Chapter 9

Darryl Nelson

As we first drive into this small-ass town, I wonder what the venue will be like in a place like this. My first glimpse of The Firebird changes my mind.

It is a cool old theater that has been converted into a music venue/nightclub. The owner is a distant relative of Sean, the bassist from The Sons of Hyperion, and apparently, they always stop by when they are on tour.

“Oi oi!” The tall guy with a strong English accent and an immaculately constructed green mohawk strides toward us, the chains on his ripped jeans chinking with every step. “Good to see you, cuz!”

He throws his arms around Sean, the two of them slapping each other’s backs as they say their hellos. He works his way around the rest of the band, doling out hugs and handshakes. Lukas comes over to where we’re standing, probably looking a little overwhelmed.

“This is Steve the Punk,” he stage-whispers to us.

Steve grins widely. “So called because I’m a dirty no-good punk.”

A hot woman with bright red and yellow hair skips out and wraps her arms around his waist. “Yeah, but you’re my no-good dirty punk.”

“I’ll show you just how dirty later on,” he says back, dropping a kiss on her upturned lips.

“Promises, promises! I’m off-ski. Christian needs picking up. See you all later,” she calls out to us as she leaves.

Steve grins after her, his eyes never leaving her swaying ass—I mean, I don’t blame him; I think every other guy’s eyes are also watching it. “Alright! Enough standing around. Come on in, and I’ll show you all around my baby.”

***

The crowd is amazing! I hadn’t realized before, but the small town is actually a college town, so the venue is packed.

Hot and sweaty, we all pile back to The Sons’ suite. It is heaving, what with all the members of all three bands, the managers and whatnot, plus the road crew and a few favored fans. But what hits me hardest is the overriding sweet, fragrant stench of weed, making my mouth water and a pang of homesickness bloom in my chest.

Smit almost immediately strikes up a conversation with some random guy. Evan finds a quiet corner and sits nursing his drink and his phone. I wander over to the bar, searching for something nonalcoholic.

“Here,” the redheaded girl from The Firebird hands me a bottle of soda with a smile. “I think they forget that not everybody wants to get wasted at these after-parties.”

“Thanks,” I say, tipping the bottle towards her.

“Anna,” she smirks. I chuckle around my mouthful of carbonated sweetness.

“Darryl,” I reply. She tilts her head to the side, a little frown on her face.

“You look familiar…”

“My mom is in a pretty successful band… The Ashes Within?”

“Yes! They played at my hometown when I was, like, fifteen. My cousin and I snuck out to see them.” She smiles fondly. “Well, anyway… see you around!”

I watch as she makes her way over to a guy sat in a wheelchair and sits on his lap, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so intense I feel I shouldn’t be watching. The dude from the venue—Steve the Punk—walks over to join them, sliding his hands down to her hips and pressing little kisses up her neck, capturing her lips when she turns her head toward him.

“Hot, isn’t it?” Lukas leans over me, grabbing a bottle of expensive-looking whiskey and tipping it straight into his mouth, not waiting for me to answer. “They are some kinda kinky threesome. I mean, I’ve had my fair share of threesomes, but to actually live that shit…” He shakes his head. “Fuck that. I would never share my girl with anyone else! Am I right?”

“Y-yeah… right.” He offers me the bottle and I shake my head.

“Oh, are you one of those straight-edgers? No drugs, no drinks, no fun,” he chuckles.

“No. Not really…I’m…I have some issues with all that junk.”

“Ahh! Very rock and roll!” Lukas grins, tipping another large shot of whiskey into his mouth. “Me too.”

He tips the bottle at me in a ‘cheers’ motion and slivers off to a waiting haggle of girls. ~Fuck me!~ I really hope I never morph into such a stereotypical version of a rock star.

I push my way through the moist bodies, over to Evan, and drop down next to him with a heavy sigh. “I thought this would be more fun.”

He snorts. “I didn’t.”

We drink in silence for a while until Dalia wanders over and joins us, a bottle of water in her grasp. “I thought this would be more fun.” Evan and I share a look before bursting out in laughter. She smiles in confusion. “So, why are you two on the pop then?”

“Meds,” Evan says softly at the same time as I say, “Drugs.”

Dalia smiles again, sitting down cross-legged in front of us. “Snap! What are you all on?”

“Prozac,” I say with a grimace.

“Me too!”

“I’ve been on everything,” Evan says in his soft voice. “But nothing seems to make much difference.”

“Preach,” I deadpan, and Dalia nods knowingly. I relax a little as we begin to swap war stories. It is nice being in the company of people who kinda understand what it is like living inside my head. Before I know it, people are starting to drift out of the room, and the dawn is peeking through the heavy drapes.

After a few hours of sleep, we are piling back onto the buses and on our way east. The next gig is on the outskirts of New York, and Stevie is supposed to be coming to watch me perform. Thinking about it gives me the same nervy feeling I’d gotten the first time we opened for The Sons’. This will be the first time she’s seeing me on a big stage with decent sound mixing and lights and all that shit.

A hard knock to my shoulder bumps me out of my thoughts, and I drop my bag with a thump. Axl smirks at me when I turn around. “Sorry, princess.”

“What the fuck is your problem, man?!” I snap. He just rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like ~‘you’~. “Since day one, you’ve spoken to me like shit and made snide comments about everything I say or do. I don’t get what I’ve done to piss you off so much!”

He faces me, a sneer already twisting his features. “Aww, have I hurt the little self-entitled rock brat’s feelings?”

“Axl don’t…” Dalia pulls his arm, trying to get him to walk away, but we both take a menacing step closer to one another.

“What the fuck are you talking about!?”

“I’m talking about how it’s ~so~ fucking easy to get ahead in this business when you have fucking metal royalty giving you a hand up, isn’t it?” He gesticulates to Smit’s Ashes Within t-shirt. “You don’t think for one second you were chosen because Lukas actually liked you, do you?” He laughs sarcastically, and I feel my hands start to curl into fists as Smit’s face falls. “I mean, come on! Some loser high school dropouts with drug problems, like you guys, would have never had a shot if it wasn’t for your mom being so famous. I bet you’ve never had to work for anything you’ve ever had, right?”

My fist connects with his cheek before my brain registers that I’ve even moved it. Axl’s eyes blaze with anger, and he swings for me in retaliation. My lip throbs, and I can taste blood as his hit connects. I am vaguely aware of the shouts of our bandmates and hands trying to separate us from our brawl, but in my mind, I’m back in that dark, dirty park, beating the shit out of some poor fuck.

A heavy set of hands eventually manages to pull me back, and I can hear Mikey’s familiar voice in my ear, trying to calm me down. Seeing an opportunity to get in one last hit, Axl swings for me. Unfortunately, we are still on the bus with limited space, so when I move to the side to avoid his punch, it collides—hard—with one of the built-in cupboards, splintering the wood.

“Mother—fucker!” His hand is dripping with blood, the knuckles already starting to swell. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

He lurches towards me again, Reid and Will quickly restraining him before he makes it over to me, and I strain against Mikey’s firm grip.

“Come on, lad,” Mikey pulls me away, practically dragging me upstairs, Smit and Evan following close behind. “This is the complete opposite of keeping your nose clean like you promised your folks you would do.”

“He fucking started it!” I snarl, still feeling my entire being vibrating with rage.

Dalia jogs up the stairs, looking tearful. “Well, that’s our tour over. Axl’s hand is fucked…he won’t be able to play tomorrow.”

Mikey slaps my shoulder. “No problem! Darryl here can play guitar for you, right, lad? I mean, it would be the least he could do after injuring your guitarist.”

“You play guitar?!” Smit’s jaw drops. I shrug, trying to keep the smug look off my face.

“That won’t work,” Dalia looks even more crestfallen. “Axl is left-handed.”

“So’s Darryl.” Mikey looks smug now. “And before you say anything about him learning the songs, I can guarantee you that Darryl already knows them all.”

Dalia looks at me with wide eyes. “Do you?” I nod. It is one of the more useful things I’ve picked up along the way when I was dragged about on my mom’s tours. I can learn music by ear after listening to it a few times, and after loitering on the side of the stage for so many nights, I definitely know the simple guitar riffs that Axl plays. “Oh my gosh! That would be amazing!”