Atlanta goes off without a hitch. Sold out. Incredible crowd.
I’m covered in sweat. The high always feels good. Unfortunately, the inevitable low is not far behind.
Security screens people for backstage passes, and Max starts opening the back rooms up for the better looking women.
This is how it works.
Two girls, one bleached blond and another brunette, wearing tight T-shirts emblazoned with the Colt Forrester logo, drop onto the couch beside me. One hands me a drink, and the other girl’s hand lands on my thigh.
They’ve been drinking for a while now. Most of these groupies have been partying since before the opening act.
“Oh, my God, Colt. You sounded so good.” The blond coos in my ear, pressing her tits against me.
“Baby Come Home is my favorite song ever.” This from the brunette. Her hand has moved boldly close to my crotch.
In the past, I had no problem with this. Have a drink. Cop a feel and take one, or even both of them, back to my bus. I’m waiting for the weakness to kick in. Waiting for my cock to take over.
Only… it doesn’t.
In fact, the entire scene repulses me.
One of my sound guys lights up a joint. I smell it. It fucking pisses me off because I know they won’t stop with the harmless stuff. An impressive sound system cranks out the tunes. All Colt Forrester of course.
Charlie’s words come to mind. What do you do then? Eat? Drink? Fuck?
I shake my head of her image. I’m caught between who I am and what I want.
That night. In the darkness. She knew. She knew more about me than any other soul on earth…You’re letting it hurt you. Of course, it’s a gift. You’ve been blessed. But it’s controlling you instead of the other way around.
I shrug the girls off and stand up. They’re pouting, but I could give two fucks. They’re women. They’re human beings who want something I don’t have to give. They’ll find it somewhere else. I suddenly realize I’m just something for them to brag about.
Max is watching me incredulously. “Hey, man, what’s the problem? Great night, by the way. Fucking spectacular way to launch the tour.”
I’m looking beyond him. Searching for the door. I fucking want out of here. “I’m going to the bus.”
Max looks confused. “Want me to find some different girls for you? No problem. You’re the man.”
But I’m annoyed. Irritated. I meet his gaze directly. “Alone.”
Max nods as though he understands, but I know he doesn’t. I push my way through the throngs of people, half already high on something. Fuck.
I need out.
I push my way through the door and march toward the bus. It’s parked in a secured area. Thank God. I can’t deal with fans right now. I can’t deal with band members, sound guys. And God knows I can’t deal with Max.
Once I’m on the bus, I lock the door and pull out my phone.
I need to touch her somehow. A text. A few words. Knowing she hears me…
I have a few texts from an unfamiliar number. They started coming in about four hours ago. Before the show started.
303/998-2343
Colorado.
Unknown:This is Chad, remember? From Whiskey Creek.
Unknown:Hey man. Charlie’s in the hospital. Something’s wrong. She passed out at work. A seizure or something. From what I can find out it’s serious. Life threatening.
