Chapter 4.
Chase
There’s nothing more terrifying on this earth than going up on the lyrics to your own damned song.
I spend half the second verse pretending I’ve added some new bridge while my brain plays catch-up. Wily keeps the bass going with ease. Fiona hits a bad chord as she tries adjusting on the spot, throwing me eye darts. Raj suddenly forgets how to blink.
Then I skip a song halfway through the setlist because I can’t fucking read apparently, and for the first fifteen seconds of “Love Burden”, a slow song, the lights are dancing like a damned disco.
There’s a resentment in the air.
I swear I can feel it in the audience.
Every face, grimacing, confused. Every set of eyes, squinting at me in disappointment. Why are you still singing at us, Chase Holt? What’re you even trying to say to us? What the hell are any of these newer songs about anymore? Why is your music lately so trite and shallow? When’d you become such a sellout?
What the fuck about mine?
I can’t get off the stage fast enough after the last song. I stand at the door to the green room, Glorious still in my hand, hugging it against me like a damned blankie. I don’t know whether to vomit, scream my voice bloody, or just stand here in silence until I turn into a fossil.
Guess I don’t have a choice. Fiona’s on me the next second. “Is there something going on I need to know about?”
“Sorry. Off night.” Even now, I’m trying to excuse it away and shrug off my own responsibility in this. “Just too in my head.”
“You’re supposed to be the one who’s got their shit together.”
“I know.”
“We’ve still got an encore to do.”
“They still want one?”
She glances behind us at the sound of footsteps. “Buckle up.” Then she leaves my side.
A second later, she’s replaced with Ian. “Hey there, Chase.”
“I know, I fucked up.”
“Hey, hey, I’m not here to scold you. We all have weird nights. It’s fine. You killed the opener. Then just those few little flubs.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle pat and squeeze. “Shake it off. They still love you.”
“Do they?”
“Of course. Not a question. Listen to them screaming for one more song. Take a breath and give them what they want.”
I grip Glorious tighter.Give them what they want… as if it’s just one thing, as if I can possibly know.
Feels like a riddle I’m trying to solve every night lately.
By the time the whole show’s over, encore and all, I’m in the green room staring at a bowl of completely neglected snacks the venue was gracious enough to offer. No one else is here, the crew busy breaking everything down and loading out. I used to helpin our earlier days. Then Ian got all up on my ass about liability-this-n’-that.You’re the reason we’re all employed, Ian would say to me,and you’ve done your part on that stage.Now kick back and let us do ours. But what about tonight? Did I still do my part?
“I’ve beendyingfor these,” moans Raj, appearing out of thin air, racing to the table and snatching a bag of chips. It’s torn open so fast, crumbs go flying. “Can’t eat before a show. Too nervous. Is that ever gonna go away?” he asks before popping the first chip.
I’m not in the mood or mindset at all to flick on the mentor switch. But I scrape up the energy from the bottommost corner of my barrel and lift my head. “Nerves affect us all differently. Fiona has her pre-show rituals. Wiles, too. Cam—drummer before you—he used to dump a small bag of M&Ms out on a napkin, sort them by color, then eat them one at a time.”
“Ooh, I can’t do that. Chocolate and me on an empty stomach is a no-go.” His foot bounces in place. The guy has enough energy in him to power a small town. “What’syourpre-show thing?”
I give it a thought. “I like to sink my feet into the place before every show.”
“Sink your feet in?”