If they weren’t screaming, they passed one another like ghosts.
Cheryl and I spoke for a bit more before she started yawning and headed to bed.
After we ended the call, I started playing Romeo’s Quest’s videos on YouTube. I tapped my fingers against my stomach, listening to the instrumentals wash over me. Cheryl understood my head and my soul, and when the lead singer started singing, I felt it—an arrow to my heart.
I listened to every video they had online, over and over again. My favorite song was “Broken Nightmares” because it was sad, but somehow hopeful.
Find me in the dark because that’s where I live
Open up your heart and let the shadows in
I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to envision what the band had been feeling when they wrote those lyrics, those words. Music was one of the best reminders that I was never alone in this world. It was that powerful moment when I heard the sounds and the lyrics. It seemed as if the artist crawled into my lonely head and created the song solely for me, reminding me that somewhere out there, there was someone feeling exactly as I was feeling.
I was sure Brooks would’ve loved them.
“Birmingham, you have been amazing tonight! We are The Crooks, and we thank you for allowing us to steal your hearts tonight,” Calvin shouted into the microphone at our second sold-out show in Birmingham, England—over sixteen thousand tickets sold, over sixteen thousand fans screaming our names and singing our lyrics.
I was sure it would never get old, standing in front of people who allowed you to live your dream out loud.
The four of us had been living our dreams for the past ten years, starting as an opening act for our favorite band, and now as the main event. Our lives were far from normal.
“Also, shooting a happy birthday to my partner in crime who turned twenty-eight today. Happy birthday, Calvin! The world’s a bit drunker because your voice exists.” The crowd cheered, screaming for an encore, which we weren’t allowed to do because time was money, and money was something management hated to waste.
We all rushed offstage and I crashed into my dressing room, just to have Michelle, my personal assistant, immediately coming at me with a list of radio and television appearances scheduled for the upcoming week.
“Great show tonight, Brooks,” she said, smiling and juggling her iPad, iPhone, and a pack of Skittles in her hands. “So tonight, there’s an after party at Urban.”
“The same Urban from last year where somehow Rudolph ended up in a fist-fight over tuna being made with dolphin meat?” I questioned, walking over to my sink and grabbing a wet cloth to wash my face.
“That’s the one. They’re throwing Calvin’s birthday party tonight.”
I sighed. I hated clubs, but I loved my best friend. “Therefore I have to be there.”
“You have to be there, at least for photos, then you can dip out whenever. In the morning, you gotta be at KISS 94.3 by five for the radio interview. After that we shuffle over to The Morning Blend at seven, at nine we will go to The Mix 102.3 for a live stream radio shoot, and then by twelve we are meeting at Craig Simon’s talk show. Back to the arena at three for sound check, meet and greet four-thirty to six, then dinner with the opening act where there will be a photoshoot with a few reporters before the show at eight. Any questions?”
“Um, yeah, when do I get to sleep?”
She snickered and began typing on her phone. “You know my motto, Brooks—”
“We can sleep when we’re six feet under,” I replied, echoing her words. I sat down in my chair and lifted up the package I had put together that afternoon before the show. “Can you find a post office to mail this off tomorrow?”
Michelle scowled. “When am I supposed to find time to do that?”
I smirked. “You know my motto: why not find a reason to visit a post office each day?”
“That’s not your motto, but I’ll do it.” She snatched the book from my hand, and narrowed her eyes at me. “Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?”
“That she never sends books back anymore?”
Maggie hadn’t sent me a book since the year before when I told her I was seeing Sasha. Did it bother me? Every single day. Did I miss the pink Post-its? Every single day. Would I ever let on that it hurt? Never. “Nah. I’m not really expecting any kind of reply anymore.”
“You must’ve done something awful to make her stop.”
“What makes you think it was my fault?”
She smiled. “The penis in your pants.” She started walking off toward the door to leave. “I really hope whoever this book girl is has a huge Beauty and The Beast-style library, because she’ll need it with all the books you’ve sent her way lately. You’ve got twenty minutes to shower and wash up before we head over to Urban.” With that, she was gone.