But I’ve listened to his openings from backstage every night. He’s still wild, because I don’t think he knows how to be anything else, but he hasn’t said anything about me to the audience beyond telling Louisville last night that they’d already seen the real deal, and now they were stuck with the second string.
And the whole time, all I could think about was what Tro said would happen when we got to Kentucky on The Tonight Show. I know he was a joking. The legal age of consent is sixteen in nearly every state we’ve been in so far. But still…I can’t deny that, totally against my will, thoughts of Tro doing to me what he does best have been filtering into my dreams at night. I wake panting and tangled in my sheets, my heart galloping so loud I can’t believe it hasn’t woken Billie.
I’m behind the curtain tonight when Tro, Grim, and Jamie come out and start their pre-show pump up. It’s my birthday and I know Billie’s arranged a “surprise” party on the bus. Max and the band headed out without a word right after the show, and I’m sure they’re all waiting with a flaming cake or whatever.
I watch as Tro, Grim, and Jamie get their headgear wired. As they storm the stage, Tro glances my way.
I didn’t know he saw me here.
He smiles and sends me a little salute, but then his smile fades and he just stares, as if trying to find something he lost in my face. Jamie hits the drums and the stage lights flash. Tro rubs the back of his neck then steps onto the stage to a roar.
The floor shakes with percussion and bass as the guys gear up for their first song. I decide staying tonight was a bad idea and turn to exit backstage, but within the first few notes, the tune morphs into “Happy Birthday.”
“St. Louis!” he yells and the crowd cheers. “Did Lucky just tear this place down?”
Another roar goes up from the crowd.
“If you fucking missed it, you fucking missed the show of the century! That girl’s got the stuff!”
Jamie woots into his mic and ups the percussion as the crowd yells.
“It’s Lucky’s birthday today, so let’s fucking blow the roof off this place!”
They launch into “Happy Birthday” and the stage monitor engineer turns from his soundboard and grins at me. “Go!” he says with a nudge of his chin at the stage.
I shake my head, but a second later, two of the backline guys who I recognize but don’t really know are pulling me toward stage left.
When Tro sees me, he stops singing and smiles, letting the crowd take the vocals. He comes over and grasps my hand, towing me to center stage.
They get to my name and the entire crowd sings out, “Happy Birthday, dear Lucky!”
There’s a second I want to be pissed. But then I see Tro’s smile, feel his hand in mine, and I can’t be mad. There’s nothing malicious in the look he’s giving me. For the first time, I don’t feel like he’s undressing me with his eyes.
But just as they’re finishing the song, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me so my feet are, like, three feet off the ground, and holds me up in front of the crowd like I’m some kind of doll.
“Don’t forget this girl!” he shouts when the applause dies down. He sets me on my feet. “Next tour, we’re going to be fucking opening for her.”
I remember Billie saying the same thing the day I met Tro…without the expletive, of course.
I start off the stage, but Tro grabs my hand again. “Happy birthday.”
My heart kicks at the sincerity in his gaze. Jamie holds up a fist for a knuckle bump, and I bump him on my way off stage, but then I catch Grim’s glare and realize he wasn’t totally down with this addition to their set list. I scramble off the stage, but instead of leaving right away, as I’d intended, I tuck into the corner near the door and listen to Roadkill’s first song.
Maybe Tro’s more than what he seems, because there was a tenderness in his gaze I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of. I watch as they wrap their first song, then can’t make myself leave before the second. But, finally, halfway through the third, I turn and head to the parking lot, jogging to the bus.
The door hisses open and I’m not even up the stairs before Billie starts singing “Happy Birthday.” When I round the corner into the front lounge, the guys line the couches and Billie’s in the kitchen holding a cake aglow with seventeen lit candles. Everyone joins in and Max takes my hand and leads me to the table, where Billie’s sets the cake.
She scowls at our intertwined fingers, then gives me a warning gaze.
I shrug and untangle my hand from Max’s, then blow out the candles.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, swiping my finger through the frosting and pressing it into my mouth.
I go to the fridge as Billie cuts the cake and find only soda. I glance around, at what everyone else is drinking, and when my eyes lift from the Coke in Max’s hand to his face, he gives me a shrug. I grab a Diet Coke and go sit between Max and Chipper.
“Surprise,” he says as Billie hands paper plates of cake around.
I roll my eyes.
His arm slips over my shoulders. “We didn’t fake you out?”