“Fine—but don’t make beating up your bandmates part of it.”
“Then tell Cyrus to stay the fuck out of my face.”
Mick sighed—and the expression on his face filled me with dread that maybe hewasready to retire thanks to us. “I won’t do that. You guys need to work it out tomorrow—when you’re sober.”
But the problem was that they didn’t. When we all boarded the bus later that night, the two men didn’t speak. And theydidn’t talk the next day, either. In fact, it became clear to Braden and me that they didn’t plan to. I wondered how they could even get along in the hotel room if they refused to communicate.
At least they weren’t trying to kill each other.
Other than their mutual silent treatment, this tour was much like the first time—we were on the same kind of bus, went to the same sort of hotels. The only thing was different music and more crowds who seemed to know us.
But at the end of the first leg, Zack did something very different and it made me worry even more about the future of our band.
CHAPTER 14
The very last day of the first leg of our tour was in Denver, so it was like a homecoming show. We already had a second leg scheduled to begin in a week, so we were looking forward to resting—but we were hyped for this show. As the bus rolled down I-76 toward Denver, there was an energy in there that we hadn’t felt since the first day we’d started, because we knew this show would be electric. It didn’t hurt that the show had been sold out for weeks.
As with our first tour, we were feeling exhausted and worn thin, but it was easy to rally for this particular show.
And, just as we’d expected, it was amazing. Although we didn’t know the numbers, we knew we were doing even better than before, because Mick had told us we’d have one week at home to recuperate and then we’d be back on the road—only this time, we would be the second act and there would only be us and the headliners and we’d be playing to large audiences, which assured us that our take would be bigger. Mick also told us to not get too comfy because he knew there would be a third leg, even though the details hadn’t been arranged yet.
Because this show was also the last for the headliners, they threw a huge party in a big room at the hotel where all the bands were staying. The plan was that we’d go home the next morning after celebrating and catching a little sleep. Mick and the bus driver didn’t want to engage in our “party nonsense” but, because he was truly a softie at heart, Mick said we wouldn’t hit the road till nine AM so we could at least try to get a good night’s rest.
All of us in Once Upon a Riot could drink legally now, and we did. It started with the beer flowing freely from one of the two kegs the headliners bought, but there were lots of bottles of harder beverages. It started with the four of us chatting with a couple of eager fans but, an hour later, Cy was surrounded by no fewer than five girls and Zack had his arm around a dark-haired woman who wore a denim jumpsuit that showed lots of side boob.
I tamped down the jealous beast in my belly who had no right—and I did it by switching to a rum and Coke.
As the night wore on, I found myself getting tired. When a couple of other fans we’d been talking to left to fill up their beer, I told Braden, “I think I’m ready to go.”
“Yeah. Me too. Let’s go say goodbye to Wayne and the crew first.” It was a good idea. The headliners had been great to tour with and expressing our gratitude would be a good idea.
My mouth was dry but I didn’t want to try quenching it with more alcohol. “Let me get a drink of water first.”
Braden nodded. “I’ll see what’s up with the guys.” He gave me a quick kiss and we parted—with Braden heading toward Cy and me going toward the makeshift bar.
But before I made it there, Zack’s raven-haired denim jumpsuit girl all but attacked me, pulling on my arm. At first, I thought she was wanting to fight and I turned quickly, ready to defend myself. When I saw her face, though, I knew thatwasn’t her intent. Her pupils were wide, her face distressed. “You’re in Zack’s band?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“He’s sick. He—”
It wasn’t what she said but how she said it that made the hair on my arms stick out straight and I became completely sober as the entire party faded away. It was just her and me. “Where is he?”
“In his room.”
“What’s the number?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you take me there?” I wanted to shake her or slap her, because she was acting like a frightened rabbit and not exactly forthcoming with information.
“Uh…I can’t. I need to get out of here.”
“What?”
“I can’t let the cops catch me again.”
Although I tried grabbing her arm, she was making her way through the crowd and out the door before I could say another word.
