by Claire Adams
Throwing my phone on the couch, I ground my eyes with the palms of my hands, feeling nauseous. I was no different than the rest of those women. I was easy access, nothing more than a bed partner.
Well, I was so done with being such. I was going to finish this round of concerts and go back to my normal life, even if I wasn’t going to feel normal. They could find someone to replace me for when they started up the next leg of the tour.
Chapter Thirty-One
Owen
The last strains of the song faded away, and I just stood there, unsure of how I felt about it. Before me was the stadium we would be playing in later that night. While empty now, it would be packed to the rafters with screaming fans in a matter of hours, yet, I felt strangely detached from the excitement I normally felt. We had played out a few songs, but they hadn't sounded quite up to par.
Of course, with all that was running through my mind, the music hadn't done too much for me. I couldn’t shake the void I was feeling inside me. The worst part was that I knew exactly why I was feeling that way, and it was pissing me off.
For over a month, Nalia had been avoiding me like the plague—exiting the room when I entered, refusing to answer my calls, and only responding to texts that were directly related to the tour. If she needed to speak to someone in the band or give instructions, she would only talk to Talon or one of the other guys, never to me. It was like the moments we had spent together had all been nothing but a dream and she had no idea who I was. And not only that, but it was like she had no interest whatsoever in knowing, either.
“Owen.”
I turned to see my brother right behind me, a concerned look spread across his face. It actually looked a hell of a lot more like pity than concern, and I hated to be pitied more than anything. It was getting to me.
“You were fucking off on that beat,” I blurted at him.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I said, the anger I was feeling over Nalia ignoring me was starting to wash through my core. “You were off.”
Talon’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. “Get a grip, dude, and stop dishing out bullshit just because you’re in a shitty mood. Because what you just said is pure bullshit. I was far from being off.”
“Tell yourself what you want,” I shot back.
“Ask any one of the other guys in the band. You're the problem, Owen. Your singing sucked, man; you missed half your cues and were hitting off key all over the place. Where the hell is your head?” he questioned.
I flexed my hands. “It’s on your damn playing. That shit was awful.”
“Whatever, you fucking asshole! Stop trying to blame me! You know it's on you, and you're just not willing to admit that it was your fault!”
“The hell it was. Shit, maybe I should just bring in the drummer from the opening band to take your place. At least he can keep a beat.”
Anger flickered through Talon's eyes.
“Back off, Owen. You're full of shit right now and you know it. Quit fucking blaming me for your fucked up issues. We both know this has nothing to do with the music.”
“Fuck you, Talon. You're dragging this band down.”
Talon’s jaw clenched, and suddenly his hands were shoved against my chest, causing me to stumble across the stage.
“Go to hell, Owen!”
I caught my step and charged toward him, taking him down to the stage floor with a diving tackle.
“You asshole!” he shouted as I clocked him once, my fist landing against his chest.
With every punch, I felt myself get madder, wanting to deck him again and again to release the tension that was so tightly wound up inside. I was pissed about Nalia and her cold shoulder routine, pissed that nothing I could do or say could fix it, that I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. My seemingly perfect existence was falling down around me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, naturally, I did the mature thing and exploded in a rant of pure rage.
“Get the hell off of me!” Talon shouted.
I felt the jerk of someone on my shoulders, and moments later, we were pulled apart, allowing Talon time to get to his feet. I snarled and wrenched my way out of the person's grasp, charging at Talon once more, determined to finish what I had started. We tumbled into the equipment, the clanging of drums and cymbals sounding loudly in my ears as we crashed against them. Two seconds later, Talon’s fist collided with my jaw, and I felt a shudder rock my head from the outside in. I sure as hell was going to feel that tomorrow.
It didn't matter though; I still had plenty of fight left in me. I stumbled back, and Talon charged in to try to press home while he still had the upper hand.
He hadn't done a damn thing wrong, and in spite of that, I was using him as a punching bag to take out all of my frustration on. It was a downright shitty thing to do, really. For a brief moment, a flicker of guilt about what I was doing shot through me.
But then, Talon's fist crunched against my ribs, sending a shock of pain crashing up my left side. My mental focus kicked straight back into fight mode, and any sense of guilt about my behavior quickly vanished. He tried to land another punch on my ribs, but I was expecting the second one, and I blocked it before countering with a right cross that caught him square on the jaw. As he stumbled just a bit, I tackled him again and we both crashed to the floor.
“What the hell,” I heard from somewhere else in the room just as Talon managed to grab my head and pull me into a headlock. As we wrestled, I punched at his sides, a movement that was rewarded with the sound of grunts in response. As messed up as it sounded, a good fight was just what I needed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nalia
“No, that light goes over there. They like it for photos.”
I put my hands on my hips and watched as the stage hand moved the light for the fourth time, judging it with a critical eye. I had been doing a great deal of that lately, second guessing myself, and I knew exactly why. It was because I couldn’t concentrate, and I hadn’t been able to truly stay focused over the last month.
After the night in Owen’s penthouse, when I had seen those photos of him and the other woman, I had kept my distance, bidding a silent—and permanent—farewell to anything we had once had together...if you could even say we’d actually had anything together. I was probably just fooling myself all along.
I’d gone over it and over it in my head a thousand times. The conclusion I had finally come to grips with was that I had latched onto Owen at the completely wrong point in both of our lives, and since it was quite clear that he had never had a single thought in relation to possibly having something with me, I had decided to do the same.
After all, I was with the band, right? Wasn’t it all supposed to be free love? Wasn’t is all supposed to be attachment-free, guilt-free? Everyone always says that you're only young once. They say you have to go out and live while you’re young. They say to have a wild and crazy time while you still can.
But it seemed that maybe that was all just an illusion. Maybe people were always going to hurt each other even if there was never intention of more than having a good time—just like Owen had hurt me. Maybe I had hurt him, too. I doubted that was the case, but I supposed it was possible. After all, I hadn’t told Owen the reason I was avoiding him.
Part of me didn’t feel as though I owed him a reason. Part of me just didn’t want to face him. Instead, I had simply been choosing to leave the room whenever I could if he was present. Not once had I given myself any opportunity to be alone in case he decided that he wanted answers.
And considering all the phone calls, I was guessing he did. I knew if I found myself alone with him, he would demand an explanation for what had been going on, and I would probably cave and give it to him.
What I was most concerned about was saying too much, giving more than just a reason. My feelings had become too involved, too raw, and too painful to be able to explain. And while some would call me a coward—and maybe they would be right for doing
so—the fact was that I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t find the words without revealing my true feelings for him.
So, with this in mind, I had done the only thing that I knew to do: I cut off all direct contact with him and then avoided him as best I could. I admit, I harbored a slight sense of shame for my behavior, but it was outweighed by anger and disappointment when I thought back over it all. Of course, what could I really do?
“They’re fighting!” a voice called from the side of the stage, pulling me out of my mental turmoil of thoughts and emotions.
I looked up to see Jay in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. “What? Who’s fighting?”
“Owen and Talon,” he said, slightly out of breath. “They're fighting! Totally going at it, fists out, knock down, drag out! We have to do something!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I blurted out.
“Wish I were,” Jay fired back.
Great! I thought as I hurried toward the door Jay was holding and then on to the smaller stage where they were practicing. Brothers fighting was all we needed. If this made its way onto social media, it would mean an even more massive workload for me, and the last thing I wanted to do was explain why the two brothers who were famous for being such great friends were getting into fist fights with each other.
I hurried to the stage and climbed up, gasping at the sight of the two brothers rolling around on the floor, each trying to block the other’s punches. I had never seen either of them so red faced and full of anger, and they definitely looked as if they could really beat the hell out of one another.
Looking up at the group, I pointed to the mess of jumbled up limbs and couldn’t believe no one had managed to break them up. “Somebody stop them!” I commanded.
If one of them got hurt this close to the end of the tour, it would be impossible to find a replacement. Not to mention, it would mean the entire tour would end disastrously and most likely totally ruin the success we had accomplished up to this point. I mean, how do you replace the lead singer of a band in the middle of the tour?
A few of the stagehands grumbled, but dutifully stepped in. And after a bit of swearing and scuffling, they eventually succeeded in pulling Owen and Talon off of each other, though it did take a few attempts.
I immediately stepped in between the two brothers as Talon rose from the floor, his shirt ripped in more than one place and a cut across his forehead bleeding. Owen didn’t look any better, his white t-shirt dirtied with flecks of blood, his lip cut, swollen, and bleeding.
“What the hell are you both trying to do? Destroy this band and absolutely ruin the rest of the tour? Can’t you two manage to keep it together for one more night? Is that really so damn difficult to do?”
“He started it,” Talon grumbled like a five-year-old who had just been caught fighting on the playground.
“Shut the hell up,” Owen growled, his eyes narrowing at his brother. “You fight like a pussy.”
“Just quit it, both of you,” I announced loudly, securing the attention of everyone present in the otherwise empty stadium. “Stop acting like a bunch of damn elementary school kids fighting over who got picked last at kickball and just get it together, for Christ’s sake. If you don’t, I swear to God I will call off this concert tonight, and then I'll leave you two to deal with the pissed off fans.”
They both stood silently staring at the stage floor.
“And which one of you dumbasses is gonna pay for my busted guitar?” Jeremiah asked from the wings of the stage, holding up his guitar in two pieces held together only by the strings.
Owen sighed loudly and raked a hand through his hair. Our eyes collided, and a painful reality hit me head on. There was hurt, anger, and sadness staring back at me, and I knew right away that it wasn’t all directed at his brother.
It was a stab to the heart, but what could I do? I had seen the way that girl had kissed him in that photo, and from where I was standing, it didn’t appear as if he hadn’t done a single thing to stop her. Hell, he had probably been sleeping with anything he could get his hands on—including me, of course.
The thought wounded me more than anything. The last thing I had expected was to get emotionally involved, but that’s exactly what had happened. Now, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't control how I felt. Even after washing my hands of it and avoiding Owen and whatever it was that we’d had together as best I could, looking into his eyes scared me to death.
“Let’s just get back to practicing,” Owen finally said, tearing his gaze away from mine. He turned to Jeremiah and inhaled sharply, his shoulder slumping in defeat. “It was my fault. I’ll buy you a new guitar later, Jeremiah. Right now; sorry, man, I guess you'll just have to use your backup. We do have a gig to play in just a few hours.”
Seeing my out, I stepped off stage and walked out into the stadium where chairs had been positioned for the highest paying concert goers. The stage hands picked up the tumbled drums and put them back into place, then everyone took their respective positions. They launched into one of their ballads as I sat down on a chair, watching as they performed.
Unfortunately, the song they began to play had always been one of those that got to me. The way Owen sang it was soul wrenching and, at that moment, it was stabbing at my heart more than usual. His voice worked its way through what felt like every vein in my body, filling every hurting corner of my soul. When his eyes met mine, I was forced to look away from him, afraid that I would burst into tears at any moment. He owned that stage just like he owned my heart without even trying. Damn him.
I somehow made it through the rest of the set without losing it. When they were done, I watched as Owen stalked off the stage without another glance in my direction. It shouldn’t have bothered me. After all, that was how I had planned for it to be. I just hadn’t accounted for how much it would hurt to know that I was done with him.
Talon walked my way as I stood to go, blocking my path. “You’ve got to talk to him.”
I rubbed my arms with my hands, warding off the coolness I felt. “What?”
“This...this whatever you had with my brother, I don't know how you want to classify it, but whatever it was, you have to talk to him about it. He’s being a total dick to everyone, and I, for one, can’t take it anymore. I mean, look at the shit that's just happened!”
“That’s not my fault,” I shot back, aware of the anger glowing in his stare. I wasn’t about to tell him that his brother was a total douche. He probably already knew.
Talon took a step toward me, his fists clenched at his sides. “Yes, this is your fault, Nalia. God, you really are totally blind to how he feels about you, to how much he cares about you, aren’t you? The man has been sleeping by himself for the last month, right down the hall. And when he’s not sleeping, he’s in a mood that, frankly, I’m sick and tired of. So, quit dicking him around and wrap this, whatever it is, up with him. Sort it out, and stop avoiding the damn issue.”
Hurt and angry, I pushed away from him. “Do you have any idea what he did? This is not my fault! Quit sticking up for him! If he cared about me at all, he wouldn’t have…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Talon looked at me for a moment, recognition dawning on his face. “Shit. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Tears blurred my eyes, and I stepped around him, not wanting him to see me cry. Yes, I was in love with a man I couldn’t trust, a man I couldn’t have. I was so done with this entire business, with every one of these assholes! I couldn’t take another minute of dealing with it all. They could pull another woman out of the crowd tonight to be their assistant, because I was through.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Owen
I cracked my knuckles and flexed my hands — anxious, angry, and nervous all at the same time. My hands were aching from my stupid ass altercation with Talon earlier in the day. They hurt to the point where I’d had to soak them in hot salt water to relieve some of the pain. Now, the pain and the aches were com
ing back, but I fixated on it to keep my mind off of what was about to happen.
From my vantage point, I could see the packed stadium and hear the roar of the crowd as they waited anxiously to watch us perform. While the scene normally jacked me up and got my motor revving, tonight it put me on edge and stirred a building force of anxiety within me. What I couldn’t figure out was why.
Behind me, the stage was a buzz of activity, the guys running through their last-minute checks or warming up their voices before we would be stretched thin for an hour or two. I wished I could just find a quiet place and think for a moment; my thoughts were still dwelling on how Nalia had marched in and taken control of the situation earlier today.
It was the most she had spoken to me in over a month. Seeing her hadn’t brought on the reaction I had expected. My heart had fucking ached like an invisible knife had been stabbed into it repeatedly the entire time I was near her. And even though she had been pissed at the time, I had wanted nothing more than to drag her off stage and kiss her senseless in a corner somewhere until she started talking to me again.
I didn’t understand what the hell was going on, and she was refusing to talk to me, so she wasn’t telling me anything. It was maddening, and it had been tearing me apart from the inside for more than a month now. My whole world had been stuck in a crazy cycle of irritation, anger, frustration, uncertainty, and hopelessness the entire time. And even though I was always able to push it out of my mind for the few moments that I was on stage, the rest of the time there was no way to escape the awful feelings that swirled through me.
Did I mention it was maddening? But at least I had the stage. At least I had some form of escape for a little while.
The lights dimmed, and I took in a deep breath, preparing for the performance. The screaming from the dark amphitheater grew louder. Typically, I enjoyed this moment. It was usually like the moments just before the roller coaster dips into a one hundred foot drop. That moment where you know the rush is coming and you can’t wait for it to begin.