The door to the balcony bangs open. I turn my head and squint at the man striding toward me, arms swinging with purpose and mouth turned down.
I’m not proud of my snicker. “Oh, wow. You looksuperangry.”
Noah kicks the end of my chair with his boot, making it screech across the concrete. “Are you kidding me, Beau?”
I offer a lazy shrug. “Didn’t make a joke.”
Noah dives both hands into his fluff of ginger hair. “You missed the interview with Heavy Verse. You missed every single sound check this week. You fucking missed a show in Seattle, Beau. Ashow! You haven’t been responding to anyone’s calls or texts. You’re always smoking. You’ve been a fucking ghost for months, man.”
I don’t tell him that the stage lights make my head hurt so I’ve been avoiding them as much as possible or that sometimes my vision gets so bad on stage, I can’t find the effect pedals or that I spent the morning of that interview with Heavy Verse in a hospital bed, hooked up to an EKG machine and an IV.
“You work hard on that list of failures?” I taunt.
Fuck. I’m so high. I shouldn’t be making light of this, but maybe he’ll feel better if he assumes I don’t care. Maybe he’ll get over this faster.
Noah waves at the thick cloud of smoke that curls out from my parted lips in irritation. “Jesus, Beau. What’s going on with you?”
I drop my sunglasses over my eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A long pause stretches between us, and I wait for his lecture. Wait for him to exhaust himself like he usually does when something is botheringhim. Noah’s strung that way. Coiled up so tight, one day his head and limbs are going to pop off from the building energy.
I chuckle at the jack-in-the-box image playing out in my head.
“You know what?” His tone is sharper than I expect, instantly ruining my vibe. “I’m not gonna wait around for the others to break the news. Beau, we think you should take a break. I’ve talked with our manager and the label already. They’ve got someone else lined up to get us through the rest of our tour.”
Air sticks in my lungs until the blunt I forgot I was holding burns down to my fingertips. Cursing, I drop it onto the ground and try to stomp it out with my shoe, but it feels like gravity has suddenly decided to crush me into my chair.
I rub my palm over my chest.Whew. Still breathing.
My brief internal crisis has Noah tugging his hands through his hair again. It’s clear this decision has caused him a lot of grief, andI’man asshole for pushing him to make it for me. I’m an asshole for making himfeellike the asshole because I didn’t have the strength to call it quits earlier.
Pushing my sunglasses up, I take in Noah’s flustered form. I remember the day I met him at summer camp. He was round in his cheeks with a frizz of hair. Bullied, but never one to drop his head or stay silent. He was determined to go places. We were both so fucking determined…
A new feeling washes over me. A heaving, sickening one that starts in my stomach and seeps down into my bones.
Fuck, if it doesn’t taste like fear.
I’ve spent most of my life chasing this dream. What happens if this is the end of it?
“You kicking me out of the band?” I ask, careful to keep my voice from cracking with emotion.
Noah swallows and then gives a little nod. “Yeah, Beau. We are.”
Sunglasses go back on.Everything’s fine.Even if the reality of this situation is suffocating me, this moment in time is just a drop of water in the ocean.
Nope, I don’t want to think about the ocean while high.
“Cool,” I reply.
Noah deflates, dropping his arms to his sides. “That’s it? You’re not gonna fight for this?”
I drum my fingers softly on my thighs, pretending to give it some thought. “Nah.”
Noah hangs around long enough to have me squirming in the chair. Tears blur my eyes beneath my sunglasses, and the words bubble up in my throat to beg for my spot in the band.
They’ll go so much further without me. They deserve someone capable of writing hits and actually performing.
“Thought I knew you, dude,” Noah mutters.
