Ryan turns to us and hands out the key cards for the penthouse. “He said everything will be there when we arrive. More food, more drinks, everything. I’m gonna grab someshit. Meet you up there, fuckers,” Ryan announces, then turns, exiting Matt’s room and heading for our individual rooms.
Once inside our room, Danger grabs me, excitedly pulling me to him. “I think we’re finally making it, Lunar.”
“No, babe…you’vemade it,” I tell him honestly.
A bright smile lights his face as he holds me tight, and I have to say, I’m so fucking glad I am here to witness the rise of Recoil.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DANGER
Mid-May
My voice is breathy as I sing to the packed-out Tokyo Dome in the heart of Japan. We’ve been on tour for a while now, and I’ve noticed my voice is becoming breathier over the last week, but I’ve put it down to wear and tear. However, as I sing the final lyrics to “Hold Your Breath,” my throat hurts tonight. I’m glad this concert is coming to an end because I’m not sure how much longer I can keep singing, which is concerning as I belt out the final chorus, and my throat tickles. I want to cough, but I hold it back and take a breath between words to regain my focus. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but I need to figure it out.
I sing the song’s final line, and the beat drops before the crowd erupts. I obviously haven’t disappointed them. Even though I can tell my voice is off.
Before stepping back to the mic, I lean down, grab my water bottle, and swiftly gulp half its contents in one swig.
“Thank you, Tokyo, we’re Recoil, and you’ve been fucking amazing. Goodnight!” I call out, noticing the dry huskiness of my voice.
Ryan and Matt continue to wave, lapping up the attention as I rush off stage. I need to get my throat feeling better because we’re not even halfway through this tour, and if my voice gives out now, we’re screwed. Jogging down the stairs, my feet are heavy when they stomp against the cold black metal beneath me. I gulp down the water as fast as I can, trying to alleviate the persistent dull, aching itch.
Lunar is quickly by my side, and she touches my arm with a comforting gesture, looking at me with a worried stare. “You okay?”
“Why? Did I sound like shit?” I ask with clear concern.
She winces and shakes her head slowly. “No. You sounded amazing, but you don’t look yourself. Something’s up.”
“I’m fine,” I reply and shrug out of her grip to step away.
I don’t want to tell her I’m freaking the fuck out.
I don’t want to freakherout.
And above all, I don’t want to show any signs of weakness.
With quick steps, I storm away, leaving Lunar standing there. My feet take me to the green room as the tepid liquid from the water bottle does nothing to soothe my scratchy throat. Making my way to the dresser mirror, I open my mouth, trying to look down my throat to see if I can see anything. The effort is futile. One—the room is dimly lit, and I can’t see shit. And two—I’m not a doctor, so I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
A presence to my side alerts me that someone’s watching, and I turn with my tongue still halfway out of my mouth to Ryan, smirking. I stop, stand up straight, and take another gulp of my water like I wasn’t just being a weirdo in front of a mirror in a room by myself as he continues to smirk while tilting his head.
“You ogling yourself in the mirror again?” he teases, walking into the room further.
I roll my eyes and throw my now-empty water bottle at him. It smacks his shoulder and tumbles to the floor.
“No! But I do think I’m getting sick.”
Ryan steps back, putting his fingers up in an X sign. “Then stay the fuck away from me. And rest. That voice… weneedit.”
“I know, we’re finally making it. Our shows are huge, the fans are great, and now I go and get whatever the fuck this is…” I swipe my fingers through my hair. “What a damn joke.”
Ryan shakes his head. “Tell Luke. I’m sure he’ll get someone to fix you right up.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll go find him.” I head out the door in search of our agent.
I need to nip whatever this is in the bud.
It doesn’t take me long to find him. He’s talking to the roadies who are packing up after the show. Stepping over to him, I clear my throat, trying to remove the niggle.
