Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Laird inspects her once more as if he knows she hates to bother others, even at her own expense. “Anything could have happened.”
“Stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” Nikki eyes my head. “You might have a concussion. Let’s get ahold of Tommy.” A tremor in her tone has her dropping her gaze to the ground. “I’m not sure what to do about performing.” Looking at us for answers, she asks, “Do we still go on?”
Laird wraps her in his arms before she has time to say more. “Clearly not fans of the band.”
Her shoulders rattle with laughter, and she pushes him off. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Can’t help it,” he says, grinning in reaction to hers.
She wipes under her eyes where tears had threatened to fall, then her gaze volleys between us. “We’re taking the stage.” As if catching herself, her gaze darts back to me. “If you’re okay, that is.”
“Fine and dandy.” I grab a cold bottle of water from the cooler nearby and hold it to my head. “I’m ready to rock this arena.”
Laird nods. “We’re here for the fans.”
We start for the doors leading backstage, leaving this loading area and the scuffle outside behind us. Nikki stops before we push through the doors and says, “Don’t tell Tulsa until after The Crow Brothers perform. He’ll lose it on security.”
Do I agree with her plan? No, not really. He should know what happened, but I also realize it will cause much damage if he finds out before performing. He probably won’t play, leading to turmoil and legal issues as a no-show on stage. Like the rest of us, she shouldn’t have been put in danger, and that back there was a fucking mess. I wouldn’t want someone I loved caught in it.
We’ve chosen this life, good or bad. People either love us or want to rip us to shreds. I say, “We’re not doing this festival next year.”
“Agreed,” they reply in unison as we push through the double doors and enter the hall like the professionals we are to do our jobs like nothing ever happened.
Sitting in the blackness of the stage, I can barely make out the drum kit in front of me.
This is my moment.
My time to shine.
It’s all about leading us from the dark into the light.
When I tap my sticks, the lights blast on, illuminating the arena as soon as I slam down on my drums. Cheering explodes, the sound blasting into us and giving us life. Kicking into the steady beat of the opening song, Nikki sings like an angel to a mesmerized crowd. Her voice silences the critics and pulls them into the next ninety minutes of our rock set.
It's too hot to keep my shirt on, but it’s not until we’ve covered six songs that I tug it off without missing a beat. Laird looks back when the fans go wild, clueing him into something I’m doing.
I won’t call attention to the blood that’s returned to streak across his chin or the drops that have fallen, staining the front of his shirt. It’s not enough to worry, but the visual is a reminder of the pain pulsing in my head. As if drumming wasn’t doing that already.
Dizziness has me anchoring myself to my chair, and I look down, checking the setlist to stay on track despite knowing it by heart. I push through. I have no other choice.
Nikki swings out in front of my platform, making eye contact, but I know she’s checking on me. She doesn’t miss a word of the song and keeps moving like all is as it was meant to be. I can play every song by heart, drumming on instinct, but she gives me something to focus on instead of getting lost in the crowd of faces in the distance and blacking out.
Closing out the show by ripping across the drums, I hit the last beat of our set and slam the sticks down. Done. I’m behind Laird as we trail Nikki off stage. I’m hot, and the pain has intensified. I catch a bottle tossed to me and finish the water before we reach the dressing room.
I slump onto the leather couch, waiting for the door to close. As soon as Nikki closes it, I concede to the pain. “I need a medic.”
“You have a mild concussion,” the doctor says. “I’m surprised you got through the set.”
“The show must go on, right, Doc?”
“To your detriment.” He starts packing his bag, then looks at me before shifting to Tommy. “You have the instructions. When does he fly back to LA?”
“I’m right here, by the way. As much as Tommy will love babying me, he’s not my keeper.” I check my phone like I might have missed a message, but there’s not one. Though I wish I’d heard from a certain nurse.