Chris fumbled with the device in his hands, making it spin between his thumb and middle finger as he got lost in thought again. Then, out of the blue, it hit him—seriously, his brain was working in installments. He was the one who had screwed up, and knowing Leah, she was probably trying to give him space to realize how badly, so he’d apologize when he was ready. That witch loved some groveling.
CHRIS: Can we talk when you come back?(9:43 AM)
After some more ruffling and laughing, with a sharp thud of the exit door, the bus grew silent and ten minutes went by. Twenty. Thirty. There was still no answer.
“What the fuck?”
Maybe they’d already left and she hadn’t seen it, or maybe she’d thought about answering later. Though she could also be angrier than he’d imagined. Not that he could blame her.
“Meh.”
The guitarist tossed the phone and rolled on the mattress, leaving the privacy curtain closed against his back. He had nothing to do all day and was actually exhausted, so he might as well spend all his free time hibernating.
However, when he was just dozing off, floating on a sea of nothing for once—thank God—his device vibrated, startling him.
“Fuck…” Chris grumbled.
Squinting when he unlocked the screen, his heart thumped in his chest.
WOLFIE: Hey(10:31 AM)
Not sure what you’re up to, but if you’re free, can you come over to the hotel?(10:31 AM)
It wasn’t weird that Søren texted him. They had grown quite close during the last year, but the caution in his words as he asked him to meet made the guitarist feel suspicious. Especially since he thought they had left already.
CHRIS: Aren’t you going to be late for the space center thing?
WOLFIE: Leah and I aren’t going
CHRIS: Why?
WOLFIE: She isn’t feeling well
CHRIS: Why?
WOLFIE: Stop asking and move your ass. I’ll explain when you’re here
CHRIS: Jesus ok. I’ll be there in 15
Groaning, Chris rolled off his mattress. His bed was on ground level, which made it easy to get out, though not so much to get up. He took a couple of deep breaths and slowly let them out, dreading leaving the bus, but then decided to start moving. If Søren and Leah weren’t going on the trip after she’d been a pain in the ass about it for weeks, something might have been really wrong. Was she sick?
Chris grabbed a pair of knee-length, ripped denim shorts that were in the clean laundry basket and threw on a random white t-shirt. He checked he had everything with him—phone, his musician ID badge, and the spare keys to the bus. As he made his way out the door and to the exit of the concert field where they had spent the night, he ordered an Uber.
Fifteen minutes later, he was getting out of the vehicle and walking towards Søren, who was leaning on a pillar and smoking at the entrance of the hotel Dark Omen was staying at. It wasn’t the most luxurious place, but it didn’t look like the cheap type either, with its wide roadway and perfectly white painted walls framed with beautiful palm trees.
That was one big difference between a world-famous band and one that was still trying to make its way to the top—money. But these guys hadn’t let their position get to their heads. They were as humble as it got.
“Hey,” Chris said when he approached the Norwegian frontman.
“Hey.” He put the stub of his cig out on the ashtray, giving him a side hug. “How are you?”
“Honestly?” The guitarist tilted his head, a sardonic smirk on his lips.
“Yeah.”
“Confused as fuck.”
Søren simply nodded, but somehow that gesture and the lack of judgment made Chris feel validated.
