Our regular security, James, is already in the crowd. He has one hand on Reed’s shirt—even if he knows Reed might rip it off and run away.
Reed doesn’t give a fuck about security telling him what he can and can’t do.
This is his forum. His church.
In this room, for two hours, he’s the priest leading you to a salvation that only music can give.
Or at least, that’s what music has always been for me.
It’s the only thing that fucking saved me.
After the show, everything is a blur.
It’salwaysa blur.
Coming down from that high is never a steady, gradual slope. It can be a crash, especially on nights like tonight when we don’t get to breathe.
We have to be at the airport by two AM, leaving us only enough time to pack up our shit from the dressing room, sign a few autographs out back, and get in the car.
What makes it worse is that tonight, we were rushed out for nothing.
Our first flight was canceled, and now we’re waiting on the next.
The voice over the airport intercom is so muffled that Zeb removes his shirt from his face to squint at me.
“Did you get any of that?” he asks.
“Not a fucking word,” I reply. “Would have been faster to drive at this point,” I add.
“No fucking kidding,” Zeb grunts.
He lets his head bang back against the glass and pulls his black hat down instead, revealing the tattoos on the side of his head and the strip of coarse black curls he had been hiding. He’s wearing his glasses for this trip, something he only does when he knows his contacts will get dried out and itchy.
I turn sideways in my seat again and continue scrolling through my phone. The music in my headphones is a playlist of emo and metal bands we grew up listening to—a comfort I’ve always leaned into and one that influenced Young Decay’s sound.
Social media is a bore as I move through the pictures. I wish I had packed my book in my backpack. My eyes might have hated me for squinting at the words. At the same time, learning the ending of the mystery novel I’m halfway through would have been worth it.
It’s now six AM. We’ve sat at this terminal for hours, hiding in plain sight with hats, scarves, and glasses on in the hopes that we’ll be left to our privacy. Our manager, Avie, suggested the VIP lounge like usual.
I think our last experience there scarred us forever.
We were videoed and harassed by a creep who thought he could sell the glasses and napkins we’d used, even going as far as going behind the bar and stealing them from the bartender. Security had arrested him quickly. Even still, it had us freaked out.
And honestly, we liked feeling normal once in a while.
Reed managed to be the only one of us spotted by a fan on his way to the restroom tonight, though the guy hadn’t followed him back over.
Reed had signed a coaster for him for his discretion.
“Hey—”
My head pops up, Zeb takes down his hat, and we both look over to see our bodyguard, James, standing a few feet away. He jerks his chin toward the gate. “Let’s go.”
I shove Reed, who’s lying across the seats asleep next to me. Reed snorts and flinches, surprisingly catching himself before tumbling onto the ground where Bonnie is lying.
“Hm—what? The fuck, man—”
I nod toward James, who’s standing stoic at the end of the aisle, and Reed shakes his shaggy black hair out of his wide blue eyes.
