That poor deaf girl. I flinch at the memory. Flipping off Ali definitely qualifies me for the Jackass of the Year Award. If I’d just known what she was really like . . .
No, that’s not an excuse. I never should have treated her that way. Period.
Tony doesn’t seem to notice that I haven’t given a response and continues his rant. “That, plus you’ve been holed up in your RV all the time, and you’re acting all secretive.” He steps toward me, until his face is right in mine, and says in a softer voice, “If you’re hooked on something, let me help. Please.”
What the hell? He thinks I’m on drugs? Me? I shake my head, unable to form any words, and kind of glad I can’t. I’d just say something I’ll regret. But does Tony really think I’d follow in the footsteps of my dad? Tony knows I’m far from angelic, but I thought he also believed I’m not a monster.
Tony takes my silence as an answer—the wrong type, of course. He looks down and shakes his head, and for some reason, that hurts. Even as he glances back up and forces a small smile, the pain stays. I’ve obviously disappointed him, and . . . and, dammit, I don’t want to disappoint him. For once in my life, I want someone to be proud of me. I want for them to tell me that I’m a good guy, that I do the right things, that . . .
. . . that I deserve Ali.
Tony pushes his glasses back into place and puts on his usual businesslike expression. “We’ll talk later. Okay? For now, you’ve got a show to put on.”
I nod tightly and walk up the steps to the darkened stage, stomping a little harder than I need to. At the sound of my footsteps, Arrow turns and shoots me a glare. But I pick up on the concerned edge to his expression, which is the only reason I don’t explode right then and there.
Jon raises his eyebrows at me, and from behind his drum set, he mouths, “It’s about time.”
I flip him off and stride over to the microphone at the center of the stage. Usually, this is the part when my adrenaline takes over, and everything hazes out into a blur of raw energy and music and applause. Today is different. My thoughts are still back in the RV and concentrated on Ali. That’s where I want to be—relaxing alone with her, not putting on a show for strangers.
But I’m here, and there’s not much I can do to change that. I’m about to cue the beginning of the show, when Killer jumps up from behind his keyboard and rushes over to me, an anxious look on his face. I open my mouth to tell him to mind his own business, but he cuts me off by whispering, “Is Ali okay? You look worried.”
I try not to show my shock. He seems genuinely concerned about her, and in any other situation, I probably would have thanked him. But I give him a warning glare, nodding to the small mic clipped to his shirt. He taps it and shakes his head. “It’s off.”
Letting out a long breath, I quickly double-check that my own mic is off and murmur, “She’s fine. Um . . . thanks for asking.”
His usual grin springs back onto his lips. “Great. And, yeah, no problem.” With that, he runs back to his keyboard, but not before stopping to give Arrow a kiss on the cheek. Arrow playfully swats at him and “accidentally” smacks his butt, which results in Killer laughing and tackle-hugging his boyfriend.
I hold my hand up briefly, giving the cue for the show to begin. The main lights come on, fully illuminating the stage and revealing us to hundreds of waiting Tone Deaf fans. They scream in excitement, and only grow louder as Killer throws his arms around Arrow’s neck and kisses him fully on the lips. Applause and whistling breaks out, and Killer finally pulls away, laughing from the excitement and adrenaline. Arrow grins like a maniac, and I roll my eyes at them, shooting Killer an exasperated look.
“All right, all right,” he mouths to me. As Killer retreats back to his keyboard, the crowd slowly quiets. I switch on my mic and plaster a smile on my face, but it doesn’t feel right. I’ve always felt happiest onstage, having hundreds of people watching me and knowing they’re here for my music.
But now I’d rather be with Ali. She might not be able to fully appreciate my music the way others do, but she appreciates me. I’d always thought those were the same thing, but as I fight off the longing to ditch the concert and spend the evening with Ali, I realize how much more precious her offering is.