Leighton
Everything about todayis fucking with my head.
My uncle and the fact I lied to give him what he wanted. Worse, I’ll probably do it again. I shouldn’t give it a second thought. I did what I had to do to keep my place in the band. I got mine. Anyone else would do the same. But I feel like scum. Like the traitor I am.
Making it worse? Opal’s sweet and constant kindness. It’s as if the universe is intent on dousing salt in the wound. A wound I caused. The afternoon of interviews isn’t any better. Knowing I screwed over my bandmates while they treat me like I belong, as if I’m one of them? It all feels wrong.
The only place I find peace is on stage.
We rock Milwaukeehardand the crowd rises with the energy.
Music is my consolation. It always has been. The notes of a song have the ability to take me away whenever life is too much or I just don’t fit. Soaked in sweat and beating on the toms, I feel that power take hold. Transform my mood. Provide inspiration, light, and breathe new life into an otherwise lonely existence.
I can’t help but wonder whether we’re doing that now. If the thousands of fans who come out for our shows chase that same connection? It gives new purpose to my role, and I shove all the crap from the day out of my mind, determined to play my fucking heart out and leave it on stage.
The set goes by in a flash, and when it’s time to head back to the bus I’m almost disappointed. My mind amps up with the still-screaming fans, and music might as well pump through my veins. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sleep. Not anytime soon.
“We going out tonight?” I ask Sean as we’re ushered back to the bus by the stadium’s security crew.
“No time. We roll out in an hour.”
“Fuck.” I rub the tension that gathers in my shoulders.
“It’ll be worth the day off tomorrow.” That’s right. I almost forgot. An entire day to ourselves while our driver rests. Over the next few months we don’t get many of those, and while I could play every night for the rest of my life, I realize burnout is real and self-care is necessary.
Sean claps me on my back and nods ahead to where Trent steps inside. “Don’t look so glum, kid. Opal’s cooking.”
“Yeah?” I don’t know any personal assistant who also prepares meals in addition to regular job responsibilities, but Trent hit the freaking jackpot with her. My stomach rumbles with the promise of good food, and my smile builds with thoughts of the woman who’s cooking for us. And while I should use this conversation as an opportunity to glean info about Opal, I don’t have it in me. Not right now.
The scent of baked bread, chicken, and goodness hits my nostrils before I’ve even made it inside the bus. The meal isn’t quite ready so we take turns using the shower while our driver Jay pulls out onto the road ahead of schedule.
“I think I need a dinner bell,” Opal says, and it’s almost comical how fast we all sprint to the table. Tonight there’s no joking. No idle conversation. Just the occasionalclinkof silverware against dishes as we stuff our faces. Maybe it’s only because we’ve been going non-stop since we rolled into Wisconsin, but this is quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Opal, you outdid yourself.” Trent pushes back from the table to retrieve another beer. He pops off the top and settles himself back into his seat. “Really, thank you so much. This was better than any takeout.”
Sean nods. “So good. You could open a restaurant.”
“Y’all are so sweet.” She drops her gaze to her plate with a grin.
“Dude, we fucking slayed tonight.” Austin leans back from the table after scarfing down his second plate. Of course, he’s still shirtless from his earlier shower and I catch Opal staring at his chest for at least the tenth time tonight. I guess I should be thankful he’s wearing pants. I wish she would look at me that way.
“Best show yet,” Sean says.
“Our new drummer has chops.” Trent winks and maybe it’s dumb but his compliment warms my insides. I don’t look for affirmation from others, and it’s even more welcome when unexpected.
I move the last bite of food across my plate with my fork. “I’m just lucky to be here.”
“We’re lucky to have you, brother.” Sean tips his drink.
Lucky? If he only knew. Guilt bubbles to the surface and brews in my gut.
“Fuck. I feel like going out.” Austin leans forward in his seat and rubs his hands together.
“Fuck.” Sean raises his brows with a knowing grin. “You just feel like fucking.”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Don’t we all? It’s the best after a show. All that energy, it’s gotta go somewhere.”
“You wanna . . .” Sean points at himself and then Austin. “I mean, Trent’s not in his room right now.”
