Running with Scissors (10 page)

tonight.”

Connor eyed him, but then slowly released his breath.

“Okay. I’ll . . . What kind do you want?”

“The usual.”

Connor nodded. “All right. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Connor shoved his wallet into his pocket. “Guys, I’m

going to Starbucks. Anyone else want anything?”

Thank God—situation defused.

As Connor and Shiloh headed across the empty lot, A.J.’s

heartbeat gradually came down. Every time he ran interference

and tried to calm Connor, even over stupid shit, he was

sure this would be the time it blew up in his face, especially

now that Jude’s presence was making Connor extra volatile.

A.J. didn’t like confrontation, and he didn’t like engaging

someone who was ready to lose their shit, but the alternative

was letting Connor flip his lid until he’d worn his voice raw.

That would fuck the whole band that evening, and anyway,

God knew why, Connor always seemed to settle down when

A.J. intervened.

“That calming effect of yours is going to be even more crucial
than ever. Trust me, A.J. You’re not going
anywhere
.”

A.J. scowled. Well, at least he was good for something.

And at least Connor was gone, and now Jude had stepped

outside to have a smoke, so everyone else could finally breathe.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “God, when the hell did Connor

turn into such a diva?”

“He’s always been a diva,” Richie muttered.

“Not like that.”

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Richie huffed. “Yeah. Not until Jude came back and

Connor couldn’t blame anybody but himself.”

“Jude played his part,” Vanessa said.

“So did Connor, and you know it.”

Vanessa scowled. “Well, karma’s a bitch, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, it’d be nice if karma bitched somewhere

else. This is a fucking tour, not the rol ing Connor-Jude Shit

Show.”

A.J. bowed out of the conversation, muttering an excuse

about needing to take care of the electrical issue, and got the hell off the bus. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and he’d

already had it up to here with the drama.

Eventually, he found a roadie who had the number for

the facilities manager, and made the cal . With that situation

resolved—or in the process of being resolved, anyway—he

headed back to the bus.

He boarded it, left a note on the coffeepot for everyone

to leave it off until the electrical issue was fixed, and then

took out his phone to text his drum tech about setting up

for tonight’s show.

“Did I see you coming back with Jude last night?”

Vanessa’s voice startled him, and he spun around. “Huh?”

Her eyebrow arched, silently repeating her question.

“I, uh . . .” He nodded, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Yeah. We grabbed dinner at the burger joint down the road.”

The suspicion in her gaze made his skin crawl.

“What?” he asked.

Vanessa folded her arms, and he swore she had daggers in

her eyes. “You’re gonna want to be careful with him. He’s in

this and everything else for himself, and he’ll use you and fuck you over just like he did the rest of us. Remember, he’s the

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guy who almost broke all of this.” She gestured at the places

where their bandmates usually sat. “I mean, he
did
break us, but thank God we found you.”

A.J.’s stomach knotted.

“Anyway.” Vanessa faced him. “Just watch yourself

with him. He’s not someone you want to get buddy-buddy

with.”

“Buddy-buddy?” A.J. shrugged. “It was just a bite to eat.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He gritted his teeth. He desperately wanted to remind

her that he’d had nothing to do with the band’s preexisting

drama, or the recent shit with Connor and Wyatt, and that

he wanted nothing to do with any other shit that came up.

He was here to be a musician. End of story. And if he decided

to hang out with the only man within a hundred miles who

he could talk to about drumming—well, when he could talk

at al , since Jude seemed to evaporate his vocabulary with a

look—it didn’t mean he was taking sides or stirring the pot.

The road was a lonelier place than he’d expected. Fucking

sue him if he wanted some goddamned human interaction

between shows.

But he didn’t say anything, and when Vanessa gave

him a slight nod and headed off the bus, he didn’t stop her.

Ironically, as much as he wanted to stand up for himself and

defend his friendliness with Jude, it was Jude’s presence that

made him keep his mouth shut. Rocking the boat wasn’t a

good idea when there was someone around who could easily

take his place.

Not that Running with Scissors seemed all that keen on

keeping Jude for longer than they had to, but if A.J. started

stirring up shit, they might just decide that one jackass was

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better than two, and they’d probably hang on to the better

musician.

Might as well enjoy the ride as long as it’s smooth . . .

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oly.

Fucking.

h
Hel
.Jude had missed being onstage, and he’d been itching to get under the lights again, but this was nothing he’d ever

experienced before. He’d played in clubs with Running with

Scissors, and whatever moderately sized venues they’d been

able to snag around Los Angeles. They’d even played a few

outdoor festivals that allowed unsigned bands, giving them

the most microscopic lines on posters and about four minutes

of stage time in front of a few hundred stoners.

Nothing like this.

As the roadies set it all up, and Jude followed Richie

and Vanessa onto the stage for sound check, he stared out

at the empty seats. Literally
thousands
of empty seats, not to mention the floor, which would be standing-room only. The

show had sold out. In a few hours, this place would be packed.

There was already a line outside the gate, and he’d overheard

someone commenting that the two main parking lots had

been full since before noon.

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Okay, so they were mostly coming to see Schadenfreude,

but still. Tonight, after eighteen months of believing this was all behind him, he was getting up on
this
stage in front of
that
many people.

Goose bumps prickled beneath his guitar strap. This was

going to be
amazing
.

As he tuned his bass, the strings thrumming beneath his

taped fingertips, he pulled his gaze from the empty seats and

scanned the stage, which was currently packed with people,

gear, and boxes. Several roadies wore Schadenfreude T-shirts

and helped venue employees set up equipment, tape down

wires, and adjust lights.

At the rear of the stage, dead center, A.J. and his drum

tech had finished setting up the drum set, and A.J. took a seat behind it. The tech was explaining something to him, and A.J.

absently flipped his drumsticks over and over between his

fingers, occasionally spinning them so fast they blurred.

Jude’s fingers curled at his sides, the raw skin protesting

sharply at the unwelcome motion. He could almost feel the

unfinished wood against his palms and fingertips, and

the way each beat echoed through his arms. The way the bass

thumped beside his own heartbeat, and the snare and cymbals

sent electricity crackling along his veins. God, he missed that.

But it wasn’t just the drums or the sticks that held his

attention.

Oblivious to Jude’s gaze, A.J. made adjustments to his rig

and directed his tech. He seemed perfectly at ease behind the

instrument, like he didn’t even notice all the empty seats out

there in front of them. Then again, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Jude still marveled at the idea of A.J. drumming for this

band. The guy was so timid, it was difficult to imagine him

filling the role for any rock band, never mind Running with

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Scissors. The high-energy music, the aggressive percussion—

it just didn’t seem like
him
.

“Jude,” Richie called.

Jude turned around. “Yeah?”

Richie fussed with his earpiece. “You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Sound check took his attention away from A.J. He and

Richie played a few bars from “I Never,” and then the entire

second verse of “By and By,” pausing now and then to tune

their instruments and adjust the feed on their earpieces.

Vanessa joined in, and after a few clumsy verses—he wasn’t

used to playing alongside the house mix anymore—Jude got

the hang of it. Just like riding a bike and all of that.

Once he was sure he could not only hear the house mix

properly, but that he really did have a grasp on the songs they’d be playing tonight, his excitement began growing again. They

were really doing this. Less than a week ago he’d been rotting

in a cubicle, and now . . .

He gazed out at the empty seats, his heart pounding as he

flexed his tender fingers.

Now this.

He and Vanessa started to retreat backstage while Richie

stayed to play alongside A.J.

Jude paused and then backtracked, curious how A.J.

would sound. While he watched, taping his fingers again with

the roll he’d kept in his pocket, A.J. and Richie continued with sound check. Richie rested his foot on the platform beneath

A.J.’s drum set and played the intro to “Hold Fast.” After two

bars, A.J. came in.

And Jude’s heart sank.

Really?
That
was how he played “Hold Fast”?

Come on, A.J. Come on. Play, man! Play it hard!

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He was holding back. He had to be. There was no way in

hell they’d have hired him on if
that
was his style.

During his own drummer days, he had held back during

sound check sometimes—well, whenever they’d
had
a sound check—to keep his wrists and hands fresh. That must be what

A.J. was doing now, much like Jude had carefully manipulated

the strings so he wouldn’t shred his fingers quite yet.

Except A.J. still seemed . . . out of place. Like Richie or

Vanessa trying to play beside a classical symphony or Connor

in front of a country-western band. The technique was there,

and the music was there, but the vibe was all wrong.

Presumably, the rest of the band had known what they

were doing when they brought him in. As much as Jude liked

the guy, though, he was dubious.

Guess we’ll see how tonight plays out.

After sound check, they waited backstage for their cue to

go on. Schadenfreude’s sound check had been a lot longer,

so everyone had to warm up again in their ready room.

It was cramped back there—the headliner probably

had better digs, but Jude wasn’t complaining. And at least

Connor’s preshow vow of silence meant no sniping or

bickering. Everyone was too focused anyway.

Jude peeled the tape off his fingers and flexed them

gingerly, knowing they’d be hamburger before the end of the

night.

Come on, callus. You can show up anytime now
.

Across the tiny room, like any drummer with half a brain,

A.J. was doing some stretching to limber up his arms and

shoulders. He was wearing a tank top, as Jude often had during

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his drumming days. Being onstage could get wicked hot, and

besides, sleeves restricted movement. And damn, A.J. looked

good like that. His arms were as powerful as any drummer’s

should be, and surprisingly free of ink—unlike anyone else’s

in the band.

And just as Jude had suspected he might, he’d put on

eyeliner, and damn but he wore it well. It brought out the blue of his eyes and intensified his gaze. When he glanced at Jude

at one point, Jude almost jumped out of his skin—A.J. may

have been a church mouse, but his eyes didn’t let that show

tonight.

Maybe that was the purpose of the eyeliner. The slim black

lines were a mask of sorts, a degree of separation between the

world and who A.J. was when the lights went down. Jude knew

a lot of musicians who wore makeup, costumes, sunglasses—

anything to put a barrier between them and the audience so

they could perform without losing their sanity. As a friend of

his had once described it, stage makeup and costumes were

temple garb for worshipping at the altar of stage fright.

Did A.J. have stage fright? Quite possibly, now that Jude

thought about it. He struggled to hold eye contact during a

one-on-one conversation. So maybe—

“You guys ready?” Someone from the venue leaned into

the tiny room. “You’re on in five.”

The five minutes before a curtain went up always passed

like five nanoseconds, and this time was no exception. The

man had given them their five-minute warning, and just

like that, Jude was onstage under the hot lights, the roar of

the crowd vibrating beneath his feet. He couldn’t see much

beyond the lip of the stage, and his earpiece drowned out

most of the noise, but he could feel the crowd. He could feel

their collective presence extending out into the shadows and

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up the sides of the immense stadium. The roof didn’t even

seem to exist, and the crowd soared up, up, up as if they all