Chapter 20

Stevie McGabe

My body hums with nervous excitement. I’ve taken a total chance of coming here, driving all day to get to the venue in time for the gig to start.

I’ve then taken an even bigger chance in buying a ticket off a scalper outside, so now I stand in line, not even sure my ticket will actually get me in or if I’ve just been ripped off for fifty dollars. I’m not sure Darryl will even want to see me or if I can get to see him—last time we had backstage passes, but now I just have to work with my womanly wiles and quick thinking—but I need to try. I need to make things right between us.

It has been days since we last spoke, days of stewing in my own bad decisions and regrets. I am honestly the most worried I’ve ever been about Darryl in the whole eighteen years of our existence.

By the time I get through the long queue and through security, Darryl’s band is already on stage. I strain to see over the tall metalheads, dying to catch a glimpse of my boyfriend—well, at least I hope he’s still my boyfriend. When I do get myself into a position where I can see him, my heart flutters excitedly in my chest.

He is raw power. He is simultaneously laser-focused and relaxed, up on his throne of percussion. He is the driving force behind the music, the constant pounding heartbeat that keeps the music alive.

I stand, riveted, even though I’ve seen them perform together before, right up until the last song starts. As the opening chords ring out, I start weaving through the crowd toward the barricades, which keep the mob from getting too close to the bands. A surly bouncer stands, dressed in a tight black t-shirt that stretches against his bulging biceps, which are crossed in front of his chest.

“Hi!” I shout, trying to raise my voice above the music. His eyes slowly slide down to look at me, a small crease forming on his brow. “That’s my boyfriend up there! On the stage. Can I go back and wait for him in the changing room? Please!”

He rolls his eyes. “Sweetheart, that’s a lot of girls’ boyfriends up there on that stage tonight.”

I blow out a deep breath. “No. ~Seriously,~ the drummer, Darryl Nelson, he’s my boyfriend.” My throat begins to feel sore with the shouting. ~Methods of Dissent~ is very loud.

“Hey, Malcolm!” The guitarist from the other support act saunters up and slaps a friendly hand on the bouncer’s shoulder. “I know her, it’s okay. Let her through.”

The bouncer—Malcolm—rolls his eyes again but pushes the metal barricade so I can squeeze through.

“Thanks!” I shout again, just a hint of sarcasm tainting my voice. The guitarist saunters off, so I quickly jog after him. “Thanks for that.”

He smirks over his shoulder at me. “No worries.”

“So, are you taking me to ~Methods of Dissent~’s changing room?” Even though we are getting further away from the stage, it is still loud enough back here that I have to raise my voice to be heard.

“Something like that,” he says, stopping and turning to face me. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Why are you wasting your breath talking to an asshole like Darryl?”

I feel myself bristling at his words, his harsh judgmental tone. “Because Darryl isn’t an asshole…not to people who deserve his time.”

“Okay…sure. That must be why he’s been spending all that alone time with Dalia, then, huh? Because he’s ~such~ a sweet guy.” I grit my teeth, trying not to bite back at ~this~ asshole. “Well, he’s had a taste of my ex. Maybe I should even the score.”

Before his words really register, his lips land on mine. His beer-laced breath is like a sour cloud over my skin, and his tongue is a slimy slug trying to gain access to my mouth. I claw at his face, desperately trying to get away.

“Mother~fucker!~” One minute, this creepy guy is trying to stick his tongue in my mouth, the next he is sprawled on the floor, blood trickling from his nose, painting his teeth red when he snarls at us, and Darryl stands over him with clenched fists. Smit and Evan stand on either side of him, their hands restraining his arms. “I’m gonna fucking ~kill~ you!”

“Axl? Darryl? W-what’s going on?!” The pretty girl singer—~Dalia~—emerges from a door and looks between the two guys, shock etched on her face.

Darryl ignores her, pulling his arms free of his bandmates and striding over to me, gently placing his hands on my cheeks, his eyes—so vibrant, so full of concern—scanning my face. “Stevie…are you okay? Did that fucker hurt you? What are you even doing here? When did you get here?”

A sob works its way free from my chest, and I launch myself onto him, wrapping my arms so tightly around him that he ~oofed~ out a small breath of air. A beat later, I am enveloped in his strong arms, his familiar smoky scent a balm on my soul.

“What the fuck is going on out here?!” A deep voice booms over the noisy corridor.

***

After the scuffle in the corridor has been dealt with—the tour manager has been somewhat placated by Mikey’s assurances that Darryl will cause no more trouble for the remaining few days of the tour, accompanied by a sullen apology from Axl for assaulting me—Darryl leads me off to a quiet room, where he is currently leaned up against a wall, chewing his thumbnail while running an assessing eye over me.

“What are you doing here, Stevie?” he asks, his voice lacking its usual cadence.

“Don’t you want me here?” It hasn’t even occurred to me that he wouldn’t have actually wanted to see me.

He blows out an agitated breath. “I didn’t say that—it’s just…complicated.”

I nervously lick my lips. “Is it because of that girl…Dalia?”

“You really don’t fucking trust me, do you?!” Darryl scowls down at his army boots. “Look, I’ve been struggling a lot. More than I thought I would. All this shit with you and that dude didn’t help things.”

“I’m really sorry that I hurt you, but honestly, nothing ever happened with Cameron. I should have never gotten drunk like that.” He glances up at me, and I offer him an apologetic smile. “I know it was stupid. And I know that allowing myself to get in the position of letting anyone else undress me was dangerous, and if you had said some other girl had undressed you, I would have been upset and angry too.” I step closer to him and tentatively reach out and take his hand. “I’m really, from the bottom of my heart, so sorry. I love you. I never want to hurt you or make you feel like I don’t trust you…”

“You shouldn’t,” he says through a clenched jaw, his voice dripping with ice, making a ripple of fear run up my spine.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I had promised my parents, I had promised my little brother and my doctor and ~you~, that I would stay clean and sober. You ~all~ put your trust in my word, but the moment I felt a little bit upset by something, I went off the rails.” He pulls his hand free from mine and runs it down his face, leaving his eyes closed as his head tips back and rests on the wall behind him.

“Did…” I am almost too scared to ask the question burning on the tip of my tongue. “Did you cheat on me, Darryl?” He nods once, keeping his eyes closed, shutting his emotions off from me. “With Dalia?” One more nod. “Did you…did you fuck her?”

“No.” He opens his eyes, the green of them flashing brightly with sincerity. “We kissed.”

“Did you want to sleep with her?” I ask softly, biting back the tears that I can feel building up. He glances at me, then drops his gaze back down to his feet.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I was fucked up at the time. I thought you had cheated on me.”

“So, is that how we work things out now? Huh? Tit for tat?” I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to keep myself together. I sniff, trying to stop the onslaught of pain from escaping and streaming down my cheeks. “How did it get so broken?” I whisper.

“I don’t know.” He sounds as upset as I am.