Chapter Five
Girlfriend Gone Wrong
Nash
The first month of the tour the band spent picking up the pieces of who we once were and trying to establish a new norm. Blane and his intern program did not make things any easier. Angie was borderline offensive, Maggie was basically mute, and Steve was just plain obnoxious. I couldn’t make a move without one of them up my ass. Grant seemed to enjoy being catered to, but the rest of us did not. In a three-to-one vote, we agreed that the interns were a distraction we did not want nor need. When we took the vote to Grant and Blane, however, Grant shrugged it off and Blane threw the mother of all fits. He claimed that they were under a contract that couldn’t be broken. I was pretty sure he was lying. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he had a thing for Angie. Too bad Angie had a thing for the band, security, roadies, and anything with a cock that wasn’t Blane.
By month two we’d graduated from hotel hopping to slumming it in the bus. There was one main reason for this, a leak in the chain of command. I blamed Blane, whereas Chaz blamed the interns. Grant didn’t know what to think, and Evan really didn’t care. Every hotel we showed up at was a paparazzi fest, and we couldn’t catch a moment’s peace. Bus living really wasn’t that bad. We’d established a sense of harmony both on and off of the stage. I attributed this to Evan’s easy going attitude. I didn’t realize how much negative energy Luke put out until he was gone. That’s not to say we didn’t have our issues. We were a bunch of men traveling on a bus together. Of course there were going to be issues, but for the first time in Meltdown’s history, we were managing to solve them with words instead of fists. When we weren’t practicing, we played video games or binge watched shows on Netflix. What we didn’t do was talk about our personal lives. Other than Grant, Chaz was the only one who seemed to have a life outside of the band.
Chaz’s girlfriend, Paula, was an enigma. She was always there, but never engaged with the band. Chaz crashed in her hotel room about once a week, but other than that, he was with us most of the time. It was the most bizarre relationship I’d ever witnessed.
Week eight of the tour started out promising. We’d played our asses off and afterwards partied with the VIP ticketholders in our dressing rooms. The Melties had become relentless in their attempts to get into our pants. Grant and Chaz had excuses, but Evan and I were fair game. Only, Evan wasn’t biting, and neither was I. Staying up all night drinking alcohol and indulging in random pussy no longer interested me. I’d been there, done that, and had too many t-shirts to count. My preference was to end my night by talking to Rowan about her day, while drinking a beer. I didn’t ask Evan what his excuse was and he didn’t ask for mine. Chaz, however, badgered us endlessly. Why weren’t we partying? Why weren’t we fucking the Melties? When did I turn into such a lame ass? Believe it or not, Chaz had become marginally cooler since hooking up with Paula. So when he suggested we hit a bar after the party one night, Grant and I gave in, Grant because he wanted a change of scenery, and me because I wanted Chaz off my ass. Evan bailed at the last minute, and Marcel took him back to the bus.
We started with shots of Jägermeister before turning to beer. After round three, Grant and I decided to call it quits. Hank was nervous about the crowd and I wanted to get back to the bus to call Rowan. When it came time for us to leave, Chaz was nowhere to be found. After searching the entire bar, Hank and Sampson gave up. Clearly Chaz had left. In doing so, he’d broken protocol. Never leave without telling someone where you’re going. Hank was pissed to say the least. Sampson dropped us at the bus while Hank went to track down Chaz. We’d barely made it up the steps when a half-dressed Paula busted from the back bedroom. Crying and mumbling unintelligibly, she brushed past us and stormed off of the bus.
“Damn, there goes Chaz’s good mood,” Grant muttered. When Evan stepped from the room and not Chaz, we both froze in our tracks. “What the fuck?” Grant growled.
“Where’s Paula?” Evan asked, his eyes darting all over the bus. With his hair sprouting in all directions and his boxers jacked up, he looked well fucked.
“Gone,” we both answered.
“Fuck!” he shouted.
“You could have any girl,” Grant stated.
“Chaz will kill you,” I said at the same time.
A look of surprise appeared on Evan’s face. “I didn’t fuck her! I was asleep and suddenly the bitch was in my bed with her hand on my dick.” Grant shot me a knowing look. “I swear, I didn’t touch her,” Evan vehemently protested.
“And we should believe you why exactly?” Grant asked.
“Because I’m telling you I didn’t.” Grant let out a chuff of disbelief. “Because I value my life,” Evan said. I opened my mouth to let him off the hook, when he added, “And because I’m married.” Grant and I just stood there with our mouths hanging open.
“You’re married?” I repeated.
“We’re separated at the moment, but yes, I’m married. It’s a long story that I’d rather not get into, but let me put it to you this way, she wants it and I don’t.”
Grant’s eyes shifted from Evan over to me. “What’s your excuse?” he asked. I shot him a scathing look. This had nothing to do with me.
“Excuse for what? I didn’t fuck Chaz’s girlfriend.”
“I didn’t either,” Evan snarled.
“No, you’re not fucking anyone. Is it because of that hot little piece you have waiting for you at home? I see the way you look at her.”
Fucking hell. The last thing I wanted or needed was for Grant to badger me about Rowan. I hadn’t told the band about Mom yet. Grant loved my mother almost as much as I did. It was a shitty thing to keep from him, but admitting it out loud made it more real, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I wanted it to go away, but I wanted Grant to drop the Rowan issue more.
“Mom’s cancer is back. They’ve given her six months,” I blurted. He looked as if he’d been struck, and that small part of my heart that harbored the impending pain of losing my mother, threatened to crack wide open.
“Damn,” Evan quietly stated. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Yep, it’s pretty fucked up,” I agreed. The devastated look on Grant’s face was almost more than I could handle. I needed a stiff drink, but would have to settle for a beer because that’s all we had at the moment. “Anyone want a beer?” I asked. Before I got an answer, I snagged three beers from the fridge, handed each of them one, and flopped back onto the sofa.
“How long have you known?” Grant asked.
“Since right before the start of the tour.”
“Thanks for telling me, douche.” He turned to Evan, and said, “Nash’s Mom is the shit.” Then he turned back to me, and asked, “Are you sure it’s terminal?”
“Yep, and before you ask, no, she doesn’t want any more treatments. Rowan and I have talked to her about it until we were blue in the face.”
“Stubborn Maeve,” Grant said with a sigh of resignation.
Not wanting to talk about my mother dying anymore, I quickly changed the subject. “Before Chaz gets back, we need to decide what to do. Do we tell him about Paula’s wandering hands or do we let it go and hope he doesn’t find out?”
“I was just thinking about that. If Chaz wasn’t with Paula tonight, then where was he?” Grant asked. Before anyone could answer, the bus doors opened. A few seconds later Chaz appeared at the top of the steps. He took one look at us, and laughed.
“Who pissed in your Wheaties?” he teased.
“Where did you go tonight?” Grant countered.
“Looking for fucking Paula,” he answered without missing a beat. Grant cut his eyes at me and then over to Evan. I waited for one of them to tell him. When neither said a word, the decision was made. I just hoped it didn’t come back to bite us.
* * *
The week before Christmas was crazy. In addition to our normal Thursday through Saturday schedule, Blane also scheduled us to play Tuesday and Wednesday night. This way we could take a five day break for Christmas. Once we hit the freezing temps of West Virginia, we were forced from the bus, and back to hotel living.
Our last concert before break was in Huntington. West Virginia in December was about thirty degrees colder than Texas, which is where all of my cold weather clothes were at the moment. I couldn’t wait to get home. During last night’s conversation with Rowan, she’d said that Mom’s energy level was up. Not only had they gone shopping for presents, but they’d even decorated the house.
Earlier that day, Grant flew Mallory in as a surprise. He had plans to take her to a secluded cabin for a few days before flying home for Christmas. This meant that I was flying solo back to Austin tomorrow afternoon.
That night we played like shit. Grant was focused on Mallory and poor Evan was worried about seeing his wife again. Who knew, or for that matter, cared what Chaz’s excuse was. He was most likely spending Christmas with his cheating bitch of a girlfriend. The poor guy didn’t have a clue. All I could focus on was home.
After the concert, Grant and Mallory took off for the mountains, while the rest of us headed back to the hotel. Our suite was a pit of nervous energy, which Chaz and Evan burned off by playing video games. I decided to work some more on my song. In the past, I fucked my way through a block. I thought about Rowan with her dark, curly hair and alabaster skin, and immediately popped a chubby. I wanted inside her in the worst way, but knew that I would only end up hurting her. I stared down at the words on the page.
He walked.
You stayed.
She died.
I raged.
The pain, it swallowed me whole.
Fuck it. I was getting nowhere. I put my guitar away and brushed my teeth. Then I flopped back onto the bed and tried to focus on sleep. Once Mom was gone, I would also lose Rowan. Just the thought made me want to hurl. The harder I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care, the deeper I sank.
The next morning I was jerked from a dead sleep by the sound of a door slamming.
“What the hell, people!” I shouted. A few minutes passed and I was almost back asleep, when I remembered my flight. Fuck! I scrambled for my phone in order to see what time it was. I had a little over an hour until my flight. If I didn’t get my ass in gear, I was going to miss it. As I leapt from the bed, I came down hard on something sharp. “Shit, shit, shit!” I chanted as I danced around the room. What felt like a shard of glass was actually the long, thorny stem of a blood red rose. “Mother fucker!” I shouted as I picked it up and hurled it across the room. I was going to have to talk to Blane about this shit, but first, I had to make my plane.
Last night, Chaz said he’d give me a ride to the airport, but by the time I’d showered, packed, and was ready to go, he was nowhere to be seen. On my way to the lobby, I ran into Maggie. Today she had on a dress that reminded me of a burlap sack. The poor girl had absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever.
“Maggie!” I shouted, when I saw her. She jumped as if she’d been stung, and I tried not to laugh. “Is there any way possible that you could give me a lift to the airport…like now?” I begged.
“Uhhhhh, sure,” she quietly answered.
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver, babe.” Her always hesitant facial expression morphed into a smile, and I realized that I’d never seen the girl smile before. “Lead the way,” I told her. I stutter stepped when she led me out of the hotel and straight to a bright green Smart Car.
“There’s more room than you think,” she defensively responded to the look of horror on my face. Surprisingly, she was right. Not only was the car more spacious than it looked, but it was also faster.
“We shall deem you Zippy,” I announced once we were on the road, and was shocked when Maggie responded with a laugh. The sound of her laughter, something I’d never heard from her before, piqued my curiosity. “So, Maggs, what are you doing for Christmas? Are you going home?”
“Uhhhh, I’m not doing much.” Her hesitant response along with her death grip on the steering wheel made me probe a little deeper.
“So you’re going home? Where is home, by the way?”
“California. I don’t really get along very well with my parents. I’m just going to head to Kentucky.” Kentucky was our next stop on the tour. The thought of her spending Christmas alone didn’t sit well with me.
“Do you have friends there?”
“Not really,” she shrugged.
“Please tell me you’re not spending Christmas alone?” Her eyes darted to mine before shooting back to the road. All it took was that one look. “Fuck, Maggie.”
“I’m okay, really. I’m used to being alone,” she quickly stumbled across her words, which only made me feel worse.
“Okay, tell you what, and I’m not taking no for an answer. As soon as you drop me off, I’m booking you a room at the Waldorf in New York, all expenses paid. I want you to treat yourself to the spa. Hell, I don’t care if you do a treatment a day, as long as you enjoy yourself.” Her eyes jerked to me and the car swerved.
“You do not have to do that,” she gasped as she jerked the car back onto the road.
“If you kill us, we won’t have to worry about it, will we?” I teased, and smiled when she burst into laughter. A few minutes later, we pulled into the airport. Maggie helped me get my bag out of the back. “Thanks for the ride. Remember, the Waldorf, and have a great time,” I reminded her.
“Thank you,” she said, and pulled me in for a bone crunching hug.
Thirty minutes later, I was high in the sky and heading for home.