I recount the whole story for her. The amazing shows, the fun Chaser and I had exploring England, Jacob’s increasing annoyance with me—how did I not see that for what it was at the time? Finally, I end with Davey’s proposition, Chaser’s rescue, and our decision that it was safer for me to come home than finish the tour with them.
“Wow,” she breathes out, absorbing my story. “That’s…intense, Mallory.”
“Good word for it.” I force a laugh I’m not really feeling at the moment.
“You’re lucky. Chaser cares for you so much. A lot of guys would have encouraged you to…you know, take the job. He probably risked everything—”
“I know.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.” She bites her lip and a bit of mischief glitters in her usually serious brown eyes. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to repeat it.”
Unsure of where this new direction in our conversation is headed, I shrug.
“Davey’s a big…um, spender at my agency. And probably several other ones in town.” She touches her chest and quickly adds. “I’ve never been on a date with him. But I know one of the girls he sees a lot.” She tilts her head and studies me. “You guys actually look a lot alike.”
“Creepy.”
“Anyway, he’s boring, loves to talk about himself, and his massive ego is definitely not in proportion to his dick.”
The laughter that bursts out of me is a welcome relief. Didn’t think I’d be able to laugh about this situation, well, ever. “Gross. Not surprised, but still, yuck.”
She skirts the edge of the counter to join me on the other side and gives me a big hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. You can stay with me until Chaser gets back if you want.”
“Won’t I be in the way?” I raise an eyebrow. She blushes when she gets my meaning.
“Not at all.”
I have to go back to the apartment to unpack and call my agent, but for now, I accept the offer to hide out at Audrey’s for a little longer.
My gaze strays to the clock.
I close my eyes and wish Chaser luck.
My body may have made it home to the states, but my heart’s about to go on stage in England.
Chapter Five
Chaser
Tonight’s show defines tense.
Before sound check, we had another quick, slightly-less-awkward band meeting to go over the set list.
We arrived on time and ready to go, but Bloody Revolver’s sound guys fucked around for so long, none of our equipment was properly checked.
The crowd’s large. Easily one of the largest we’ve played.
And we’ve been having nothing but trouble since the lights went down.
“Revolver has a fucking death wish,” I growl, when my mic goes out for the second time. Jacob’s wasn’t working at all when we first took the stage. Fucker was screaming his ass off, and no one could hear him for about ten minutes.
The confused looks and people pointing to their ears finally clued him in to the problem. We had to stop and get someone on stage to fix it.
Basically, we look like a bunch of unprofessional dicks in front of a new-to-us audience.
Normally, my solos last anywhere from five to seven minutes, depending on the energy from the crowd and what time we have to be off stage. I usually channel my emotions into a musical journey and lose myself in the music, but tonight, I’m not feeling any of it. I power through, but my playing feels uninspired at best.
When we launch into ‘Candy Jar,’ I want to puke. I wish we’d cut it from the set tonight. My gaze wanders to the edge of the stage where Mallory’s usually waiting, and my irritation over the whole situation rises again.
Playing has always soothed my chaotic soul, keeping my hands occupied and my mind focused. It’s where I reach a peaceful state, much like riding my bike. But tonight, I can’t find my center.
Maybe the guys are off-balance, too. Jacob’s ragged voice lacks its usual soul. Overall, our playing’s choppy and clipped. It feels too loose, and thanks to the rushed soundcheck, out of tune.
While I’ve noticed the crowds in the U.K. are generally more reserved than our audiences back home, tonight they’re barely even paying attention, further spiking my irritation.
When our set mercifully finishes, I storm off the stage. “Fucking bullshit, Val,” I shout at her as I pass by.
She hurries down the hall to catch up to me. “What did you expect?”
“I’m not rehashing this with you.” I stop so fast, she almost trips against me. “Fix it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
My fuse is short, threatening to blow any moment. “Your fucking job. Call the lawyers. Remind that asshole we have a contract. Do whatever the fuck it is we pay you to do.”
She huffs and runs off muttering and cursing to herself.