Bad Day (Hard Rock Roots) (24 page)

“
I was out, but I didn't want to be in. I was gone, but I didn't want to come back. I was lost, but I couldn't be found,
” I whisper into the mic, my breath so heavy it breaks the speakers into pieces. I imagine that the whole universe is looking at me then, watching me make my way over to Naomi.

“
I was down, but I didn't want to be up. I was asleep, but I didn't want to wake. I was dead, but I didn't want to live.
” Her voice is like glass, strong but capable of being shattered, of cutting the audience to bits and destroying the whole word, just like that. Hayden's a good singer, a great performer, but she isn't Naomi Knox. Nobody is Naomi Knox.
Friday, onstage in Los Angeles at our biggest show ever, when our fans flock to see us, climbing through the doors with the tickets from shows we've missed, I'll propose again. In front of all those people. With our souls blended like this, there's no way she'll say no. No way.

“
And I will survive,
” we sing together, her strumming her guitar, me listening for Josh. When he breaks in with the bass, I close my eyes and pretend Travis is there, that none of this had ever happened. But I still wouldn't change it for the world, even if I had the power because there's a chance that Naomi and I wouldn't have ended up together, and for me, that's all that really matters anymore.

“
I will triumph because that's what I do. I'll make it out of here, it's true. You'll see me running, but you won't know why. If anything I have to say makes you understand that I, I have to go this way then it's all been worth it. Even if you don't deserve shit. Even if on the baddest day, you bleed tears of black. I'm lost but not found, and I won't go back.
” I sing this part of the song alone, turning around and letting my eyes fall on the rest of the band. I manage to make eye contact with every single one of them before I come full circle, marching to the edge of the stage and bending down, making sweet love to the crowd with my voice. In my songs, I like to scream and cuss and grab my fucking junk, but that's not what Travis was about. And I respect that.

“
I was down,
” Naomi belts after I move away. “
But that's where I always wanted to be.
”

“
Don't pick me up because I'm happy here.
” I rise back up, standing tall and raising my hand in the air, exciting the crowd, igniting them. Lighters come up, cell phones, all swaying with the deep bass, the oozing sound of confident conflict that Travis worked with everyday of his life. Even in his last days, spending time with a girl he loved, but having to lie about it. It's tragic, but it suits the person he was. It really, really does. “
Don't pick me up because I'm exactly where I belong.
”

I move back a few steps until I find Naomi, eyes hooded, swaying in time with the crowd, her Wolfgang howling its pain to the moon above, somewhere out there over the auditorium roof, smiling down on us. Always smiling down. I look her straight in the face, no shades, no bullshit, and then I lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek.

Yeah.

Fuck yeah.

Turner Campbell just gave some cheek sugar.

Naomi's eyes are wide now, like I just tea-bagged her or something. I bet she'd actually have been less surprised if I'd done that. When I turn back to the crowd, I make sure to give them a nice, long, slow lick down my microphone. Can't have them thinking I've gone soft. On the contrary, I've actually gotten harder. Stronger. More confident. Naomi makes me want to walk tall and carry a big ass motherfucking stick.

I keep the mic gripped tight in my sweaty fingers, kissing my way up the handle until my breath clogs the speakers and fills the auditorium.

“
Don't pick me up because I'm lost, not found, in the space between, and there's nowhere else I need to be.
”

We finish the set on a flurry of applause and chanting, my heart beating out of my chest, my face flushed, my body shaking like I'm coming down from a badass motherfucking trip. Instead of doing what I usually do – throwing the mic, storming off the stage, flipping the crowd off – I just stand there. I stand there with the mic by my side, and a smile on my face. My shirtless figure beams back at me from the monitors on either side of the stage, the ones I was too distracted to notice earlier.

Behind me, I can feel Naomi's heart pounding, teasing the air between us with heat that draws me back a few steps and drops my hand to hers. She's supposed to play another set, a whole other fucking set, with Amatory Riot right now. But I don't want to let her go. I don't
ever
want to let her go.

I squeeze my lover's hand and stare out at the audience. There are positives and minuses of having a crowd this big. On the plus side, ain't nobody getting up on this stage, no matter how hard they push and fight and scream. On the negative, I can't see their faces like I want to, can't make out smiles and frowns and tears and bruises and mosh pits. They've become a single entity, a faceless whole, and no matter how hard I stare, I can't break them up.

But they're cheering.

And cheering.

And cheering.

And the sound is vibrating the earth and moving the sky. It's loud, so loud I think that maybe Travis can hear it up there in Heaven. Or down in Hell. Either way, you know.

When I think we've waited long enough, when I feel like their excitement is at its peak, I reach over and help Naomi slip off her guitar, pulling her along with me as we exit the stage. I'm smiling so big I feel like my fucking face is going to split in half. My friends follow along behind us.

Milo's standing there, shaking, and in his eyes are tears.

“Whoa, dude, we weren't that fucking good,” I say, but he just shakes his head, pressing his tongue to his teeth as he takes in a big breath and tries to get control of himself.

“Trey?” Ronnie asks suddenly, startling me. He moves forward, past Lola with her guest pass hanging around her neck, and grabs onto our manager's shoulders, eyes sparking with fear. “Has something happened to Trey?” Milo nods, and my heart plummets.

“Trey's waking up,” he says, and Ronnie and I both exchange a look.

“He's waking up?” I ask, and my voice is so quiet, the words are nearly impossible to hear. “How? When? Right now?”

“Yes, yes, right now,” Milo says, glancing over his shoulder at America and the entourage of bodyguards and staff members. We're not even close to being done here. But I'm not waiting around to finish up. If Trey's awake, I have to go. I can always come back, but I have to go now. “And I know what you're going to say and do, so I've already prepared for it. We have a one day reprieve, Turner. I've already spoken with the producers and the editors.”

I can't hold back a fist pump as I turn to face Naomi, red faced and panting, orange eyes locked onto me like they're stuck there.

“Just one day,” Milo emphasizes from behind me. I ignore him and focus on my Rock Goddess.

“Go,” she whispers, her voice slightly hoarse. “I have to stay, but you go.” I start to protest, but she leans forward, sweaty hands rubbing over the muscles in my shoulders, trailing down my arms, touching me, feeling me up in the worst way possible. I push against her, finding my lips with hers, eating her up and tasting sweat and fatigue and tired vocal cords. Best fucking taste there is. My cock stirs to life, seeking her out, grinding painfully against the stupid ass boxer briefs the stylist made me wear underneath my slacks. “I have to be here tonight or Hayden wins. I can't leave, but I also can't let you wait to see your friend. Go. I'll be here when you come back.” I pull away from her, and she smiles. “Remember, I've got Brayden Ryker. I'm impenetrable now.”

“Damn straight,” I tell her, brushing some blonde hair back from her forehead. “Impenetrable to anyone but Mr. Campbell and his Mini-Me.” Naomi rolls her eyes and flicks me gently in the crotch, making my throat squeeze tight and my fists clench by my sides.

“Mini is the only thing right about that sentence. Now get out of here and be safe. And hurry back. You're going to want to see me after I kick Hayden's ass in more ways than one.” Naomi smiles tightly, and I kiss her face again. Once, twice, three times for good measure before turning on my heel and striding out into the hallway.

Ronnie brings Lola along which honestly just makes me miss Naomi's presence as we rattle through the darkness in our rented van. One day soon, Milo promises we're getting the buses back. He better be right about that. Not that it matters, I guess, since we have to fly to LA to make it in time for the biggest fucking show the rock world has seen in years. I shiver and clench my arms across my chest.

Nobody talks; we're all too wrapped up in our emotions. All excited to see Trey, but scared, too, like maybe he won't be the same person anymore or something. I can't even imagine what I'd do if my best friend survived only to become somebody else. Nobody ever mentioned anything about brain damage or whatever to me, but it's always there in the back of my mind, those extra fears. Like leaving Naomi back at the venue for example. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and chew quick and fast, letting my anxiety out in the grind of teeth. That Brayden dude better be worth his weight in gold because I'm trusting him with my one woman.

“Fuck,” I sigh, putting my boot against the seat and waiting. Ronnie and Lola sit behind me with Josh. And to my right, Jesse and the bald bodyguard dude. I wonder if I should ask him his name at some point? I turn my head out the window and rest my chin in my palm, wishing away the next five or so hours of my life until we get back to the hospital. I pull my phone out, shooting off a text to Sydney, and then looking up the live feed from the concert. But while I wait for Amatory Riot to take the stage, I end up nodding off, and I don't wake up until we get there. One minute, I'm holding my phone in my palm, and the next we're pulling underneath the white awning with its bright white lights.

You can always tell a good performance by how fucking wiped you are afterwards. Based on the evidence, I'd have to say that was one of my best. I check my phone again, but don't see any response from Sydney. Kind of makes me nervous.

“Be polite, calm, and understanding. Trey is not going to be in any state for practical jokes or scuffles of any kind,” Milo says, playing the pretend father figure, as usual. We all ignore him, descending on the hospital disheveled and dirty, makeup bleeding down our faces, clothes crusted with dried sweat, wild hair. The stares are endless and the looks on the staff's faces are priceless as we make our way down the hall to the reception area. As we're standing there waiting for Sydney, I turn around and rest my elbows on the counter, eyes skimming across the flow of traffic that's passing down the hall. A pair of girls with matching
Get Well
balloons in their hands, a woman pushing an empty wheelchair, a tall dude with dark hair and a bouquet of black roses in his hand.

I don't pay attention to any of them; they mean nothing. The only person I'm here for is Treyjan.

In the midst of the supposed normalcy, Lola Saints turns around and copies my pose, catching sight of the dark haired man and his flowers, his vampire pale skin, and the rancid gator smile stretching across his too white teeth. One word escapes her lips, just one little word, at the same moment the man pulls a pistol from underneath his coat.

“Tyler?”

To be continued...

Dear Reader,

Hello again. I'm sure you probably hate me right now. I'm sure you've probably hated me for the last three endings in this series, huh?

But that's okay, because I like your face. Love it, even. You've got the guts to read real ugly words wrapped in music and sex and blood. That takes a lot. So thank you. Thank you for staying on tour with us, for hating Hayden, for loving Turner, for understanding Naomi.

And thanks for letting me write from the heart and soul.

I won't make you wait long for the next book,
Born Wrong.
So stay tuned for the fifth installment and get ready to have your face rocked off.

Dance to the beat of your own drum; live to the rhythm of your pulsing heart.