My ears buzz. They did not just call my name.
“Mallory.” Chaser tugs on my hand.
We both stand, and I’m frozen in place. “Chaser, please come with me,” I whisper.
“No way, babe. This is all yours.”
Everyone’s staring at me now. The instrumental version of ‘Candy Jar’ thunders through the theater, calling me to the stage. “I’m afraid I’ll trip going up those stairs,” I admit.
Concern darkens his eyes, and he gently guides me out of the row and to the edge of the stage. I stare at the steps. I never ever expected to win, so I didn’t put a lot of thought into things like tripping over my four-inch stilettos and landing flat on my face in front of five thousand people. Chaser doesn’t release me, though. I gather the long skirt of my dress in my free hand, and he slowly leads me up the stairs.
“Go on,” he whispers when we reach the top. “This is your moment.” He presses a kiss on my forehead.
There’s a collective “Aww” from the audience and heat stings my cheeks.
Projecting as much confidence as I can, I cross the stage to the podium. The long, heavy skirt of my gown swirls and swishes around my ankles. The presenter holds out a stubby silver statue, and I accept.
“Congratulations, Mallory.” She leans in and kisses my cheek.
“Thank you.”
What little girl, who wants to be an actress when she grows up, hasn’t stared into the mirror and thanked the academy, her parents and God himself for recognizing her talent? None of that prepared me for this moment. Sure, it’s not an award for my acting skills. And I hate the video. But it’s still an honor and something I never expected.
I lean down next to the microphone. “I’m really not sure what to say.” Well, that’s an understatement. I crane my neck and glance at the screen behind me with the list of the other nominees. “I never expected to win tonight. There were so many other talented ladies…I never thought…” My voice falters. “Thank you so much.” My gaze searches the crowd, landing on Alvin who flashes me two thumbs up and shouts my name. “Thank you to Kickstart for giving an unknown, new-to-Hollywood girl a chance.” Garrett and Jacob let out shrill whistles. My gaze shifts to the left, where Chaser’s waiting at the edge of the stage, with his hands clasped in front of him. “Thank you to Chaser Adams, whose support means everything.” Behind me, the announcer clears her throat, signaling I need to wrap up my speech. “I also need to thank my agent Marilyn Stewart, Valerie Malone, and oh my gosh, I know I’m forgetting someone. But thank you!”
My heart hammers so hard, I’m afraid it’ll jump out of my chest and run away. Music blasts over the speakers, and I resist the urge to flee from the stage. Carefully, I step back from the podium and off to my left, where I’ve watched every other winner disappear tonight. Chaser meets me halfway, and I’m still so nervous, I fling myself against him, forgetting we’re in view of everyone.
“You did great,” he says against my ear. “So proud of you.”
I pull away, and he wraps an arm around my waist, guiding me behind heavy red velvet curtains.
Backstage is chaos.
“Congratulations, Mallory!”
Flashbulbs momentarily blind me, but serve as a reminder to play my part.
Look happy.
Act grateful.
Smile.
“Mallory, can we get a picture?”
“Chaser are you upset your girlfriend won while Kickstart lost Breakout Video?”
“Absolutely not.” Chaser’s terse answer sends the reporter scurrying away.
“Congratulations!” Andrew’s dopey smile swoops in fast, as he grabs me in a big hug and spins me around. “You know I voted for you, right?” he whispers against my ear.
“You did?” I laugh.
“Fuck yeah, I did.” He sets me down but doesn’t let go. “They sent us tapes of all the nominees. Watching the videos back to back, there was no question who the hottest chick was.”
Chaser clears his throat and drops his gaze to where Andrew’s hands are resting on my waist. Andrew snatches them away, as if my hips suddenly turned into flames. “Proud of your girl?” he asks.
“Always,” Chaser says.
One of the show’s assistants rushes over to us. “You have to get back out there. Guitar God is coming up.” She glances at Andrew. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“I’m Andrew Lane. I can be wherever I want, sweetheart.”
She blushes. “I…know who you are, Mr. Lane. Your category is up soon.”
“Gotcha.” He winks at her, and I swear the girl almost swoons out of her heels.
When she comes to her senses, she glances at me. “I’ll take your statue. We have a table you can pick it up at later.”
“Thanks.”
Chaser holds out his arm to me. “Ready?”
Chaser
This night is insane.
We barely make it back to our seats before the Guitar God category is called. Still excited over Mallory’s win, I barely listen to the names as they’re called out. I lean over when Vinnie’s name is mentioned and shake his hand.
Because I thoroughly expect Vinnie or even Danny Desmond to win, I’m not prepared to hear my name, and, at first, assume it’s a mistake.
Alvin, Garrett, and Jacob jump out of their seats, fists in the air, shouting for me to get my ass up. Vinnie even puts his hands together and stands.
“Fuck yeah, Chaser!” Andrew shouts, which is awkward as fuck, since the guitarist for his own band lost to me.
I reach for Mallory, and she squeezes my hand. “Get up there.”
“Come with me.”
“No way. I’m not going up there again.”
I lean down. “I need you.”
The Guitar God category apparently isn’t limited to music videos. Footage from one of our shows with Shooting Fences plays over the screen. Do I really look that serious when I’m playing? I drop my gaze and laugh. What a dick.
I shake a few hands as we head up to the stage. Mallory stops, probably assuming I’ll leave her to wait where I stood earlier. But no. I want her right next to me. Truth is, without her, I’d probably be rolling around in the gutter high out of my mind, instead of accepting this award.
The microphone’s low, and I have to lean over to speak. “Guitar God. Wow. I never…” I stop and shake my head. “Thank you to our fans for making this happen. Every single one of you means so much to me and every member of Kickstart. Thanks to my father who always hated my music, but encouraged me to play it anyway.” I glance at the small, silver trophy, suddenly feeling choked up. There has to be someone else I’m supposed to thank? No one comes to mind. “Alvin, Garrett, Jacob, thanks for sharing this dream with me. Andrew, thanks for being so rad.” I smirk into the camera, and Andrew’s cheer can be heard over all the other noise.
I stop and glance behind me where Mallory’s standing and reach back to grab her hand, tugging her forward. “Finally, I need to thank Mallory. If I’m a guitar god, it’s only because I’m blessed to have this goddess in my life. Thank you.”
My mind’s blank except for my need to touch Mallory. Forgetting about the lights, the cameras that are taping every moment to play on television after, and the fact that we’re on a stage in front of a huge audience, I pull her closer and slam my mouth over hers. At first, her body’s stiff. Then she melts into me, sliding her arms around my neck.
“Best. Night. Ever,” I whisper against her lips.
Mallory
Three down.
Two to go.
Jacob’s tense, and I really hope the guys win one of the next two categories.
“Best Heavy Metal Performance Video goes to Vicious Vandals for ‘Sinner’s Breath’!”
“Woo!” Andrew jumps out of his seat and pumps his fists in the air. All four members of his band follow him up there, but Andrew’s the only one who seems excited.
Pamela leans over Andrew’s vacant chair. “It really should’v
e been Kickstart.”
I shrug and clap as the guys walk off with their trophies.
We sit through several more categories. Andrew picks up another statue for Best Drummer.
Video of the Year is saved for last, and I close my eyes. There’s no way. We’d all talked about it. It’s too broad a category with too many big-name artists with years in the music industry for a relatively unknown band to win.
“Kickstart for ‘Candy Jar!’”
“Holy shit!” Jacob shouts.
“Fuck me!” Alvin stares at Chaser with a wide-eyed, wild expression for a few seconds before they bear hug each other.
This time, I shake my head when Chaser tries to pull me out of the aisle with him. “Go,” I urge.
He races up with his bandmates, and I remain standing with the rest of the crowd, clapping my hands until they sting.
“Mallory, are you crying?” Andrew shouts.
“I’m really happy for them.” I swipe at my cheeks but can’t stop laughing and crying.
Chaser’s right. Best night ever.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chaser
“Chaser, bro, wake up.”
Jacob’s needy tone pulls me from a deep sleep.
“What?” I mumble.
Sleep’s been a rare commodity on this tour. I’m so annoyed at the intrusion, I don’t bother opening my eyes. Maybe he’ll go away, and I can go back to dreaming about Mallory.
Unfortunately, I’m surrounded by a pack of unneutered dogs determined to fuck any woman willing to step on our tour bus.
Jacob’s the biggest hound, but thankfully, he spends a lot of his time on Andrew’s bus.
“Help. Please, you’ve gotta look at this.”
This morning he seems bound and determined to annoy the fuck out of me.
“What now?” I crack open one eyelid and find a hairy, wrinkly ball sack dangling in my face. “What the fuck?” I jolt upright, nearly smacking my head into the bunk above me and shove him away.
Somehow, I went from best night ever and winning awards to waking up with my singer’s balls in my face. Not exactly living my best rock star life at the moment.
“Chaser, I’m serious,” he whines.
“I don’t want to look at your sack first thing in the morning. Or ever.” I push the curtain to my bunk all the way open. Where the fuck’s the “tour manager” Thom sent on the road with us? With the money we’re paying the useless asshole, he’s the one who should have to look at Jacob’s nut sack first thing in the morning.
“Not my balls,” he pleads. “Look. There. What is that?”
Carefully, I lift my gaze to see where he’s pointing. A patch of red bumps above his groin.
“Do I look like a fucking doctor to you?”
“Is it AIDS? Did I catch AIDS? Garrett and I read that Time magazine article, and I swear in one of the photos some dude had lesions just like this.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a sex ed fail.” I glance over again, studying the redness. “I don’t know. It’s probably a simple rash.”
“Remember that little junkie stripper I fucked in Salt Lake City? I bet it’s her fault.”
“Really? I bet it’s the fault of the dude who sticks his unwrapped dick in anything that moves.”
“Not cool, bro.”
“Forgive me.” I scrub my hands over my face, if only I could burn the image of Jacob’s nuts from my eyeballs as easily. “I’m a bit grumpy from waking up with someone’s diseased dick in my face.”
What city are we even in today? After a while, all the cities we visit seem to blend together.
The tour’s been amazing, but one of the most fast-paced we’ve ever been on. Turns out great for me. Keeps me focused and disciplined. The other guys took it seriously for a while too. Even Vicious Vandals, a notorious party band if ever there was one, clung to their sobriety for the first few weeks. That slowly slipped away until the band had divided themselves onto two separate buses. One sober bus and one party bus. Jacob and Garrett eventually gravitated to the party bus, which didn’t bother me as much as it should have. Less of their bullshit to tolerate.
Until today’s balls-in-my-face episode.
When I open my eyes again, Jacob’s still grumbling, but thankfully, zipping up his jeans. “Fuck you. If I die, you’re going to feel bad for being mean to me.”
I crawl out of my bunk, stand and stretch, listening to my vertebrae snap, crackle, and pop. Next time we tour, we better be able to afford more frequent hotel stays.
I slap Jacob on the shoulder. “Dude, if you die, I’ll definitely feel bad, but it won’t be because of that.”
His mouth twists, and he reaches down to scratch his balls. “Shit, this hurts all over. I think it’s spreading.”
“Get your ass to a doctor before your dick falls off.”
“That’s not funny.” He duck-walks down the aisle toward the front of the bus.
Maybe I’m an asshole, but I can’t stop laughing. “Karma comes for you when you least expect it!” I shout after him.
He throws up his middle finger.
Unfortunately, he returns fifteen minutes later. At least this time, he keeps his pants on. “I found a clinic not too far. Will you come with me?”
“Where’s Garrett?”
“Fucking that chick we picked up in Santa Fe. I don’t want to interrupt his flow. What else do you have to do but sit around moping about Mallory?”
“That’s how you want to convince me to come with you?”
“Come on, please? I don’t want to be alone if it’s bad news.”
“Fine.” Fuck knows the asshole’s liable to get lost trying to score drugs, and we need to be on stage at seven p.m. He’s been cutting it closer and closer every night.
I grab my leather jacket and follow him outside. We flag down a cab, and Jacob gives him the address.
The driver keeps eyeing us in the mirror, until I ask him if he has a problem. Maybe he recognizes us. Maybe he knows where he’s dropping us off and he’s afraid we’re infecting his seats. Who knows.
The area the clinic’s located in is downright nasty. I peer out the window. The grungy building has no sign or indication that it’s a medical facility.
“This is it,” the driver announces.
Jacob tosses him some cash, and we slide out of the car. The guy can’t speed away fast enough.
Jacob and I stand there staring up at the building.
“What is this? The saddest dick clinic in the world?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “The ad in the phonebook said free, confidential clinic.”
Reluctantly, I follow him upstairs. I don’t see any rats, but it definitely has the vibe of a place rats would find cozy.
A nurse in a white outfit greets us inside the office.
“Holdin McGroin,” Jacob announces. “I called earlier.”
The woman rolls her eyes and hands him a clipboard. “Fill that out, Mr. Mah-Groin.” Her gaze shifts to me. “You too?”
“Nope. Just here for moral support.”
“You don’t have to be so gleeful about it,” Jacob bitches.
We drop into two chairs, and I glance around at the crusty medical office. “Bro, keep your boxers on and don’t lay down anywhere. If you do, fifty to one says you’re leaving here with crabs in addition to whatever else you’ve got going on down there.”
“I hate you.” He flips through the papers on the clipboard. “Garrett would’ve been more supportive.”
“He’s an enabler. You’re in need of tough love.”
He waves off my assessment. “Bro, don’t you miss strange pussy?”
I glance at him and arch an eyebrow at our surroundings. “Not even a little.”
“Shit!” He laughs and slaps my leg. “Do you remember when we all caught crabs from Patricia after the Clover show?”
“Jesus Christ.” I sit up and run my hands through my hair. “That was fucking horrible.”
“Remember h
ow pissed Alvin was when we didn’t warn him?”
“We didn’t know.”
“And we kept calling her Crabby Patty until she tried to run me over with her car?”
“We were assholes.”
“What are you talking about? That was fucking hilarious. I wonder what she’s up to now? She was a fireball in the sack.”
“Yeah, and a crotch fire after.”
We’re stopped from our disgusting stroll down degenerate memory lane by the nurse calling several times for “Holdin.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “I’ll wait here.”
Jacob stops and stares at me. “You’re really making me do this by myself?”
“You already played your dick in my face card for the year.” I shrug and hold up my hands. “Sorry, buddy. Nothing I can do.”
“Asshole.”
I tap my fingers against my leg and pull out the small notepad and pen I keep stashed in my jacket pocket. Despite my less than sterling surroundings, I miss Mallory. No matter where I am, my need for her is a tireless throbbing inside my chest. Writing has helped channel all my pent-up desire. I use my time alone to jot down some lyrics. The need to finish my latest song about her has turned into a never-ending beat against my ribcage.
The band’s supposed to go from the tour into the studio to record our next album with Cutter, and I want to have plenty of material.
About forty-five minutes later, Jacob returns with a readjusted attitude and a bottle of pills.
“Do we need to burn the bus to the ground?” God damn do I enjoy being an asshole to Jacob as frequently as possible. “Throw all your pants into a bonfire?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re not going to tell me? You can’t keep me in suspense after I dragged myself down to the bowels of hell to hold your hand.”
“It’s nothing some antibiotics won’t cure.”
He pays the nurse, and she calls a cab for us.
Downstairs, Jacob glances at the building then hunches over and pulls something out of his jacket pocket. “I relieved them of some of these.” He giggles like a little kid.
Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2) Page 28