Chapter 4

Darryl Nelson

Our first-ever proper show on a big fucking stage is immense. We are only doing a twenty-minute set, and it is as if people are still entering the venue, but by the end, we have a pretty decent mosh pit bouncing around in front of us.

Smit’s parents come through, too, getting more copies of our CD printed, and a simple t-shirt and hoodie printed up, too. Mikey is acting as merch man for us, trusting us to stay out of trouble after we come off stage.

Panting, coated in sweat, I stand on my drum stool and throw my sticks out into the crowd. Making our way backstage, all three of us grinning ear to ear, I feel like I am flying. This is better than any fucking drug.

“Nice show,” Dalia says as I walk past where she is sitting on top of a large black flight case which they use to haul all the sound equipment from venue to venue, her legs crossed underneath her.

“Thanks,” I say in return. “Maybe we’ll come back to watch yours.”

“Maybe you should,” she sasses back, and I notice her eyes flick down over my naked chest.

As we walk away, Smit grabs my arm. “We are gonna go watch them, aren’t we?”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

***

Tour buses are no fucking joke, man. It’s cramped, with all kinds of people shoved into a small area, all sharing the same small toilet…remind me to hold it until we stop at a proper rest stop! The bus we are on is a double-decker, with the bunks upstairs, enough to sleep up to sixteen of us, and a small seating area.

Downstairs there’s more seating, and tables to eat at, and a small kitchenette—and the bathroom. And the driver, obviously.

The bus we’re on is for the two bands lower down the list—us and Meliora—and all our people, namely Mikey for us and a couple of different managers and a make-up artist for the other band. Then there’s a bus that houses the main act—The Sons of Hyperion—and their managers and shit, then another bus that houses all their crew. Following us is a lorry that carries all the sound and lighting equipment they use. When I go on tour with Mom’s band, we have a family bus for just the four of us, so I am never exposed to all this side of things.

The bunks we have to sleep in are cramped and smell weird, with only a stiff curtain to pull across to give you any privacy. I claim the one above Mikey, with Smit and Evan across the small gangway.

Next to our beds are small cupboards to store your personal shit; our bigger suitcases travel under the bus in the luggage area.

After the gig, we all load up on our respective buses and set off toward the next venue—the drivers aim to get us there by morning so we can have a few hours of downtime just doing a bit of sightseeing or whatever before the soundcheck. The other guys in Meliora bicker good-naturedly with each other, all except the guitarist, a tall guy called Axl. ~I guess his folks name him after their favorite rock star too. Shame his namesake is a bit of a douche.~

The lead singer, that Dalia girl, sits with her legs tucked up underneath her, scribbling in a notebook, a smile playing about her lips while she listens to her bandmates.

Smit manages to join in their conversation—dude can talk to anyone—Evan seems happy in his own little world with his headphones in his ears, and Mikey is deep in conversation with Meliora’s manager, who he knows through some mutual friends.

I sneak off upstairs to have a smoke out of the window, and maybe just get a relatively early night. If one in the morning is early.

“Can I bum one of those?” The slightly hoarse voice makes me jump a little; I am so deep in thought about Stevie and why she isn’t answering my calls. I nod and shake one out for Dalia. She nods her thanks, lighting it with her own lighter.

For a few minutes, the two of us just smoke in silence, our plumes disappearing out of the open window and into the night. She clears her throat, and I turn my head slightly to look at her. “So, who pisses you off so much you feel like you have to destroy your phone?”

“I am not pissed off,” I reply, and she raises a disbelieving, perfectly drawn eyebrow at me. “I am just frustrated. I am trying to call my girlfriend, and she isn’t answering.”

“Ah,” she nods. “The first victim of the tour. Didn’t take her long to find somebody more reliable, huh?”

I scowl, stubbing my cigarette out and tossing the stub out of the window onto the highway. “Fuck you!” I stand up and start to stride away, anger starting to heat the blood in my veins.

“Hey!” I look back, and she smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m sure your girlfriend is lovely and loyal and shit, but I’ve seen more relationships flounder and fail working in this business than I’ve seen succeed. I didn’t mean to upset you. Friends?” She tilts her head to the side, her shaggy hair flopping into her eyes.

“Maybe,” I rub my hand down my face, suddenly exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster I feel like I’ve been on today.

“You and your maybe’s,” she chuckles, finishing her own cigarette. “How can I make it up to you?”

“Well…I need a new phone.”

***

Two days it takes to finally get my phone sorted. I don’t want to admit to my folks that I have broken yet another phone with my bad temper, so I speak to them when Mikey phones to check in. The downside to this is I don’t know Stevie’s number by heart and can’t ask Mom or Dad to give it to me because, again, that would mean admitting I smashed my phone.

Dalia goes online for me and orders a replacement to be sent to the next city we are going to be. As soon as we park up, a few of us catch an Uber to the local mall to collect it. The guys from Dalia’s band—Reid and Will, the keyboardist and drummer respectively—want to eat after that, so we make our way down to the food court and I eagerly boot up my phone while they start stuffing their faces with dirty-looking tacos.

Thankfully, all my contacts and shit are saved on the cloud, so when I turn my new phone on, everything is there like before. I scroll to Stevie’s name and press the dial.

~“Hello?”~ Stevie answers, sounding like I’ve just woken her up.

“Stevie! Hey, it’s Darryl!” I grin.

~“Darryl!”~ There’s a rustling of sheets on the other end of the line beneath her breathless reply.

“Hey,” I feel like I’m fucking beaming. I can’t remember ever being so fucking happy to hear someone else’s voice. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

~“Where have you been? Why couldn’t I get through to you?”~ Stevie asks, sounding upset.

“My fuckin’ phone broke.”

Dalia pipes up next to me. “You mean you broke your phone!”

I chuckle, running my free hand through my hair in embarrassment as she smirks at me. “Yeah, okay, I get pissed off and may have taken it out on my cell.”

~“So, you have to tell me how it’s going, being a world-famous rock star.”~

“Well, I wouldn’t claim to be world-famous just yet, but the crowds seem to like us so far.”

~“Tell me everything. I feel like I’ve missed so much of what’s going on in your life, not having spoken to you for the last few days.”~

I walk away from the table so I can hear her more clearly, feeling Dalia’s eyes following me. “It’s crazy, Stevie. I mean, I’ve been on tour with Ashes Within when I was a kid, but this, knowing these people are cheering for us, for me…it’s fuckin’ insane.” I perch my ass on a ledge and start to fill Stevie in on the last few days. She sounds excited for me, ~mhm-~ing and ~aha-~ing in all the right places. “I can’t wait ’til we get to New York, and you can come see us perform.”

~“Me either. I miss you like crazy, Darryl.”~

“I miss you too, Stevie. I love you. Speak to you soon.”

~“I love you, too.”~ We hang up, and I know I’ve got a goofy smile on my lips. Looking up, I catch Dalia watching me, a strange look on her face.