by Lauren Rowe
Colin says, “Don’t think with your dick, Dax. There are infinite girls in this world, and you can have anyone you want. Literally. So, why go after the drummer’s girl?”
I grit my teeth, my blood boiling and my skin hot, and whisper-shout, “Ex-girl, whose body language told me she doesn’t want him. He doesn’t get to claim another person unilaterally. She’s not his property.”
“She’s still off-limits and you know it.”
I drag my hands over my face, feeling physically desperate. Breathless. Pissed. “Colin, listen to me. I concede there are a lot of girls in the world. I know this for a fact because I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked half of ’em during the tour, trying to recapture what I felt with her. But that’s exactly why I can’t just walk away from this one without at least talking to her. Because nobody else, no matter who they were, or how hot they were, has ever made me feel the way she did. The way she does. You know the lyrics to the ‘Fireflies’ song, man. ‘Never before or since.’ It’s the truth.”
Colin’s fury ignites to a new level. He grunts with his anger. “God, I’m so pissed at you for busting out that goddamned song tonight without telling me the situation. I never would have agreed to play that song if I’d known.”
Fish steps in. “We didn’t purposely keep you out of the loop. There was no chance to tell you the sitch because Greta was walking with us as we walked to the stage.”
My heart is raging in my ears. “At least I had the wherewithal not to play ‘Ultra Violet Radiation.’ You’re welcome, motherfucker.”
Colin scoffs. “I’m surprised you were able to think clearly about that, seeing as how your hard-on was drawing all the blood from your brain.” He turns to Fish and pushes on his skinny chest. “I’m actually even more pissed at you about playing that song than Dax. I know why Dax was stupid enough to want to play it, but what was your excuse for going along with him? What if the drummer had watched our set?”
Fish rolls his eyes. “He never watches our set.”
“But what if he did, just this once? And what if he listened closely to the lyrics of the song—a flower, a road—and put two and two together?”
“That’s a lot of what ifs,” Fish says.
“The lyrics are meaningless,” I say, “unless you know exactly what you’re listening for.”
“Oh yeah?” Colin says, his dark eyes flashing with pent-up rage. “Well, what’s gonna happen when the song comes out on our second album? Not to mention ‘Ultra Violet Radiation’ and that other one you’ve been working on with her name all over it? Are you willing to throw all those new songs in the trash heap or is this shit gonna hit the fan, one way or another down the line?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I say calmly, but my stomach is suddenly churning almost painfully.
“Whatever,” Colin says caustically. He returns to Fish. “Either way, there was no excuse for you going along with him tonight. He’s drunk on her, but you had no fucking excuse.”
Now it’s Fish’s turn to explode. “No excuse?” he whisper-shouts into Colin’s face. “My excuse was Dax has been obsessed with this girl for months! Writing songs about her. Chasing girls with the same hairstyle. Craving her like a drug. My excuse was that Dax has been miserable for months, Colin, and I care more about him, my best friend, than I care about the band or the fame or the money!”
Colin pushes on Fish’s scrawny chest, hard, and whisper-shouts, “You think I care more about money and fame than I care about Dax? Well, fuck you, you piece of shit Shaggy motherfucker, if that’s what you think of me. Fuck you.”
I get between them. “Stop it, guys. Nobody cares about anything more than we care about each other. We’re all for one, one for all.”
Colin turns on me, looking like a fire-breathing dragon. “That’s what I used to think, until you two played a song, and took a risk, without telling me what was going on.” He’s seething. Furious. Utterly betrayed. “Obviously, you care more about re-fucking a one-night stand than you care about Fish or me or this band.”
“Fuck you,” I whisper. But my heart is breaking at the accusation. “And watch yourself, motherfucker. This is your last warning.”
Colin scoffs. “I get it’s your world and we’re just living in it, Daxy. And I get that she rocked your world like nobody ever has. But give it a month—or a year or two—and it’ll be over. But Fish and I—and, hopefully, our band—will still be here, making history, if you don’t fuck it all up. Is it really worth possibly fucking over our band, our dreams, our future, our very friendship for what’s probably gonna turn out to be a brief magic carpet ride with some girl’s magic pussy?”
Oh, that does it. I can’t control myself a second longer. In a frenzy of rage, I grab Colin and furiously push him against the nearby wall. I’m intending to beat the shit out of him, but before I throw the first punch, he pushes back, hard, throwing me off balance. Not hard to do. I suck at fighting and he’s stronger than me. We scuffle briefly, before strong arms are suddenly bear-hugging me and peeling Colin off me.
Quickly, I realize it’s C-Bomb who’s holding me back—a twist I really don’t need right now—while Dean holds Colin, and Fish is standing between us, his arms splayed out like he’s refereeing a prize fight.
“What the fuck is this?” Dean shouts.
We three goats stare and seethe silently for a long beat.
Finally, Fish says, “We’re just having a bit of a disagreement.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Dean says.
My breathing is ragged. My skin is hot. I manage to say through clenched teeth, “I think we’ve got cabin fever after being together for so long.”
“What’d he say to piss you off like that?” C-Bomb says to me. And when nobody answers the question, he looks at Dean and says, “It’s like watching ourselves, right after our first tour.”
Dean nods. “Caleb and I had a doozy of a screaming match after our first tour. Almost turned into fisticuffs.”
“Almost?” C-Bomb says. “Dude, I threw a punch.”
“Oh, yeah. Good thing you were so drunk, you missed.” Dean nudges Colin. “It’s always the drummers who are the loosest cannons in every band, huh?”
But Colin doesn’t look the least bit amused.
C-Bomb says, “What the hell were you guys fighting about?”
I flash a pained look at Fish. Say something. Do something. Help me.
Fish says, “Some issues that have been lowkey bubbling under the surface came to a head. Colin gets tired of everything always being The Dax Show.”
“And that’s understandable,” I interject. “I’m tired of it, too.”
Colin visibly softens, ever so slightly.
“Different band, same shit,” C-Bomb says, laughing. He looks at Colin. “Dude, listen to me. If it weren’t The Dax Show, those videos wouldn’t have gone viral like they did, and who knows if those songs would have blown up to high heaven. My advice? Look at all the zeroes in your bank account and get over it.”
Colin takes a deep breath. “I’ve got no problem with The Dax Show. I’m stoked about the success of the band and how we got here. I love and admire Dax.” He addresses me. His chest is heaving. His cheeks are flushed. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about The Dax Show. That’s not how I genuinely feel. And even if I did, Reed told us up front your face was gonna sell a fuck-ton of records for us. We knew what we were getting into from day one, and I’m stoked it’s worked out the way it has. Honestly, I’ve got the best of all worlds. You’re the one with the shitty end of the stick, if you ask me. I wouldn’t want to trade places with you, if I could.”
I swallow hard. “I’m sick of me always being front and center, too. Every bit as much as you are.”
“But I’m not sick of it. That concept was all jumbled together with the other thing. But I was out of line in that other thing I said. I shouldn’t have said that last thing. Not with those particular words. That was a straight-up dick thing to say.”
“What’d you say?” C-Bomb says. “Things are finally getting good.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “It’s already forgotten.”
“But what’d he say?” C-Bomb persists.
Fish addresses Dean and Caleb, deftly changing the subject. “What did you two fight about after your first tour?”
“Band politics,” Dean says, at the same time Caleb says, “Girls.”
“Girls?” Dean says, sounding genuinely surprised.
“You don’t remember?”
Dean shakes his head.
“I said something shitty about Shaynee, and you shot back at me that I’d been an asshole to Violet and she deserved someone better than me. And I snapped.”
I shoot Fish a look like, Fuck my life.
“Wow, I don’t remember that,” Dean says. He smiles at the three of us goats. “And that’s what’s gonna happen for you guys, too: you won’t even remember what this fight was about in a couple tours. Maybe even a couple hours. So, my advice to you is skip ahead to the part where you don’t remember. You three are riding a rocket to the moon right now—having the kind of success most bands could only dream of in their wildest dreams. Don’t let petty bullshit or jealousy or girls or anything else fuck it up. Ride this wave all the way to the moon for years to come.”
Colin nods. So do I. And Fish breathes a huge sigh of relief.
“Now isn’t that better?” C-Bomb says. “Smiling goats, yet again. Now make your stupid little goat sounds as a peace offering.”
We all tell him no, not now, we only do that before shows, but he insists. So, finally, Fish makes the softest of goat sounds to get us started, a ridiculous little “maaah” that makes us all chuckle, despite ourselves, and Colin and I begrudgingly follow suit.
“Now bro-hug,” C-Bomb commands.
Exhaling, we do it.
“There. Catastrophe averted,” Dean says, clapping his hands together. “You’re welcome.”
C-Bomb whacks my shoulder. “Now, come with me, Golden Boy. I’ve got a catastrophe of my own I need to avert, and Dean is too sick of hearing me talk about it to be of any use to me. Come on. Let’s smoke a blunt on the veranda and talk.”
“I’ve actually gotta meet my family...”
But it’s no use. C-Bomb is already gone.
Fuck.
I flash Colin and Fish a look that says, Help me, tap out a quick text to my sister to tell her I’m coming soon, I swear, and then drag my sorry ass to the veranda.
Chapter 26
Dax
C-Bomb offers a lit blunt to me.
“No, thanks. I promised my brother I’d be clean and sober for a full month.”
C-Bomb looks aghast. “Why?”
“My family is convinced I’m the second coming of Ozzy Osbourne, circa 1982. Or that I’m well on my way. I’ve got thirty days to prove them right or wrong. And myself.”
C-Bomb leans over the railing of the veranda and inhales from his joint again. “Well, your family might have a valid point about the Ozzy thing. Wasn’t it you who bit the head off a bat during your show in Philly?”
“I think that was a protein bar.”
We both laugh.
C-Bomb takes a long suck off the joint again. “So, how’s clean and sober living going, so far? Are you a new man, Mr. Morgan?”
“Absolutely. It’s changed my life in every conceivable way, top to bottom. I mean, sure, it’s only been thirty-six hours, but...”
Again, we laugh.
But even as I laugh with C-Bomb—or, rather, pretend to laugh—my mind is racing. What the fuck does he want to talk to me about on this balcony? What did he say to Violet when they talked in private after my set? How did she react? And, most importantly, did C-Bomb invite me out here to talk—or throw me off the balcony?
C-Bomb looks out at the twinkling lights of Beverly Hills for a long beat. Finally, he says, “Tonight I told Violet I still love her. That I’m ready to commit to her and only her.” He puts the blunt between his lips, inhales, and speaks on his exhale, “And she said no, thanks.”
My heart leaps. But, somehow, I manage to say, “Wow.”
He looks out into the night for a long, unsettling beat. “I always assumed Violet would be there waiting for me when I finally pulled my head out of my ass. Yeah, I knew she was dating now and again, but I always figured those guys, whoever they were, were placeholders—a way to keep herself busy while she waited for me to figure my shit out. But it turns out I was wrong.” He runs his hand through his mop of reddish-blonde hair. “I think that’s what’s torturing me the most. That there could possibly be some guy out there, some normal, boring guy she actually wants more than me. How could that be? We were epic. And she wants him, whoever he is?”
I feel physically ill. Like I’m either gonna barf or crap my pants. “She told you she’s... seeing someone?”
“I asked her if she was with someone else, and she said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want to start up with you again, even if I wasn’t.’ So, of course, I was like, ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ And she got all flustered and pissed and said, ‘It’s none of your business. You’re missing my point. I don’t want you, regardless.’ But she didn’t say, ‘No, I’m not seeing someone else, Caleb,’ which would have been an easy thing to say, if it were the truth.”
My head is spinning. My heart racing. Did Violet hear “Fireflies” tonight, right before talking to Caleb, and decide, right then and there, to give me a shot? That’s what the song asked her to do, after all—to return to my bed and my life. Would Violet have said yes to Caleb, if it weren’t for me singing that song? Oh, God, my head feels like it’s going to explode.
Caleb stubs out the remnants of his joint on the metal railing. “All I can think is it’s gotta be someone I know. Otherwise, she’d just tell me about him.”
My heart stops. Holy shit.
Caleb sighs and leans over the railing again. He’s silent for a long, tense moment before saying, “I really fucked up, man. That girl loved me. Like, for real. She loved Caleb. Not C-Bomb. She wanted me before all the fame and money. She wanted me for me.” He grunts. “And I threw it all away.”
I lower my head to hide the look of anguish that’s surely overtaking my features. This. Is. Fucking. Excruciating.
C-Bomb continues, “The worst part is that I’m a day late and a dollar short. She told me, ‘If you’d said these things to me a year ago, I would have said yes. But things are different now. I’m different. I’ve moved on. And so should you.’”
“Wow,” I say lamely, my heart exploding. “That’s...” I don’t complete the sentence, probably because, the only word coming to my mind is: fantastic.
Caleb hangs his head for another long moment. But when he lifts it again, there’s fire in his eyes. “You know what? Fuck that. If she wanted me a year ago, then I can make her want me again. Whoever the new guy is, he can’t compete with me. Nobody can.” He beats on his hard chest and his green eyes ignite. “I’m me, man. A beast. When I want something, I get it.”
Not this time, Caleb. You’re not even close to the right guy for her. The right guy for her is me.
“She just wants me to fight for her!” He straightens up. “She wants me to prove I’ve genuinely changed.”
Caleb looks at me like he’s expecting me to say something. But that’s not gonna happen. My brain is melting. Should I confess my sins, right here and now? Because no part of me wants to do that. Should I encourage him? Because I don’t want to do that, either. I open and close my mouth, but nothing comes out. This is a nightmare.
Apparently, my silence doesn’t register with C-Bomb. He’s a new man. His face aglow, he claps my shoulder. “Thanks, Daxy boy. I really needed to talk this through with someone I trust and Dean would have thrown a punch if I’d mentioned Violet’s name again.” He takes a deep, cleansing breath in the night air. “You know what? I feel good. I’ve got clarity. I know what I want, and I’m gonna go after
it. All I have to do is worm my way back into her life, slowly but surely, until the time is right to... pounce.”
He raises his fist and I jerk back, thinking he’s going to hit me. But when I realize he’s only expecting me to bump his fist with mine, I do it reflexively, even though the last thing in the world I want to do is give Caleb the slightest encouragement.
Chuckling, Caleb says, “You’re a damned good listener, Daxy Morgan. And a damned good friend. Thanks.”
Chapter 27
Dax
When I walk onto Reed’s twinkling patio for Henn and Hannah’s wedding, the same patio where I kissed Violet all those months ago, the ceremony is already underway. There are about seventy-five guests here, I’d estimate, based on the rows of chairs. I spot my family in the second-to-last row and slide into a seat between my mother and Colby.
As I take my chair, my mother pokes my thigh with an angry index finger and glares at me for being late.
Sorry, I mouth. I motion like I’m playing guitar and she rolls her eyes. She knows exactly what that gesture means: I got caught up writing a song and lost track of time. It’s not the first time. And, surely, it won’t be the last.
I turn my attention toward the ceremony at the far end of the patio, where the bride, Hannah, is in the midst of saying her vows to her besotted groom, Henn. To Hannah’s left, her three bridesmaids—my sister, Kat, Kat’s best friend, Sarah, and the bride’s sister, Maddy—the cutie who’s now wearing Keane’s engagement ring—are all clad in dark blue mix-and-match dresses. Henn, for his part, is accompanied by his three groomsmen—Reed Rivers, my brother-in-law, Josh Faraday, and Josh’s twin brother, Jonas—all dressed in sharp dark suits. Every last person up there is wearing happy smiles, blissfully unaware I’m sitting in the second to last row, imploding.