Locked Heart (Cash Me Outside 1)

When my first ever lead guitarist found out I was gay, he was out faster than any of us could say homophobic dickweed. Since then, we’ve been through a bass player leaving due to addiction and needing a break from the “scene” and a drummer who had a freak accident and lost thirty percent of feeling in his hand. He could still do regular stuff, but playing was no longer an option.

It’s taken a lot of frustration and seven years of working two jobs to support our broke asses.

But it’s amazing how fast everything can change in this business.

We signed with Joystar records three years ago, and since then, there’s been no stopping us. The media call us insta-famous because we hit it big with our first studio album, but they don’t take into account all the indie albums we put out or the shit we had to go through to get there. They don’t know about the countless nights I contemplated giving up and going home.

Selfishly—and stupidly—I wanted to prove I could do it. I knew I had the talent and the drive, but that’s not a guarantee in this business. You need more.

And maybe proving myself has nothing to do with the industry and everything to do with a certain boy I haven’t spoken to in eight years.

Eight. Fucking. Years.

His junior year of college, Sherlock went dark. I never did work out if he blocked me on every social media platform known to man or if he deleted all of his accounts. I messaged some high school friends, but Sherlock being the nerd genius he was, people barely remembered him even existing let alone knew what he was doing two years past graduating.

“I think he’s gone catatonic.” Seb clicks his fingers in front of my face.

“Wha?” I sound dazed, but hey, let’s chalk that up to last night’s activities instead of the haunting memories of Sherlock Emerson and the pact we made the last night we ever saw each other.

“Maybe he’s stroking out?” Jasper says.

I shake it off. “I’m not stroking out. This is fucking huge.” Bigger than huge but for different reasons than the guys’.

Seb pulls me up and takes me into a hug. “This is next-level, man.”

I hold on tight in fear of falling back down. “It’s … crazy.”

“Anything that renders you speechless is,” Thorne says.

I step out of Seb’s arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Thorne claps once. “All right, Cash, go shower and wake up properly. Boys, get ready for the meet and greet.”

“Wait, what time is it?” I look around the room. “What city are we in again?”

Everyone laughs.

Thorne grips my shoulder. “Maybe lay off the alcohol for a while?”

That doesn’t answer my questions but whatever.

Thorne pushes me toward the bathroom. “Go.”

“Fine,” I mumble.

Under the spray, I moan at the heat beating down on my tired muscles. My long hair falls in my face, and it’s due for a good shampoo, but I’ll cover it in product to make it look permanently wet and wash it back at the hotel tonight.

I lather myself in soap, washing away the hangover, and begin to feel half human again.

Maybe Thorne is right and I need to take a break from all the partying. I’m not as bad as some in this industry—I tend to steer clear of the hard stuff like drugs after seeing our old bass player go through addiction—but it’s true what they say about being a rock star. Partying is the type of lifestyle I signed up for. It’s everywhere. It’s the culture.

It’s amazing.

I rub my temples to soothe my aching head.

It’s mostly amazing.

I close my eyes and mutter to myself, “Definitely taking a break.”

Even if the mere thought of performing at Death Valley and the possibility of seeing Sherlock after all this time makes me want to drink.

The part of my heart where Sherlock lives beats differently to the rest. It flutters in anticipation at the thought of him coming to a gig. I gave up a long time ago thinking it’d happen. I knew it was impossible, but for the first few shows I ever played, even though they were in crappy dive bars, I always kept an eye out for him. Illogical because he was across the country, but it didn’t stop me from fantasizing.

Every. Time.

That vanished when he literally disappeared. One day he was the guy liking my statuses, tweets, and Instagram pics, and the next he fell off the face of the planet.

When I called his mom, her homophobic ass told me he needed space away from people like me. Like three thousand miles wasn’t enough.

So I gave him space.

Eight years of it.

But now it’s time for him to come home.

It’s time for both of us.

I shut off the shower before I get too wallow-y and try to shake off the sickly feeling in my gut. I don’t know if it’s from the hangover or from thinking about him.