Hard Rock Roots Box Set (102 page)

“Damn straight,” I tell her, brushing some blonde hair back from her forehead. “Impenetrable to anyone but Mr. Campbell and his Mini-Me.” Naomi rolls her eyes and flicks me gently in the crotch, making my throat squeeze tight and my fists clench by my sides.

“Mini is the only thing right about that sentence. Now get out of here and be safe. And hurry back. You're going to want to see me after I kick Hayden's ass in more ways than one.” Naomi smiles tightly, and I kiss her face again. Once, twice, three times for good measure before turning on my heel and striding out into the hallway.

Ronnie brings Lola along which honestly just makes me miss Naomi's presence as we rattle through the darkness in our rented van. One day soon, Milo promises we're getting the buses back. He better be right about that. Not that it matters, I guess, since we have to fly to LA to make it in time for the biggest fucking show the rock world has seen in years. I shiver and clench my arms across my chest.

Nobody talks; we're all too wrapped up in our emotions. All excited to see Trey, but scared, too, like maybe he won't be the same person anymore or something. I can't even imagine what I'd do if my best friend survived only to become somebody else. Nobody ever mentioned anything about brain damage or whatever to me, but it's always there in the back of my mind, those extra fears. Like leaving Naomi back at the venue for example. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and chew quick and fast, letting my anxiety out in the grind of teeth. That Brayden dude better be worth his weight in gold because I'm trusting him with my one woman.

“Fuck,” I sigh, putting my boot against the seat and waiting. Ronnie and Lola sit behind me with Josh. And to my right, Jesse and the bald bodyguard dude. I wonder if I should ask him his name at some point? I turn my head out the window and rest my chin in my palm, wishing away the next five or so hours of my life until we get back to the hospital. I pull my phone out, shooting off a text to Sydney, and then looking up the live feed from the concert. But while I wait for Amatory Riot to take the stage, I end up nodding off, and I don't wake up until we get there. One minute, I'm holding my phone in my palm, and the next we're pulling underneath the white awning with its bright white lights.

You can always tell a good performance by how fucking wiped you are afterwards. Based on the evidence, I'd have to say that was one of my best. I check my phone again, but don't see any response from Sydney. Kind of makes me nervous.

“Be polite, calm, and understanding. Trey is not going to be in any state for practical jokes or scuffles of any kind,” Milo says, playing the pretend father figure, as usual. We all ignore him, descending on the hospital disheveled and dirty, makeup bleeding down our faces, clothes crusted with dried sweat, wild hair. The stares are endless and the looks on the staff's faces are priceless as we make our way down the hall to the reception area. As we're standing there waiting for Sydney, I turn around and rest my elbows on the counter, eyes skimming across the flow of traffic that's passing down the hall. A pair of girls with matching
Get Well
balloons in their hands, a woman pushing an empty wheelchair, a tall dude with dark hair and a bouquet of black roses in his hand.

I don't pay attention to any of them; they mean nothing. The only person I'm here for is Treyjan.

In the midst of the supposed normalcy, Lola Saints turns around and copies my pose, catching sight of the dark haired man and his flowers, his vampire pale skin, and the rancid gator smile stretching across his too white teeth. One word escapes her lips, just one little word, at the same moment the man pulls a pistol from underneath his coat.

“Tyler?”

Chapter 1
Dax McCann

I've never been so scared in all of my life.

“Oh my God, I am
so
nervous,” Hayden says, pretending she doesn't see the exchange between Turner and Naomi. But I do. They're kissing now, not just once, but twice,
three
times. I roll my eyes and focus my gaze back on the black curtains swirling in front of my face. The fabric flows like a specter, whirled around by the staff as they move Indecency's instruments off the stage and move ours on. I crack my knuckles and try to breathe.

In my mind, the audience already hates me. I'm just that emo bitch, that stupid drummer fag. That's what the Turners of the world think of me anyway. The number of people I've slept with isn't comparable to the population of a small country, and I don't post pictures of my dick online. I guess that makes me a loser. I get more hate mail than the rest of the band combined. But that's okay. In fact, I try to think of it as a good thing. If their expectations are so low, then it shouldn't be hard to impress them. One day, the audience will realize that I'm not just a robot on repeat, pounding out Naomi's songs for their listening pleasure. There's a little bit of me in there, too, and it is
bad ass.
Hey, her and Hayden might be the stars, but even stars need a sky, right?

Right?

I close my eyes and turn away, trying my best to drown out the roar of thousands. Outside this dark bubble backstage, there's a sun shining bright, ready to burn. Turner and Naomi took care of that for us, took the audience from lukewarm to scalding.
This is going to hurt, isn't it?

“I am just freaking the fuck out. How about you, Dax?” Hayden asks me, reaching over and massaging my shoulder with her nails. I jerk away and wrap my arms around myself, casting a glance over my shoulder at the departing backs of Indecency. Unlike Hayden Lee, I really am nervous.

“I'm sick to my fucking stomach, Hayden,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft. I'm the only person on this earth that's nice to her, the only one who thinks she's redeemable. Deep down, she's a good person. I
know
it; I just have to find a way to prove it to everyone else. Right now however, the only thing I'm really capable of is trying to give myself an internal pep talk. I've never felt like this before, not even at the show in Little Rock. There are cameras here, broadcasting us to the world. This moment, whether good or bad, is going to be written into human history for the foreseeable future. In the past, I've rationalized my fear of performing live by telling myself that the only people who could see me, who would even know if I fucked up, were the people in the audience. This time, everyone will know.
Even Dad.

I feel my eyes growing wide, the blood draining from my face.

Arnold and the rest of the McCann clan could be watching. Ugh.

I squeeze my eyes shut, try not to think back on the last conversation we had.

You're a freak, Dax, and I could never,
never
be proud to call you my son. And if your mother was still alive... Shame on you for wasting her life, boy. Shame on you.

Somebody touches my shoulder again, and I jump, spinning to find Naomi standing behind me with a slight frown. My heart is pumping like crazy, smashing against the inside of my chest and drawing breaths from me in ragged gasps. I'm such a wreck.

I untangle my arms from around my chest and dip my hands into the pockets of the sleeveless hoodie I'm wearing. It's not really something I'd have picked for myself, but it's alright. There's a glow-in-the-dark skeleton design on the front, and it does a decent job of showing off my tattoos. I run one hand across the grim reaper tat on my forearm.

“Where the hell are they going?” I ask, tilting my chin at the door. Turner's in a big, fucking hurry. So much so that he doesn't even bother to turn around and look at Naomi on his way out. I figure it must have something to do with his friend, Trey. Yet another asshole, like a Turner clone. I don't like Treyjan, but I also hope that nothing bad's happened to him. This whole thing, this devious plot crap, is bullshit. Nobody deserves to die swimming in bullshit.

“To the hospital,” Naomi says, voice cracking a bit. She's exhausted; I can tell by the way her shoulders sag and her hands shake. Four years of playing together, touring together, and I know what she's feeling just by looking at her. And that's not just because I'm in love with the girl – I can read this band like a book. Kash is feeling guilty about his love triangle; he always texts a lot when he's feeling conflicted. And Blair? She's lonely. I watch her standing still, like a statue in a crowd of people, the only person in this room who isn't hyperactive, brimming with energy. “Trey's awake.” I look back at her face, let myself burn in the sienna glaze of her eyes. She doesn't look away, just holds my gaze tight. “They're going to go see him, and come back tomorrow. I guess after our set we're heading to the hotel or something.” Her eyes stay locked on mine while she digs around in her pocket looking for something, probably a cigarette. When she doesn't find any, a frown drags the corners of her lips down.

I smile.

“Here.” I reach into the front pocket of the sweater and come up with a box of cigs, handing one to her and pulling out my lighter. Naomi takes the cigarette between her lips and sighs in pleasure.

“Thanks.” Droplets of sweat slide down her neck and slither across her chest, tempting my gaze downwards, over her tattoo and towards her breasts. It takes a physical effort from me to hold my head up and stay focused on her eyes. I don't like how long she's holding me here. Naomi has something to say; I can tell.

And I'm not going to like it.

“
Dax,
” Hayden whines from behind me. Naomi's lip twitches, but I keep my expression neutral and ignore her. She just wants attention, is desperate for it. I think it's because she misses her family so much, and I'm not just talking about her brothers and her dad. Her other family. The one nobody else knows about.

“You have something to tell me, don't you?” I ask, getting out a cigarette of my own. I want to close my eyes and scream, let my voice curdle the blood of everyone backstage, melt them into nothing and get them the hell away from me. I already know what this is about. I've known for a long, long time. Since Naomi told Turner about her abortion. Since she came back from the grave. Since the hallway at the hotel last night. But mix this crap with my nerves? I feel fucking suicidal. Or homicidal maybe.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, not now, Naomi.

“You...” Naomi begins and then pauses, taking a step back. It's so hot in here; the air is swirling with the heat of a thousand plus bodies, too many voices, too much pain. We all carry some around, that's normal. But the people here? They're drenched in it, drowning in their own misery. And supposedly I'm the 'emo' one? Fuck. Why? Because I have ghosts tattooed on my freaking bicep? I feel like I'm one of the most stable people here. I have issues, sure, but I have normal issues. My family hates me, and I killed my mom. No big deal, right?

My eyelashes flicker and come to rest on my cheeks, blocking out the movement around me.
Born Wrong.
I know Naomi can see the words tattooed on my eyelids. I told her what they meant because I wanted her to understand me, at least a little. I wanted to try. She's fascinating to me. I can't take my eyes off of her when she's onstage, can't look away when she's bent over her notebook, scribbling away. I'm in
love
with her and all she gives a rat's ass about is Turner Campbell.

My lip curls involuntarily, and I take a step back, opening my eyes to find that she's still staring at me. Naomi wets her lips and looks away suddenly.

“You kiss beautifully, Dax,” she tells me honestly, and my heart beat slows, comes to a complete stop, just so I can hear her better. “You could kill with that mouth, drop a girl into death and have her sighing in pleasure, desperate for it.” Naomi plays with her cigarette with shaking fingers, blowing smoke rings into the dense air around us. A roadie bumps into her arm and she frowns. Her eyes come back to rest on mine and stay there. Four years we've been friends. When I first met her, when Hayden brought Naomi back to my garage to play for us, I didn't like her. Not one bit. But as the years went on … I sigh. This trip down memory fucking lane is going nowhere for me.