I smile fondly at the memory and wave to another fan. “You thought I was crazy.”
Mads scoffs. “Not crazy. Confident? Hell yeah. I wasn’t sure what to expect, yet you exceeded every fucking expectation I had about who might eventually make this band complete.”
I smirk sideways at him. “Don’t make me cry, Mads,” I tease him.
He turns toward me and pulls down his mask. “I don’t always make the best choices… But going along with you jumping on that stage was one of the best fucking ones any of us made. We were lost before you. Our music… It was just lyrics and guitar lines. We had the brain, the muscles, the bones. Still, there was no heart at the center. It was a stone, and then you jumped up there and brought us to life. We wouldn’t be Young Decay without you.”
My lips press together tightly to keep my emotions in check. “I should punch you for these tears,” I say as they begin to swell.
He chuckles. “You’re our heart, Bed. I hope you know how much you mean to all of us, especially to me. I know we’ve never been close, though, seeing you these past months hit all-time highs and the worst kind of lows… I’m so fucking proud of you. Seriously, I’m so fucking proud to call you my sister.”
“You shithead,” I say, swiping a tear.
He leans down and hugs me then. I squeeze him tightly, kicking my feet when he pulls me off the ground. I hear screaming nearby, then see a camera flash, and when Mads puts me back onto the ground, we pivot to find Andi in the walk looking at the photo she just took of us.
“Hey, twelve minutes,” Stella says behind us. “Reed is stretching.”
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
“Oh hell yeah, let’s go!” I slap my hands on Mads’ chest and hold up the horns one more time to the audience who can see us. Andi snaps another photo. Mads signs“I love you”to his wife.
And I jump onto his back as we make our way to the dressing room again.
My arms are in the air. Shouts leave me the entire ride. We pass Avie on the way back, and when I yell at him, he blows me a kiss and flips Mads off before resuming his phone conversation.
The chant follows us back.
Music hits our ears the moment we open the dressing room door. Zeb has one of our hype songs blasting already as he changes out of his hoodie to the shirt he’s wearing onstage. Reed is off the floor, jumping up and down like he’s psyching himself up and singing along to the lyrics—excessively banging his head.
I hop down from Mads’ back and join him, skipping and hopping all over the room, entirely matching his energy for the duration of the song. By the time the breakdown comes on, all four of us are in a circle. Zeb and Mads with the air guitars. Sticks in my hands. Reed screaming into an invisible mic.
The song wraps with our hysterical laughter. We’re still falling over one another as the next song comes on, and Stella sticks her head in the door.
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
“Yes! Leave that open,” Reed tells her.
She snickers. “Out in eight,” she reminds us.
My stomach knots and twists even more so than it does for any usual show. The sound of their chanting amps me. I grab Reed and I’s energy drinks out of the mini fridge. I shake them up, and we link arms to pop the tops and gulp them back as quickly as we can without getting totally drenched.
“Alright, circle up, let’s go,” Zeb says, clapping his hands together.
He’s tossing the small bean bag we always game with from hand to hand. We get in game positions, circled together in a huddle. I immediately push Reed as Zeb tosses the bean bag up. Mads catches it with his foot first, and thus begins my favorite part of our rituals.
Stella is telling us we have three minutes by the time one of us lets the bag hit the ground. I high-five Zeb on our victory, adrenaline beginning to swarm so madly within me that my ears are ringing. I check my makeup and outfit one more time in the mirror, then head out of the room first—Zeb gesturing and bending his head toward the door as if to say, “Ladies first.”
“We’re walking,” Stella says over her radio.
I’m so fucking pumped and anxious that I can’t stop clacking my sticks together. Every breath I take feels short. Zeb grasps my shoulder as if he can see my anxiety, and the squeeze of his hand on my collar helps me fully exhale this shit out.
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
