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Tossing my glass back, I scold myself, knowing I never should have let my mind wander to her. We all promised to never speak her name again, and until today, we haven’t. Most days, she never even crossed my mind, but this situation brought all those bad memories I had buried back to the surface. I know it won’t be long before I’m searching for my sleeping pills to help me find that friendly darkness to bury the memories once more.
In the morning, we have a meeting with our assistant about the situation. She said she had some news for all of us and wanted us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for it. We all knew she wasn’t going to get either of those from the three of us, but it was a good try. Even now, I could hear Creed playing his guitar in the other room, and if I listened hard enough past it, I could hear that Gunner was in the gym knocking weights around.
The only question any of us wanted answered was who did this and why. Ezra was a good guy for the most part, outside of his vices, but we couldn’t fault the guy for being who he was. Hell, out of all of us, I think he was the better person because it sure as hell wasn’t any of us original members. We lost the piece that held us together a long time ago, and there was no saving us now. Even our parents had given up, instead just trying to contain our madness the best they could.
Standing up, I walk to the bedside where I keep my prescription for sleep meds. My doctor gave them to me to help shut my brain down so I could find sleep when I used to go days without any. Tonight would be one of those nights. Shaking out a pill, I toss it in my mouth and swallow it dry, forgoing anything to drink to help it go down. Pulling back the covers, I crawl into bed and wait for the medication to take hold and lull me into the welcoming arms of darkness.
~~~~~
“Jesus, you all look like hell,” Alexandra says, stating the obvious as we stumble out of our rooms in the morning.
I told you we wouldn’t be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you wanted.
Rolling my eyes, I move right past her to the kitchen counter where she has three cups of hot coffee waiting for us. Grabbing the first one, I take a sip, letting the dark liquid soak into my bones and begin to clear the fog away from my sleep-medicated brain. That was always a downside to the prescription, it always left me feeling extra groggy in the morning until it finally wore off completely. I hated the feeling and only began to take the meds when I was desperate for sleep. Like last night.
“Could you hold the bitching a little longer?” Creed grumbles, joining me at the counter to grab his cup.
I let out a small chuckle before grabbing the last cup and taking it to Gunner, sprawled out on the couch. I know the fucker is still asleep; kicking his foot when I get close enough, he doesn’t even move or grunt.
Yup, the fucker’s asleep. Great.
Shrugging, I sit my ass down right on top of his chest.
“Morning, Fucker,” I announce with a wide smile.
“Gah! Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Gunner grumbles, twisting his body to knock me off.
“If you don’t want your coffee spilled all over you, I suggest you stop,” I taunt, taking another sip of my own.
Immediately, he stops struggling. Handing him his coffee, I get up and knock his feet to the side so we can share the couch. Eventually, Creed stumbles his way over to us as well and takes the open seat between us.
“Well, now that you all have your coffee and are awake-ish…” Alexandra shrugs, looking at Gunner and shaking her head. “We need to talk about Ezra’s replacement.”
“Replacement?!” Creed shouts. “His body is barely cold, not even buried in the ground, and they want us to find a replacement!”
“It’s not my choice, Creed. Nor is it yours. The label has expectations for the band, and unless we show we're trying, they will hold you all in breach of contract,” she explains with a sigh. “I know Ezra was indispensable to you all, and I won’t sit here pretending he wasn’t. If it was up to me, I would let you take the time you need to come to terms with what happened and heal, but it’s not. Between us, I think the label is hoping that, if you go back on tour, the police will be able to get more clues to determine what happened and find out who is hunting you guys.”
“Hunting us?” I almost screech, my voice rising to an octave I don’t usually reach. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Shit, I said too much,” Alexandra mumbles. “Well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now. For the last five months, you all have been receiving threats. The label didn’t think they were serious, so we just submitted them to the police and moved on, not bothering to let you all know.”
“That’s why there was extra security placed on us?” I finally put it together. I thought it was curious that we got some additional guards from Rockport Security to join us, but I put it to the back of my mind, thinking that, if it was important, someone would have said something to us.
“Yes, we at the label thought extra security would help until we got to the bottom of the threats. Looks like it didn’t work, though.” Her voice is tight as she looks between each of us. Her green eyes are full of sorrow, and I already know the next words out of her mouth are going to be ones we aren’t going to like.
Instead of letting her say more, I ask the one question that’s hanging over our heads. “Who is the label thinking can be our replacement lead guitarist?”
“I’m glad you asked,” she smiles, the sorrow that was just in her eyes replaced with excitement. “It’s someone you all know actually, according to the label. We were lucky to find them and that they were available. They are also coming with their own security, which helps us tremendously.”
“Who is it?” Creed asks with a tight tone. There is a very small list of guitarists who would be good enough to join us. Maybe three names come to mind, and I’m pretty sure all of them are signed with other bands right now. Whoever the label got for us is someone I can’t think of, and that worries me. We’re going to have to do some vetting of whomever they've chosen before we fully accept them on the last leg of the tour.
“Let me go get them. One moment,” she says, standing from her seat and rushing over to the door of our hotel suite, allowing it to close behind her as she exits the room to get the mystery guitarist.
“Any idea on who would be available this quickly?” I ask, turning to look at my brothers.
“No damn idea,” Creed grumbles.
“There’s no one I can think of,” Gunner agrees. “I doubt whoever the label got is going to be able to keep up with our music. We are going to have to do a ton of practice hours to even try to get them up to speed with what we need.”
