“We can’t just add songs… we don’t do this. There isn’t a spot for this in the lineup.” Chris rubs at his temples making some aggrieved noise back in his throat. “Fucking hell shit fuck damnit.”
“Oh wow, never heard that combo before.”
“Fuck,” Chris says once more with emphasis.
Nolan pulls his crew in tighter, hands moving fast as he explains whatever is going through his mind. The drummer, Drew, looks excited, while the guitarist, Hanson, looks a little peeved. But they all exchange some weird handshake beforeNolan toddles back off to the front of the stage to stand in front of the mic.
“Sometimes I don’t know about him…”
“Let him have an ounce of joy about something he usually hates, okay?”
Chris startles a little and looks over at me. “Really?”
I wave my hand in Nolan’s direction, eyebrows furrowed as I watch on. “Let him be.”
Nolan closes his eyes as he strums the guitar, his fingers flitting up and down the neck in a way that makes my gut clench with want and need and some other word that hurts to even consider. The song is immediately recognizable: “House of the Rising Sun.” It’s the song he sang back in the dive bar in Los Angeles.
Nolan’s voice is so deep, so raw, that it makes the song sound even more painful somehow. I stand frozen at the edge of the stage, eyes caught on him. When he gets to the chorus, he turns his head to look at me, throat working as he belts the lyrics.
And when he finishes, he winks and blows me a kiss.
He does the same thing in front of a crowded arena.
I can’t help but feel like it’s some weird, tortured version of a love song. A song with a warning to avoid the fate of someone lost to destruction.Too late, I want to tell Nolan. I’m already lost.
10
NOLAN
DECEMBER 2027
Everything is blurry. The people in the crowd, my thoughts, the tenuous string that connects me to my body, all of it is blurry. The only thing I see in startling clarity is Benji. It feels like there are blinders on my eyes. I can only see pinpricks of light, everything else is so fucking dark. Benji’s the sunshine, the light at the end of the dark, damp tunnel, he’s the promise of land on the endless horizon.
So I have to push him away.
He’s getting too close.
He’s going to figure me out.
Five days in France is a nice break, but at the same time it unsettles me to the core. I need to keep moving. As long as I’m moving, my brain doesn’t have a chance to think the thoughts that send a chill down my spine. The kind of thoughts that say it would be so easy to end all of this, not just the tour, buteverything. Down some pills. Step in front of a bus. Jump off a ledge.
The thoughts scare me because even though I want to die, I don’t know how. Before Benji it was easy. Every tour makes me want to die. Every night on stage makes death the easiest optionto escape. But when I fall asleep at night, he’s there now. What am I going to do in May at the end of the tour? He’ll leave me like everyone else. Everyone always leaves, including me.
“So the cover back in Milan was a hit,” Chris announces as he strides into the hotel suite.
“It’s been all over my social media feed,” Benji agrees. His fingers run through my hair repeatedly, nails softly scratching at my scalp.
I keep my eyes closed and tilt my head harder against his thigh, silently asking for more scratches. Benji chuckles softly and acquiesces, because he’s the best boy. Always doing what I ask even when I ask without words.
“I’m not doing it again,” I say firmly.
Chris sighs so loudly it sounds like he’s hurt himself. “I told the label as much already. But, Nolan, you really should consider it.”
“No,” I mumble sleepily. “It was for Benji.”
Benji’s fingers stutter in my hair for a moment before restarting. Everyone is quiet for a few long moments and sleep starts to claim me until the sound of Chris shuffling closer prompts me to open my eyes. His shadow looms over us on the blue velvet couch and his eyes radiate concern. Gross.
“Nolan, you’re okay, right?”
