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“Sorry,” Fritz says to Adrian. “All I meant was that if there was one person in the band I never had to worry about, one person I could always count on, it was you. And now you are fucking up, and it’s my job to tell you—”
“Fritz. Shut up! I have a massive headache, and I have to get out there and sing in less than two minutes, so give me a fucking break.”
“Yeah, that happens when you stay out all night drinking,” Fritz mumbles under his breath, but I still catch it.
Roger hands Karl a water bottle and two aspirin. Then, Karl passes it to me while staying as quiet as he did during the whole exchange.
“Thanks, Karl,” I say.
* * *
We startthe set strong and energetic with “Fighting Nights.” The lyrics are as angry and disillusioned as I feel. That leads to the even angrier “Welded Dragons.”
The only thing that could ever cure my hangovers was more alcohol, and luckily Roger knows that; the water bottle he handed Karl was filled with Vodka.
By the time we get to our most popular song, “Metal Red Day,” the audience is worked into mania singing all the lyrics, so I don’t have to. I am also getting tipsy all over again.
I trip on a cord and fall backward onto the stage, and I stay there, singing from that position on my back. We are playing a stadium tonight, so I just look at the black sky while I sing lying down.
Fritz gets close to me as he continues to play his bass, his eyebrows raised in question or in warning—I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just close my eyes and keep singing from that spot for the rest of the song.
Once the popular song is over, I stand up for the remainder of the concert. When we go back out for our customary bow, Fritz’s hand nearly crushes mine in his grip from how pissed he is. What a drama queen. I follow the rest of the band backstage when we are done.
“Fritz,” I call out, but all I see is the back of his head as he leaves.
“Don’t, Bren,” he yells, not looking back. “Just—fucking don’t.”
“Fuck, man,” Karl says. “He’s pissed.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah,” I say. “He is.”
“Shit, that ain’t cool, man. Adrian and I do shit way worse than that—”
I side glance him, knowing that was nothing but the truth. I’m a little surprised Karl recognizes it.
Adrian avoids the temptation of an after-party, and since Fritz abandoned us in his anger, that only leaves Karl and me to deal with the meet-and-greet post-show. Fucking great.
Roger appears out of nowhere, handing me a beer. “I think you’ll be needing this,” he says.
“Best manager ever. Thanks, man,” I say.
Then Roger hands Karl the bottle of vodka he has requested.
“Hell, yeah,” Karl says. He takes a big swig from the bottle then turns to all the groupies in the room. “Now, who wants to do belly shots?” Karl spreads his arms wide as two beautiful women take a spot under each of his wings. He leads one to a craft services table, clears it in one fell swoop, sending food flying everywhere, and lays the woman down. She raises her top much higher than necessary, revealing a dainty pink lace bra. Karl pours the vodka on her belly and licks it up.
I roll my eyes up to the high heavens, making the room spin for a moment when I bring my gaze back down. I’m too fucking old for this shit, I think, and snatch the vodka bottle from Karl’s hand. I take it to my mouth and gulp from it like water.
“Hell yeah!” Karl shouts. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Who wants to party with Brenner Reindhart?”
Two girls jump up and volunteer, getting to my side in ten seconds flat. One is a blond, one a brunette. I shake my head. This won’t do. I scan the faces in the room until I find one woman with raven-back hair.
“You.” I point, and she perks up with a huge grin. “Come here.”
She walks over to me sexily, and I gulp more of the vodka in an attempt to forget that the woman now at my side isn’t Sofia.
When she gets to me, I wrap my arm around her tiny waist, bringing her body close to me. That is the last thing I remember before everything goes black. The next hazy memory I have is of Roger and Fritz on either side of me, carrying me to my hotel room.
With a grunt, Fritz lies me down on the bed. “What the fuck, Roger?” I hear him say through the haze.
