Cheers went up while I made a mental note of Wayward Waffles, in case I ever had the opportunity to surprise Rebel with some.
Shit.
Goddammit.
What the hell was I thinking? That was not something I should even be thinking about. I needed to keep my mind off him and focused on my task. Still, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Rebel would have an easier time settling down and accepting that he couldn’t just go out and get all the things he loved if there was still a way to get them to him when he wanted them. I told myself that remembering his food choices had nothing to do with the feelings I had for the man and everything to do with making all our lives easier.
Funny how the only time I lied was to myself.
Dash passed Mickey his bass back while Rebel tucked his guitar back in its case, relinquishing the floor so Mickey couldpresent the bassline for one of the songs Damaged Saints had in development.
The feedback and encouragement that flowed through the room created a vibe that was mellow, laid-back, and clearly fun for those involved in the process. Like when Blissfully Immune had been working on Rebel’s new song, there were changes as Mickey tightened up the rhythm and brought it in line with the guitar riffs that played from Kayden’s phone. There was no singing this time, though; it was all about the melody.
When they were finally ready to leave the room, roughly forty-five minutes later, I was truly sorry for the change of pace. It gave me too much time to reflect on the decision I’d made in haste and purely out of frustration.
A part of me truly wanted to take it back, smooth out the feathers I knew I’d ruffled when I snapped at Rebel, and have a frank conversation with him about why I’d gotten so upset and what we could do to avoid blurring the lines between on and off duty.
Why hadn’t I given him my schedule? That would have been the smart thing to do. Then he’d have known not to come looking for me, and when I’d be available. Why the fuck hadn’t I just done that?
I hadn’t even thought about it.
Still, Rebel was unpredictable, and there were no guarantees that it would have worked. I’d have been angrier if I’d put in the effort only to have him come pull his shit outside of Jagger’s door anyway.
Fucking hell, all I was doing now was thinking in circles, the mental pros and cons list so balanced that I rejected every decision I came up with. Text again? Naa, I was still waiting for acknowledgment of the last one. Knock on his door to see if he wants to do a bit of wandering tonight? Nope. We still had things to hash out first. Order takeout, and see if he wants to eat while we talk? Maybe, but I needed him to acknowledge that he’d picked the wrong time to press me about fun time after I’d told him I was on duty.
It all boiled down to one factor for me. I needed him to take some responsibility for our falling out and show some goddamn respect for my job and the position he’d have put me in if I’d allowed him to tempt me away from my post.
Until that happened, all I could do was brood and hope he created a window of hope that we could work with, because I was even more captivated by him after watching him today and listening to him pour his soul out all over those strings. He’d shown me the beauty in him that ran far deeper than that smokin’ hot packaging, and now that I’d had a glimpse of it, my longing for him was stronger than ever before.
I just hoped he opened the door for me to show him.
Chapter 12
(Kit)
The view from my throne atop the raised drum kit stand afforded me an amazing view of the ocean of people who’d turned out for today’s five-band event.
With us as the co-headliners.
Damaged Saints had played right before us, and opening the whole show had been Savage Roar, who we’d been told would be joining us on the road just before Rocktoberfest, after the last of their current engagements were wrapped up. Draven had been scouting them for months, and they’d more than proved that they were ready to be the third act in the world tour Draven was busy arranging for next year.
We were fuckin’ going global, baby, and kickstarting the whole thing in the UK. I’d dreamed of seeing castles my whole life. Now I’d have the chance to do so and wander cemeteries older than the country I lived in. Draven had already promised train rides that would let us see the English countryside and time to wander Edinburgh and Inverness. Just thinking about it had me hyped, so I poured all that energy into the skins and pounded away.
I was on top of the world, quite literally, with the perfectview of Rebel and Dash swaggering across the stage towards one another for their sweet-ass guitar and bass duel. Watching them circle one another, each instrument issuing a challenge that the other responded to, always amped up the energy level of the crowd. I’d seen Rebel play while bent over backward before, but the performance they put on tonight, with Dash pressing his boot against Rebel’s chest and actually pushing him into that bend without either of them losing a beat, was nothing short of spectacular. Dash stood over top of him, both of them playing their hearts out while the crowd and I ate it up.
Since the night I’d gotten so fucked up he’d had to drag me back to my room and put me to bed, Rebel and I had been spending more time together. A good chunk of it was with the rest of the band, polishing our new songs, but in those moments when Draven cut us loose to do a bit of exploring, I got to hang out with him, and he always chose cool places for us to check out.
No stolen kisses though, not yet. Not even close. When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes, which always looked sad these days, like he was wrestling with something. Or brooding. I kept hoping he’d talk to me about whatever it was, even if I was the new guy in the band. His bond with the others might be longer and stronger, but my bond with him was growing.
Rebel didn’t need any help regaining his footing after Dash moved away from him; he just sat up and did this tiny hop during Dash’s part and was right there playing back-to-back with him when it was his turn to join in. The fans were eating it up, so much so that a large mosh pit had formed in the center of the crowd, with several smaller ones breaking out all over the place. If it hadn’t been for the metal railing and the cops stationed between it and the stage, some of that chaotic slam dancing probably would have spilled up here, which would have sucked for our equipment, though man, it would have been a blast.
Bodies crashed into the barricade, and my stance on how much fun it might have been began to shift when I saw someone stagger and cling to it so they wouldn’t hit the ground like the person beside them. Then the song sped up as we raced to theend, and I added my drums as their duel concluded, and I lost sight of whether or not the person who’d fallen had gotten back up. I was slamming out that beat when Rebel’s guitar screeched as he peeled it off and shoved it at Johnny, staggering him as he hopped off the stage and vaulted the barricade.
The officers never saw him coming. They were confused, trying to figure out what had happened as Rebel started shoving people, who shoved back and started trying to make him the center of the mosh pit. Arms and elbows flew, bodies leaped and spun, and several people crashed into him, but Rebel wasn’t having it.
He shoved someone harder and pointed to the ground.
Oh shit.