“You’re fucking delusional if you think I needed to drug you to have a chance in this band,” I say, blowing my hair out of my face.
“Everybodyshut the fuck up,” Mads yells.
I slacken a fraction in Reed’s grasp, Rad shifting on his feet as he peers Mads’ way, and finally, Mads looks at him.
“Rad, what are you talking about?” he asks.
Rad points at me again. “This little bitch roofied me the night she stole my job,” he says. “You think it was a coincidence that I happened to chat with her just before we went backstage? Before I passed out on the kit, and she was right there in the front row ready to take my place?”
Mads laughs.
It’s a noise I didn’t expect to hear from him in the midst of all this, yet it’s sardonic and vile enough that I’m waiting for the next move, because I know it isn’t going to be a pretty one.
“You’re accusing her of drugging you after the shityoupulled?” Mads says to him. “I should let her kick your fucking ass right now.”
“I can let her go,” Reed says.
I try to get out of his grasp, but Mads goes on.
“You were so fucking gone on pills the night you OD’d that you nearly fell asleep backstage. We thought that night was going to be the night this band was done. That all our fucking dreams were going to come shattering down with the sound of your cymbal falling over. We were already done with you, you just didn’t know it yet,” Mads says. “Thank fuck Bonnie was there not just to save our asses, but to make this band what it is.”
It’s Rad’s turn to scoff, his hands going to his hips. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right. Thank fuck, she was there. Thank fuck she was there to drug me and save me from having to endure another goddamn writing session with you. Thank fuck she was there so that I never had to play your shitty music again. And thankfuckthat she was there to ruin everything we had built together.” His gaze moves from Mads to Reed again. “She’s holding you back, and you know it,” he says to Reed.
“God, not this shit again,” Mads mutters.
“You know I’m the only reason anyone ever heard your fucking voice, and it shows with this new album. You used to bepower, Reed Matthews. What happened?” Rad goes on.
“Don’t fucking talk to him like that. He’s a hundred times the musician you are,” Mads says.
Still, Rad ignores him.
“Look at you, Matthews. Do you feel as strong as you did when you had me around? Are you really as loved as you think you are? Because my guess is, you aren’t. You were on the way to being something fucking special. And now… now you’re just another pretty boy faking it.”
“Shutup,” I groan. “Jesus, could you be more of an insufferable prick?”
“You’re just fucking jealous of Reed,” Mads says to Rad. “You’ve always been jealous of him.Hewas everything youwanted to be.Hewas the reason all those people wanted us to play—”
“Yeah right,” Rad rolls his eyes.
“You were never the reason those people gave us a chance. If it was all you, you would’ve succeeded with your last band,” Mads goes on, stepping closer to Rad.
“If we were playingmymusic instead of your bullshit, we’d already be headlining festivals,” Rad snaps.
“There is no ‘we.’ And even if there was, if we were playingyourmusic, this band would still be playing in a fucking basement and begging bar owners for gigs instead of on a national tour,” Mads says.
Rad is level with Mads, chests bumping. “You really want to go this route, Tourning?” he says, and there’s an edge to his tone that I don’t like. “Youreallywant to piss me off?”
Mads’ chin rises. “Fucking try me. I dare you, Cutrelle.Please. Fucking. Try. Me.”
Rad jerks like he’s going to head-butt Mads, but Mads is too quick. He dodges the incoming hit and throws a punch into Rad’s nose instead. I wince at the sound of the crack, at everyone around us gasping, yet Rad doesn’t stay down despite his stumble. He launches at Mads again, and I wonder why people even fucking bother.
Mads has been defending himself since he was a kid, and I’ve never seen him stand down from a punch.
His fist comes in contact with Rad’s stomach this time. Rad topples over, and Mads hits him one more time to get him laid out flat on the floor of the club. Security pushes through the crowd, and as Rad groans on the ground, Mads just holds his hands up.
“Dude,” Reed says tiredly.
“He doesn’t get to talk shit about either of you like that,” Mads says. “You’re better than him. Don’t let him in your fucking head. He deserves worse.”
