So stupid.
I’d looked at Johnny making it work, and like a fool, I’d convinced myself that I could have something that fulfilled every part of me. Sometimes it was hard not to be jealous. Dude hadn’t just found a partner; he’d found a Daddy. I’m sure it helped that he was small and stunningly beautiful, while I was, well, kind of average except when I had my guitar in my hands.
Steel had given off so many Daddy vibes, holy shit, and maybe I’d pushed a few buttons I shouldn’t have just to see where he’d take it, but that was what I did. I tested limits, waiting to see who stuck around and who pulled away. Johnny was the same way. It was one of the many things that had bonded us as teenagers, once we’d gotten past giving each other shit. Jagger had watched it all with laid-back ease, shaking his head at us while suggesting we just fuck or fight and get it over with.
Instead, we’d formed a band and gone on the greatest adventure ever.
Until it had all stopped being fun.
Sometimes I wondered if maybe I should start looking for a relief guitarist, or a straight-up replacement, only each time the idea popped into my head, I was stuck with one hell of a dilemma.
What came next?
I couldn’t see myself doing anything else but playing music. It was the only thing I’d ever loved. Hell, it was the only thing I’d ever been good at; I had no other skills besides tinkering with the muscle cars I loved. I had nothing besides my band and our songs.
So, I finished it with all the agony and disappointment Iharbored inside. I made those final notes weep and rage. I drew out the moment, then brought it to a close in fragmented pieces, one wail of sorrow at a time.
Accepting my defeat.
I’d sold my soul to this industry. Become just another cog in the musical machine.
I wasn’t okay with it, but it was my life, and for better or worse I’d chosen it, so it was ride or die time. I couldn’t let my band brothers down. Playing those final chords back with a few tweaks here and there, I made a mental commitment to volunteer for the next afterparty, meet and greet, or hell, I’d go to a fucking birthday party if Draven asked me to, because what the fuck else was I going to do? There would never be a chance to find my perfect someone with a fucking bodyguard by my side. No one wanted their conversations listened to, especially not private, intimate ones. I’d sure as hell flee if someone tried to pick me up while they had a shadow following them around everywhere, well, unless that shadow wanted to participate in the fun, or was organizing it.
Fucking hell, I really was doomed.
Over and over I played the song, smoothing out what was left of its rough edges, jotting everything down so I could present our newest power ballad to the band at brunch tomorrow, while hoping like hell they wouldn’t ask what had inspired it.
Chapter 11
(Steel)
Posted just inside the door of the private dining room Damaged Saints and Bleeding Dawn were currently having brunch in, I had the perfect view of the bedraggled faces of some of the band members. Kit was barely able to push food around on his plate, his head propped on his hand, while across the table from him, Robbie covered his eggs with his napkin, looking visibly ill.
Mickey and Rebel were the only ones who looked bright-eyed and raring to go, and they’d both come to brunch with their instruments, as had Kayden, which meant there would be music at some point. By now, I’d gotten used to the way these brunch sessions flowed. Draven arranged one each week to give them all a chance to eat together privately and discuss upcoming appearances, show dates, and anything else he had in store for them.
Rebel hadn’t glanced my way since he’d spotted me when he sat down. I’d half expected him to get up and move to one of the chairs that would have allowed him to sit with his back to me, but he didn’t. He just never looked my way again.
And that broke something inside of me.
In the past, he’d sought my gaze, even if it was just to tease me with a glimpse of his tongue piercing or a soft smile that promised wicked things later. Strangely enough, as I stood there bereft and longing for that small bit of affection, I was hit witha deep sense of regret over ending things with him. He’d still not replied to my text, but him ignoring me was acknowledgement enough that my message had been seen and taken to heart. Maybe if I hadn’t snapped at him after we’d put Kit to bed, I could have turned it into an opportunity to talk, because I’d done nothing but miss him and the connection we’d formed.
"So, uh, I’ve been working on a new song,” Rebel declared once it reached the point where no one was showing any more interest in their food. “I think it’s ready for the rest of the guys to start adding their parts, but I thought this would be a good time to get some feedback first and make sure there was nothing further that needed to be tweaked before I handed it over.”
“Hell yeah!” Johnny said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s hear it.”
Seeing Kit perk up for the first time was interesting. I wondered if that meant he’d be contributing to the drum tracks for the new song or if it would still be all Ozzy doing the creating. I hoped they gave the kid a chance to shine. It couldn’t have been easy, joining an established band the way he had. If they trusted him to contribute to the songwriting, that would only be a confidence boost to him. Seeing the way Ozzy mentored him, I doubted he’d cut him out of the process, so perhaps they’d work together on it so Ozzy could guide him through the way it all worked. From the glimpses I’d seen, it was a longer process than I’d imagined, with each musician crafting their pieces before they could smooth out the song together.
Those opening chords weren’t ones I remembered. In fact, the pacing was different too. This was darker and colder, the melody sending shivers up my spine. The gut punch came when he started singing, because those weren’t the vibrant, hopeful words he’d been penning as he’d sat in that sunbeam on the balcony.
Drunk and disillusioned
Broken by my own confusion
Too many days are a blur to me
Wicked wasteland of immortality
No one asked you to make us gods