“Sounds awful,” Zane said.
“It really does.”
“I remember being twenty-five. I was a total numbnuts back then,” Mike said.
Rusty lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lip. “Still are.”
Claudia laughed a little too loudly, then turned to Mike. “Sorry.”
“Nah, that’s okay. It’s not far from the truth.”
She studied his face while he picked up the bottle to pour another round. His bottom lip was thicker on the right side, with three overlapping half-moon scars. It was almost as if he’d been hit by the same object more than once.
He touched his lip, as if uncomfortable that she was staring at it. “I was a bit of a partier back then, but I’ve got it all under control now. I know when to stop.”
Dean sat forward in his chair and gave Mike a smile that reminded her of a proud father. “He does. Mike’s as solid as they come these days.”
Rusty tapped his cigarette into the ashtray and glanced at Claudia. “Do you want kids?”
The back of her neck tingled. “Pardon me?”
“Kids. Do you want a family?” he asked casually. “If you want kids, don’t take the job.”
“Um, you have children, don’t you?” She did her best not to sound like she was challenging him, even though she most definitely wanted to challenge him.
“That’s different. Kids don’t need their fathers the same way they do their moms.” Rusty sucked in on his cigarette, then blew the puff of smoke out the right side of his mouth.
“I know he sounds like a sexist ass,” Steven said. “But he’s kind of right. We’ve toured with moms before, and I canhonestly say this is no kind of life for a mother. It’s chock-full of guilt.”
Claudia hardened her gaze. “And judgment, too. I imagine there’s plenty of that to go around.”
“So… do you?” Rusty asked.
Her gaze turned into a full-on glare, and she realized the only choice was to bend the truth. She wasn’t sure. “No. I do not.”
Dean cleared his throat and offered her a warm smile. “Glad that’s settled. Anyway, Claudia, have you ever been on tour before?”
She shook her head. “Just some local gigs here and there. And I do an open-mic night on Tuesdays at a bar near my apartment.”
“Being on tour is unlike anything you’ll ever do in your life, and it’s not for everyone,” Rusty answered, taking another drag on his cigarette. “After a few weeks, you don’t know what time or day it is, and you don’t think it’ll happen, but you will definitely lose track of what city you’re in.”
“Forget city, after two months on the road, you won’t know what country you’re in,” Steven added.
Rusty wiped the sweat off his glass. “That’s true. It’s completely destabilizing and disorienting and exhausting, and at the same time it’s the highest high you’ll ever have. You’ll never feel as charged up and alive as you do in front of fifty thousand screaming fans.”
A surge of excitement filled her chest. Fifty thousand fans. The biggest crowd at open mic night had been less than fifty.
“It’s the best job in the world,” Zane said. “But it’s hard as hell too and you have to take care of yourself. When we’re recording, it’s weeks at a time with almost no sleep. We goaround the clock, napping on couches and sucking back coffee by the gallon?—”
“Among other things,” Steven muttered.
Nodding, Zane said, “Yeah, that too, sometimes. But not everyone can handle the pace, and some turn to pills to keep them going, then something else to put them to sleep. Don’t be one of those people, okay?”
Claudia nodded, soaking in his advice. The fact that Zane McCreight—frontman of The Vows—wanted to share his wisdom with her meant everything. He cared. He wanted good things for her. And she felt herself fall a tiny bit in love with him.
Rusty spoke next. “Zane’s right. If you find yourself tempted to go down that road, we’ll have to part ways. If you find the lifestyle is too hard for you, quit. Nothing’s worth killing yourself for.”
“I think Claudia here can handle it,” Mike said, rubbing the tip of his thumb on the back of her left shoulder. “She seems smart.”
