He stumbles beside me, and I can feel his eyes on the side of my face. “You don’t look so hot. And Jesus, your hand. How will you play?”
I peer down at it as if from far away. Glass shards are embedded in my knuckles, but I don’t feel them. I don’t feelanything.
Shaking off my hand—droplets of blood flying everywhere, some getting on my bare chest—I say, “I’m good. Doesn’t hurt.”
He scoffs but reaches into his pocket, pulls out a napkin that he has for who knows why the fuck, and presses it into my hand. “At least stem the bleeding.” I grunt but do what he says, tossing the napkin away when it’s soiled, and Ireach for another. He passes me a bandana, and I wrap it around my knuckles.
The ride to the concert venue is short, but my stomach roils the entire time. I grab a bottle of tequila from a cupboard on our tour bus and drain it, tossing the bottle on the floor when I’m done. It does nothing to calm the storm in my belly.
Fuck it, whatever. The show will only last an hour or two. I can push through for that long, then go back to the hotel to get some sleep.
I’m shaken out of my stupor by Zed, who has a scowl on his face. “You can’t go on like this,” he says, grabbing my chin and turning my head side to side. “Jesus, Ryder. How much did you take?”
I bat his hand away then push him across the aisle of the bus. “Get the fuck off me, man. I’m good. Let’s fucking go.”
His hands on me make my skin crawl, and I have to shake myself to get the feeling from my limbs. That does nothing to stop the sloshing in my head.
Walking into the building with all the noise and people bustling about makes me want to slap my hands over my ears and turn around, to say fuck this show. It’s too loud, too bright, toobusy.
But I push forward, avoiding even brushing up against people, or I might vomit. Every step closer to the stage seems to take an eternity, like I’m walking through quicksand.
My legs threaten to buckle at any moment, but I square my shoulders and make my way to the stage. The lights are too bright, and the crowd is too loud, but that’s normal. As soon as I get out there, I’ll get used to it, and I’ll survive.
I always do.
The backing music for “Prayers for Me” come on, andthe crowd goes wild. Mitch pats me on the back with a wide grin on his face as he brushes past me to sit at his drum set. He twirls his sticks before he picks up the beat of the music playing. Kas strums his guitar and walks out onto the stage to loud applause. Softly, he sings the chorus of the song over the backing track.
Then it’s my turn.
When the spotlight lands on me, raucous cheers greet me. My stomach lurches as I stumble out, my fingers unable to catch the strings of my Fender. The fucking handkerchief is in the way, but I’m probably still bleeding, so I leave it on.
Once I’m standing at the mic, I grab it, leaning heavily on the spindly stand. “Sorry we’re late,” I slur as I look around at those assembled. They all blur together, colors and faces clashing in my muddled brain.
“We’re…we’re…”
My stomach lurches violently, and bile rises in my throat. There’s no way I can hold it back.
Turning to the side, I vomit, my eyes bulging with the force of it. I can’t seem to stop, dropping to my knees, my palms landing in my mess.
When my stomach is empty, I attempt to stand, but I can’t rise to my feet. Hands grab at me, but I push them away, wanting to do this on my own. I don’t want strangers touching me right now. My past and present are clashing violently, and I can’t distinguish the touch of those that want to help and the person that hurt me.
Getting to my feet, I stumble a few steps, then my knees buckle, and the ground comes rushing up toward me. There’s no pain as my face hits the stage, and then my world goes black.
SEVEN
JAXON
Last week,we reported major entertainment news. Ryder, from Lana’s Mischief, real name Wesley Morgan, has been rushed to the hospital after he vomited, then collapsed on stage during a performance. Video footage taken of the incident shows Ryder on his hands and knees, sick in front of a crowd. Some sources say he vomited blood.
He was taken to University Hospital, where doctors report he’s in stable condition.
A source close to members of Lana’s Mischief say Ryder has been having issues with drugs and alcohol for the past decade, but his usage has increased drastically over the past two years. According to the source, he drinks in excess, sometimes more than three bottles of vodka before a show. He is also reported to have erratic behavior while recording songs and working in the studio.
Morgan has an open case against him for assault after he attacked three fans for alleging he was on drugs. Two of the three men had broken noses, and one had a broken jaw that required surgery.
Insiders say Morgan has been checked into a rehabilitation center to?—
I clickthe television off and close my eyes as I lean back in my office chair. Wesley is in trouble.
