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My heart rate kicked up a notch, this time from the anxiety overriding the initial adrenaline, and as I made my way back center stage, I caught Viper’s eyes. He looked as baffled as I was at the change in reaction, but he mouthed, “Keep going,” so that was what I did. I kept singing, doing my best to win over the crowd, even though in their eyes I seemed to be failing miserably. But how? Why?
It was at the end of the third song when I got my answer. The shouts of “We want Trent!” and “Where’s Trent?” and “Who the hell are you?” slammed into me, and they didn’t let up. I saw people leave. I heard the boos—fucking boos. I’d had my share of rejection in my twenty-three years, but ten thousand people aiming all that hate your way? I wouldn’t wish that on an enemy.
But the guys kept playing, and I kept singing, even though I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I’d known taking over lead vocals for the band wouldn’t be easy, but I’d never, and I mean never, imagined such a volatile reaction.
Ninety minutes passed like it’d been ninety days, and as I practically crawled off the stage, beaten down and exhausted, I wondered how everything had gone to shit so fast.
Twelve
Viper
WHAT THE FUCK was that?
A goddamn nightmare, that was what. One where you drifted off to sleep and dreamt you were on stage, only to hear thousands of people booing your name. And who could we thank for this little nightmare turned reality shitshow? You got it—Trent fucking Knox.
As Slade somehow managed to get us through to the end of the set, and the lights finally—thank fuck—went down, I tore the strap of my Telecaster over my head and marched off stage, my anger roiling through me like a freight train.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Tonight had been a damn disaster, and not because of anything any of us had done. No, it was a disaster because our original lead singer had bailed and left us up shit fucking creek without a paddle.
Christ, it was infuriating. Not only had Trent’s abandonment caused us months of monotonous auditions, but now that we had found someone to replace his punk ass, we were getting booed off the motherfucking stage.
Are you kidding me? We’d never been booed out of anywhere, not even when we started.
Fuck. Trent. Knox.
“Viper!” Killian called out behind me, but I wasn’t slowing down for anyone. I stormed off the stage, not giving two shits if anyone was following, and made my way back toward the dressing room.
The shouts and jeering calls of disappointed fans still echoed in my head—or who the hell knows, maybe the ones who’d hung around until the end were taking delight in twisting the knife in a little harder, staying behind to make sure we heard just how much they thought we sucked. Either way, as I shoved open the door to the dressing room and it crashed into the wall, I made a beeline for the bottles of liquor and uncapped the top of one, determined to drown them out by getting shit-faced drunk.
The rest of the guys filed in after me, and I could hear Jagger and Killian murmuring to one another, but didn’t pay much attention. I was too busy thinking of all the ways I could express just how much I hated the man who’d left, the boy I’d grown up with, the guy I’d stupidly thought would never screw us over as hard as he had.
“Viper? You couldn’t have waited back there for us?” Slade said as he shut the door behind them, and it wasn’t lost on me how quiet Halo was right then, how withdrawn he looked as he moved to the corner of the room and took up a spot away from the rest of us.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to fucking wait so we could do the walk of shame together.”
“V…” Killian said, but the glare I sent his way stopped him.
There would be no calming me tonight. Hell, as far as I was concerned, the guys should be thanking me for not throwing my microphone stand at the ungrateful crowd. I raised the bottle to my lips, took another swig, and then eyed Halo, who still hadn’t said a word.
“That was a disaster.” Jagger moved to one of the couches in the room and slumped down into it, his usually put together self looking somewhat defeated as his eyes shifted around the room.
“No shit,” Slade agreed, as he ran a hand over his head and gripped the back of his neck. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“What, boos so loud they practically made the stage vibrate?” I said as a full-on scowl twisted my lips. “Or maybe you’re talking about the way they were all calling out that fucking prick Trent’s name so loudly that he probably heard it in whatever hole he crawled into.”
