“Are you sure you want to do that?” His tone was gentle yet heavy with doubt. He knew how much I’d rather avoid returning home. Too many memories existed there—and there was a lot more I couldn’t remember.
The police had tried to find out what happened the night my old man went apeshit, but I couldn’t remember. They called it dissociative amnesia. A fancy term for “too scared shitless to want to remember” was my guess.
“I have to, for Hailey.” Even if she’d hate me for stepping back into her life after I’d turned my back on her for so long.
I stalked out of the elevator, rejoining the world of the living. A burly man yelled last-minute instructions down the hallway to a roadie rushing in the opposite direction.
“I’ll call you once I know what time my flight’s landing.” I ended the call as a boisterous noise headed toward me. A newfound, if not temporary, energy rolled off my bandmates.
“Yo, dude,” Mason boomed, much like his beloved drums when he pounded on them. “Show time.”
Which meant I couldn’t book my flight home until after we were finished with the show, and once the interview with the reporter was over. Shit.
“So what did the old man want to see you about?” Mason asked.
“I’ll tell you later.” I wasn’t ready to be the bearer of fucked-up news just yet. The least I could do, before I told them the truth, was let them think they were getting a long break, like we’d originally planned.
Jared handed me my guitar. With him, like with the rest of the band, fatigue peeked out from behind the glow of preperformance excitement, ready to crush us if we let it. Thank God tonight was the last show of the grueling touring schedule, which had lasted over a year. At the rate we’d been going, I didn’t think we could’ve lasted much longer before one of us collapsed from the strain of it all.
The roadies at the bottom of the metal stairs leading to the stage handed Jared and Kirk their instruments. I exchanged my guitar, which they would hold on to until I needed it, for my microphone.
In anticipation of our arrival, the arena lights darkened. I could almost taste the audience’s restlessness for the show to begin. A loud murmur of voices filled the air, inching me toward the zone I needed to be in for the performance to be a success. I hoped to hell I could flip over to autopilot and pull this shit off. I could do this set in my sleep. It was hard to shove from my damn head the image of Hailey lying broken and unconscious. But I had to do it for the band. They didn’t need me to screw up our last show.
We needed to go out with a bang.
The announcer introduced the band, and the audience cheered, filling the arena with their growing excitement. As Mason stepped onto the stage, I turned off my cellphone and shoved it back in my pocket.
Kirk and Aaron were the next ones out, and both were met with the same level of enthusiasm that greeted Mason. Jared turned back to me, and we fist-bumped.
“Let’s go fuck this place.” I grinned at him, the storm of emotions twisting inside me, giving me a stomachache.
Jared’s grin met my fake one. “Here’s to fucking the place.” He turned around and walked out to thunderous applause.
I took a deep breath, pressed my hand for a brief moment against the pocket with Hailey’s picture, and eased the air out of my lungs as the band started to play. Okay, Nolan. You can do this.
I strutted onstage, the heat of the stage lights trying to warm my cold insides as I sang the opening lyrics to our debut song. The fans went wild. Especially the girls. Arms stretched toward me, the girls screamed and sang along with the upbeat melody and words. It was a song about chasing after a passion and making it yours. It was a song about success and what it took to get there. It was a song everyone could relate to, which was why it had done well on the charts.
I worked the stage, moving my body in time to the music, smiling at the girls. Making love to each one with my eyes. That only made them scream louder.
The song ended. “Hello, L.A. Are you ready to party?” I yelled into the microphone, then held it out for the audience to answer. The concert was sold out, and even though not everyone was here yet since we were just the opening act, the arena was already three-quarters full.
Answering my question, the place went wild with cheers, whistles, and hoots. “I can’t hear you,” I said, laughing. I cupped my hand against my ear, and I swear the answering noise could’ve cracked the roof.
Mason took this as the cue for the next song and seamlessly segued into the new beat on his drums. Another round of cheers charged the air as people recognized the song, and I continued feeding off the energy bouncing around the arena.