There are just so many of them compared to the five of us.
It’s not possible to keep all of them happy, at least not while protecting my mental health, and I’m not a social person by nature. Although, I do love rocking out on stage and producing music that has staying power to be played for decades.
Honestly, though? I’d be as happy working at my mom’s charity, teaching the next generation of musicians.
The press descends as soon as we step offstage.
Declan watches Cove as she gives an interview, and it’s nice to see them focusing on her for a change. It makes me feel guilty sometimes, but with my parents and grandparents being musicians, the press tends to flock to me and Ravvi.
Riot and Creed have their own connection to the music industry through their dads. Reporters always want to lead us into talking about our families.
Cove’s uncle was a musician in his own right, but he’s been gone for so long that they barely bring up Bryan Thomas. Hell, we named ourselves Darkest Nights after the song my mom and dad wrote to honor him. All they would have to do is ask about “Darkest Nights and Dirty Habits.” It would give them the perfect lead in to talk about her connection to the industry.
It sucks because this is her dream, and yet, they hardly treat her like the star of the show.
We made her front woman for a reason.
She’s talented as fuck, and it makes me wonder if it’s a gender bias against women in the rock industry. I’d like to think we’ve evolved past that, but I see it playing out in real time.
I barely get my mixers out and hand them to the sound guy before a microphone is shoved in my face.
The urge to take a swing at him is strong, but luckily, Ravvi tosses an arm over my shoulder, guiding me away.
“Maybe later, guys. We need to hydrate,” he says, ever the diplomat.
“I know you hate that shit as much as I do,” I grumble, pushing his arm off me. He’s sweaty, like we all are after finishing a long set, and I have no interest in smelling his armpit funk.
“Yeah, but you’ve got to at leastpretendyou want to engage, or they’ll pick up a vendetta. Who knows what nastiness they could fabricate in retaliation.” Ravvi laughs and shrugs. “It’s easier to play nice.”
I frown, shaking my head.
If my brother wasn’t always trying to look out for me, I bet he’d be happy with this life.
Cove wants to be a musician.
Ravvi was made for the stage.
The twins fucking eat up every second of fame.
I’m the odd one out.
And, as always, they try to accommodate my needs, but there’s every possibility that I’m holding them back.
Watching a bunch of random guys hit on Cove during our meet-and-greet does not improve my mood.
I’m done with today, but getting back on the bus so we can travel all night to the next city doesn’t sound any more appealing.
Damn.
I’m ready for a vacation.
If I had the opportunity to snuggle with Cove every night, I’d probably be fifty percent less cranky. That hasn’t happened, and unlike Ravvi, my patience is wearing thin. He’s naturally more optimistic than I am, and way better at going with the flow.
A random woman appears in front of me as I stretch back against the couch I’m seated on. She’s cute, with shoulder-length wavy blonde hair and an easy smile. I’m not in the mood to engage with anyone, though.
What my dad said before we left on this tour plays through my mind, and I realize I’m an asshole. The fans pay good money to hang out with us. To them, we’re a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I can make or break whether they leave with a good memory.
My earbuds are in, so I can’t hear what she says, but I pull the black permanent marker out of my pocket and give it a little shake. “You want me to sign something?”
