Ian, the poor things. Those two were the worst off. As twins, they had a lifetime of ammunition to use against each other, and seemed to relish in making the other lose.
When August and I finally made it back to our suite, the others were near passed out. They didn't notice when he snuck into my room.
"How you feeling?" he asked, closing the door behind him.
"Tipsy," I said. "But not too bad. You?"
"Same."
"I thought you were a lightweight?"
August looked vaguely uncomfortable with the question. "Guess I'm building up a tolerance," was all he said.
I crawled underneath the sheets in my tank top and panties. August hovered near the foot of the bed. I shuffled over to one side and pulled down the blankets, silently inviting him to settle next to me.
"Just to sleep," I said. "We have an early start tomorrow."
He nodded and slid in beside me.
He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight the whole night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"You're really good at that."
"I still don't know what I'm doing."
"Whatever you're doing, it's working."
August had asked me to give him another massage in the artists' lounge before his concert.
"I think you're just hoping for another heavy petting session like last time," I said.
"Am I that transparent?"
"Behave. You go on stage in less than fifteen minutes. Not to mention the guys could walk in at any time."
"Let them watch."
"Sorry, not an exhibitionist."
August chuckled. I continued the massage.
"You sure you're going to be okay tonight?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"That thing with Seth."
August stretched his arms over his head, rotating his shoulders.
"It's like I told the others. We're replacing one of the encores with a drum-off. I won't be playing for any longer than I normally would."
"But you'll be putting a lot more effort into it than usual. I know how much you want to win."
August raised an eyebrow.
"I don't want to win. I'm going to win. Seth is a kid. I'll barely have to put any effort into it at all."
Seth wasn't any more of a kid than August was, but I let him have the point.
"I know you. You're going to go all out. Just don't hurt yourself, okay?"
Someone knocked on the lounge door.
"Ten minutes," a voice called out.
August stood.
"Kiss me for good luck?"
"I thought you didn't need luck. Aren't you going to beat the pants off Seth?"
"I'm not going to beat him. I'm going destroy him."
"Don't scare the guy away from the music industry forever."
"He's the one who proposed a drum-off against me."
"At least leave him with some self-esteem intact."
"No promises."
Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to August's smirking lips. He tugged me close. His hands wandered, pressing into the small of my back, urging our hips together. I melted into his arms.
Eventually we had to part, my lips glossy from our kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face like he always did with mine.
"Have fun out there," I told him.
"Always do."
As August left for the stage, I gathered my camera equipment. I would have thought taking photos of the same concert night after night would get tiring or tedious, but there was always something new to catch, some new angle or aspect of their performance to convey.
It helped that I had more confidence in myself and my work, no longer doubting everything I did. August stopped taking more than a cursory look at my photos, taking it as a given that they were up to his standards.
I wandered around the concert hall, using my VIP pass to gain access to all kinds of restricted areas. I even crawled down underneath the stage to get shots from below. The entire stage frame shook with the heavy drum and bass, making my bones rattle.
At the start I would have worried the whole thing would come crashing down on me. Now I was blasé about it. I'd seen enough concerts now to trust the event staff and crew to know what they were doing.
The concert was nearing its end. The guys left the stage. Normally they would be getting ready for their encore. This time, the crew members scrambled to set up a second drum set for the drum-off.
I crawled back up from under the stage. I wanted to get shots of this up close.
Identical quiet, hissed voices came from the far corner.
"…can't tell him…"
"He already knows. Did you see his face as we left the stage?"
Damon and Ian were speaking in hushed tones. I continued up the stairs when I heard something that made me stop.
"You know what August's like," came Cameron's voice. "If we say anything…"
The three of them went silent. I held my breath. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I couldn't make myself walk away.
"So what do we do?" Ian asked. "It's not like he sucks or anything. He's just…"
"Not perfect anymore," Noah said. I could hear the worried frown in his voice.
I didn't know enough about music to tell whether or not August's playing sounded different. But if the other band members of Darkest Days said something was off, there was no way August couldn't hear the difference himself.
I didn't want the guys to know I'd been listening in on them, so I waited until they moved on. I wanted to speak to August, but he and Seth were already on stage, microphones in hand as they explained to the audience the change in tonight's encore.
I forced myself to concentrate on taking photos. This was an interesting one-off event that wouldn't happen again. If I didn't get photos tonight, there wouldn't be another chance. Plus, I was sure Cherry Lips would appreciate the extra publicity they'd earn by being associated with Darkest Days like this.
To my ears, Seth and August both drummed their hearts out. They improvised their playing on the fly, making up the tunes as they went along, trying to outdo each other with every passing minute. Then August let loose with an unbelievable series of drum beats, his arms a blur, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
On and on it went, furious and frenetic, until Seth had to stop, unable to keep up. He lowered his drumsticks and clapped his hands, cheering August on even as he shook his head in gracious defeat.
August hit a final, one-handed beat, a crash of symbols reverberating through the concert hall. The audience was silent for the briefest of moments before roaring their approval. He stood behind his drum set, chest heaving, brow glistening with sweat. The triumphant smirk on his lips was pure August. He knew he'd won.
I waited backstage for August to appear. I didn't know what I'd say to him. Maybe congratulate him, or ask if he was okay after that display, perhaps offer another massage. If the guys had been worried about August not performing as well as he normally did, their concerns must have been put to rest. August had been on fire.
August and Seth left the stage at the same time, with Seth clapping August on the back. Assistants quickly gathered around them, passing out water bottles and towels.
"I owe Nate a thousand bucks," Seth complained, but there was a grin on his face. He'd clearly had the time of his life out there. Just being able to play opposite August Summers must have been a dream come true.
I snapped a dozen photos of the two of them backstage before Seth gave August one last grin and hopped off to gather with the rest of his band members who were ready with both congratulations and condolences.
"You did great out there," I told August. "You were right about destroying Seth. He couldn't even keep up at the end."
August's face was obscured as he toweled off his hair, soaking up the droplets that turned the platinum a darker blond. He hung the towel around his neck, looking ba
ck at Seth.
"What do you think, did I scare him off music forever?" August asked.
"No worries. He seems to be going strong."
"I worked up a sweat out there." He watched the stage as the crew members dismantled the equipment. "I'm going to get a quick change of clothes."
"Will you need help?"
He shook his head. August turned his head towards the artist lounge, avoiding my eyes. He started to walk off. Worried, I placed a hand on his arm.
"Are you sure your shoulder isn't bothering you?"
August glanced at me. Our eyes met, my own dark to his ice-blue.
A hazy, distant blue.
I froze.
He quickly flicking his eyes away.
"I'm fine," he said.
I stood still, letting my hand fall to my side as August continued on to the artist lounge.
My heart clenched in my chest.
It couldn't have been…
But if it was…
Looking around quickly, I caught sight of Damon talking to a guitar tech. I rushed over, a lump in my gut.
"Damon." My voice shook slightly. "I think…"
Damon noticed my shaky tone. Concerned, he waved the guitar tech away, a furrow between his brows.
"What? What is it?"
I swallowed hard. I didn't want to say it. But I knew I had to.
"I think August is on drugs again."
Chapter Twenty-Three
The other guys were in the hotel room with August, chilling after the concert. We didn't have to leave until the next morning. They'd taken the time to shower and change. Performing was a workout.
Damon and I stood in the hallway outside the suite.
"What do we tell them?" I asked softly. "Do we just come out and say it?"
"We should give him a chance to tell us himself," Damon said.
"Do you think he will?"
Damon pressed his lips together, no doubt thinking of all the other times August had lied.
"Do you know what happens when people mix alcohol with opioids like Oxycodone?" he asked. "I looked it up."
"No. What are you saying?"
"We all thought August was a lightweight and got drunk easily. But maybe he was—" Damon stopped, not wanting to admit it.
"You think… all those times, he was taking drugs?" I asked slowly. "You think the drugs and alcohol mixed and messed him up?"
"Maybe. It would explain a lot." Damon growled, running his fingers through his hair, messing up the strands. "This fucking sucks. Why do we have to be the bad guys?"
My stomach roiled, distressed. It felt like a vice was squeezing my chest.
"If we don't say anything, and he has another overdose…."
Damon nodded miserably.
"I know." He blew out a breath. "Okay. Let's do this."
The two of us walked in. Ian glanced over. He raised an eyebrow.
"Someone die?" he asked. "You look so foreboding."
I looked to August. He wouldn't meet my eyes. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.
"August. Is there something you want to tell us?"
Cameron, Noah, and Ian looked between the two of us. August slowly turned his head, locking eyes with me. His were clearer now, and still that vibrant blue. The vice around my heart gripped tight, stealing my breath.
I didn't want to do this. I wanted everything to be back to normal. I wanted everything to be okay.
But it wasn't. And I couldn't pretend otherwise.
"If you don't tell them, I will," I said softly.
A slow, dawning horror spread across Ian's face as he and Damon stared at each other, like they were communicating without words.
Noah tilted his head, confused.
"What the hell is going on?" Cameron asked, sitting up straight.
August stayed silent.
I steeled myself.
"August took drugs tonight."
This time, there were no protests, no shouting. The band members stared at August, waiting for him to confirm or deny it. He didn't make them wait.
"I did," he said quietly.
"Fuck… August…" Cameron sounded dismayed, not shouting like he had in the hospital, all the fight gone out of him. "You promised."
"I tried," he said. He looked each band member in the eye, earnest and not at all repentant. "I tried to go without. And you all saw what happened. You heard me out there tonight."
The twins eyed each other. Cameron ran his hands through his hair, revealing sad, dark blue eyes. Noah cast his gaze down, not meeting August's.
We all knew what he was talking about.
Perfect August Summers wasn't so perfect any more.
And to him, that was intolerable.
"You were fine tonight," Cameron said. "No one noticed."
"You noticed," he accused.
"The audience didn't notice. The opening acts didn't notice. You were fine," Damon stressed.
"Fine isn't good enough," he said stubbornly.
The guys looked at each other helplessly.
"This doesn't have to be a big deal," August continued when no one spoke. "It's not like I'm snorting coke or shooting up heroin."
Cameron and Noah shared a glance. They looked hesitant to say anything. Ian's expression was pained.
Damon growled in frustration.
"You're abusing drugs," he said. "It doesn't matter what kind."
"I'm not an addict."
"Right. So you can stop any time you want to. That's what they all say."
"I could," August agreed. "But I won't."
Damon stared him down. August met his gaze head on, not blinking.
"So you're going to keep taking drugs?" Damon asked. "You're not going to stop?"
"No."
"Then you're out."
August froze.
"What—!" Cameron exploded, jumping from the sofa, cushions falling to the floor.
"I'm not going to sit here and watch you do this to yourself," Damon spoke to August alone. "Someday you're going to kill yourself or push yourself too hard, ruin your shoulder and never be able to play again."
August's blank expression turned almost confused, before the corner of his lips twitched up.
"You can't kick me out," he said. "I created Darkest Days."
"Says who?" Damon challenged. "We all had a hand in making this band what it is. If we say you're out, you're out."
August's eyes narrowed darkly.
"Damon, wait." Cameron held his hand out. "Let's not do something stupid."
"The only one doing something stupid is this idiot over here," Damon retorted. He looked to Ian and Noah. "You guys want to back me up on this?"
Noah nodded reluctantly.
Ian looked even more hesitant. He didn't nod yes or no.
"Are we sure this is the best way to deal with this?" Cameron asked, looking at each of the guys. "We can't just kick August out of the band."
"What if he keeps on using and ends up hurting himself even worse?" Damon argued. "What if he gets so high he overworks himself and injures his shoulder permanently? What if he takes too much again and has another overdose?"
"I won't," August interrupted.
Damon glared at him.
"You almost fucking died. You think any of us want to watch that happen again?"
August opened his mouth to speak.
"No. I'll ask one more time," Damon cut him off. "Are you going to stop with the drugs?"
August's eyes were pained.
"I can't," he said softly. "If I stop…" He swallowed hard. "Damon, I can't…"
"Then you don't leave us any choice."
I could tell Damon was trying to keep his tone level and reasonable, but it still shook slightly. His fingers trembled. He clenched his fist to cover it. Even he wasn't unaffected by all the emotions flying through the room.
"If you think you need to take drugs to keep playing, then there's only one solution." Damon looked around the room. "I'm calling a vote.
Is August in or out?"
"Damon, you can't—" Cameron protested.
"In. Or. Out?"
Cameron clamped his mouth shut, looking away.
"Out," Noah said. "I'm sorry August. Damon is right. If you hurt yourself, we'll never forgive ourselves."
August sat silent.
"Ian?" Damon asked.
"I—" Ian looked vaguely sick, expression pale, eyes wide. "Damon…"
His twin nodded, as if he knew exactly what his brother was saying.
"Cameron?" Damon asked.
"We can't just kick him out," Cameron said. "It's August."
"That's two yes, two no," Damon said briskly. He turned to me. "Cassie."
My heart jumped to my throat. Eyes wide, I shook my head at Damon, asking him not to do this. He looked sympathetic, but continued speaking.
"You're the deciding vote."
"I'm not in the band," I said immediately. "I don't get a vote."
"You're the only other one of us who saw through August's bullshit. You know what it's like to see him collapse and end up in a hospital. You know what's at stake."
My throat felt tight. I could barely breathe. Nervous energy flooded my system, making my whole body quake.
I knew what was best for August.
I also knew he wouldn't forgive me for it.
I turned my pleading eyes to him.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But I can't let you continue hurting yourself."
August sat frozen on the sofa. His jaw was set, his eyes focused on an empty point in the distance.
"That's it, then," Damon said. He was now the one who sounded vaguely sick. I didn't know if he thought it would actually come to this. "The tour continues without you. We'll get Seth to fill in like we discussed before. He knows all our songs already."
"And what the fuck am I supposed to do?"
Despite the expletive, August's face was expressionless, his voice bone-chillingly cold. Dread filled my chest. I'd never heard August this biting.
"You rest." Damon said. "You stop playing for a while. Give your shoulder some time to get better. Stop pushing yourself. After the tour… we'll figure out what to do then."
August let out a bitter laugh.
"Right. After the tour. And what happens when we need to go back into the studio to record our next album? You going to keep me sidelined for that, too?"
Hard Rock Deceit: A Rock Star Romance Page 14