“What needs bleach is that bunk,” Luke fires back before he shoves half the ice cream sandwich into his mouth. “Jack ruined his favorite bwankie.”
First of all, only the people closest to Wilder call him Jackson, and there are three people on this earth who can call him Jack. Hearing his beautiful name, with all the trust implied to even be allowed to say it, abused in that sarcastic tone, makes me want to march straight up to Luke and press his chipmunk cheeks together so the ice cream sandwich fires out onto the table.
Second? What the fuck? I knew the band was splintering. I might be a pretty useless member of their team, but since I’ve been around for so long, even on the periphery, I canseeit. The rest of the world, including the band’s label, has no idea there’s any turmoil.
Those tiny fractures? They’re turning into straight-up breaks that can’t be healed. Tomorrow’s show is the last one of an almost year-long world tour. For the past three months, theband has been playing North America, but just because they’re mostly in the States doesn’t mean they’ve had any chance to be athome.
This isn’t a case of “They’ve been around each other too long and the company is wearing thin, so give them a few weeks, and they’ll be right and tight again”.
The problems run much, much deeper.
When the break happens, it may be permanent.
I can’t be the only one dreading what’s coming, but I haven’t heard so much as a whisper from anyone else. Everyone is scared to talk about it. No one wants to put it out there.
“Shut the fuck up, Luke,” Matt snaps, and not playfully.
Luke rolls his eyes. “Why bother defending him? It’s not like he’s done you any favors lately.”
“Where is Wilder?” I ask, crossing my arms around myself, but this time not to block out the wind.
I have my college hoodie on and my jeans from yesterday. They were the first clothes I found, and they’re not fresh or unwrinkled. I’m not really a makeup person, but I’m currently sporting zero and probably am trending way further to the side of total bedhead mess than I am an astute and capable medical professional.
“Same place he always is. Stealing the thunder and the spotlight.” Jameson flicks the video back on. Unfortunately, I catch the last part, where the poor dog is indeed pooping in reverse.
I stand with Matt on the bleaching his eyes comment.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Matt supplies with a shrug that is far colder than it should be. “He woke us all up when he puked all over his bunk. I helped him get to the toilet, but that’s all I’m doing tonight. Word to the wise… that bunk doesn’t need cleaning. It needs an exorcism. I told him not to eat that fucking gas station chicken at the last stop. Get ice cream, I said. Don’tbe a dumbass, I said. That chicken looks like it’s eight years old. Did he listen? Yeah, no. He didn’t.”
“He hasfoodpoisoning?” I gape at all three of them in turn. “You have a show tomorrow evening! You’ve never, ever canceled one before.”
I get three blank stares and a whole lot ofit’s not our problemvibes.
I knew things were bad, but I had no idea this level of spite could exist between men who used to be the closest of friends.
Matt and Wilder have known each other since they wereten years old.
“I’ll deal with the bunk,” Benny drawls in his slow, practiced speech, coming up behind Matt.
I startle. When the heck did he get back onto the bus?
He flashes me a bright smile from under his handlebar mustache. I’m not a fan of facial hair, and definitely not that kind, but it suits Benny just fine. He’s just about bald and never wears hats to cover it up. He once told me that they interfere with his driving, even when he’s not driving. He has a great sense of humor like that. He makes up for not doing the western hat thing by wearing a collared shirt that is just about always western themed, a tight pair of jeans, and scuffed-up old cowboy boots.
The buses pulled over at arest stopat the side of the freeway. They obviously waited a little bit to find one before they called over to my bus. I wish they had called right away. I would have been awake, alert, andready.
Meanwhile, poor Wilder has been dumped in the bathroom, all alone. Has anyone even freaking checked on him?
“I’m going to the back.” I direct that at Benny, because he’s the only one I trust to give an actual shit at the moment. “When my bags get here, can you let me know?”
All my medical supplies are stored safely in duffels and one large hardshell suitcase in the back of the bus, with a few underneath in the luggage compartments. They’re no doubt being unearthed as we speak, but it’s probably going to be a long process.
“Sure thing, Carissa. I’ll let you know right away. I’m going to be a minute digging out cleaning supplies and gloving up, but that bunk doesn’t scare me. I have an iron stomach. It’s all those steaks. Throw them on the grill for just a second and whip those babies off. It creates an iron constitution.” He winks at me, so I’m not sure if he’s serious or not.
Benny does that a lot. He has such a great sense of humor, but no one ever knows when he’s telling tales and when he’s being serious. Half the time, I’m not even sure he knows.
“Benny, you’re showing us up,” Luke complains. Loudly.
I stifle all the douchebag and asshat comments that want to tear their way out of my mouth.
