Chapter Thirty-One
Owen
The last strains of the song faded away, and I just stood there, unsure of how I felt about it. Before me was the stadium we would be playing in later that night. While empty now, it would be packed to the rafters with screaming fans in a matter of hours, yet, I felt strangely detached from the excitement I normally felt. We had played out a few songs, but they hadn't sounded quite up to par.
Of course, with all that was running through my mind, the music hadn't done too much for me. I couldn’t shake the void I was feeling inside me. The worst part was that I knew exactly why I was feeling that way, and it was pissing me off.
For over a month, Nalia had been avoiding me like the plague—exiting the room when I entered, refusing to answer my calls, and only responding to texts that were directly related to the tour. If she needed to speak to someone in the band or give instructions, she would only talk to Talon or one of the other guys, never to me. It was like the moments we had spent together had all been nothing but a dream and she had no idea who I was. And not only that, but it was like she had no interest whatsoever in knowing, either.
“Owen.”
I turned to see my brother right behind me, a concerned look spread across his face. It actually looked a hell of a lot more like pity than concern, and I hated to be pitied more than anything. It was getting to me.
“You were fucking off on that beat,” I blurted at him.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I said, the anger I was feeling over Nalia ignoring me was starting to wash through my core. “You were off.”
Talon’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. “Get a grip, dude, and stop dishing out bullshit just because you’re in a shitty mood. Because what you just said is pure bullshit. I was far from being off.”
“Tell yourself what you want,” I shot back.
“Ask any one of the other guys in the band. You're the problem, Owen. Your singing sucked, man; you missed half your cues and were hitting off key all over the place. Where the hell is your head?” he questioned.
I flexed my hands. “It’s on your damn playing. That shit was awful.”
“Whatever, you fucking asshole! Stop trying to blame me! You know it's on you, and you're just not willing to admit that it was your fault!”
“The hell it was. Shit, maybe I should just bring in the drummer from the opening band to take your place. At least he can keep a beat.”
Anger flickered through Talon's eyes.
“Back off, Owen. You're full of shit right now and you know it. Quit fucking blaming me for your fucked up issues. We both know this has nothing to do with the music.”
“Fuck you, Talon. You're dragging this band down.”
Talon’s jaw clenched, and suddenly his hands were shoved against my chest, causing me to stumble across the stage.
“Go to hell, Owen!”
I caught my step and charged toward him, taking him down to the stage floor with a diving tackle.
“You asshole!” he shouted as I clocked him once, my fist landing against his chest.
With every punch, I felt myself get madder, wanting to deck him again and again to release the tension that was so tightly wound up inside. I was pissed about Nalia and her cold shoulder routine, pissed that nothing I could do or say could fix it, that I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. My seemingly perfect existence was falling down around me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, naturally, I did the mature thing and exploded in a rant of pure rage.
“Get the hell off of me!” Talon shouted.
I felt the jerk of someone on my shoulders, and moments later, we were pulled apart, allowing Talon time to get to his feet. I snarled and wrenched my way out of the person's grasp, charging at Talon once more, determined to finish what I had started. We tumbled into the equipment, the clanging of drums and cymbals sounding loudly in my ears as we crashed against them. Two seconds later, Talon’s fist collided with my jaw, and I felt a shudder rock my head from the outside in. I sure as hell was going to feel that tomorrow.
It didn't matter though; I still had plenty of fight left in me. I stumbled back, and Talon charged in to try to press home while he still had the upper hand.
He hadn't done a damn thing wrong, and in spite of that, I was using him as a punching bag to take out all of my frustration on. It was a downright shitty thing to do, really. For a brief moment, a flicker of guilt about what I was doing shot through me.
But then, Talon's fist crunched against my ribs, sending a shock of pain crashing up my left side. My mental focus kicked straight back into fight mode, and any sense of guilt about my behavior quickly vanished. He tried to land another punch on my ribs, but I was expecting the second one, and I blocked it before countering with a right cross that caught him square on the jaw. As he stumbled just a bit, I tackled him again and we both crashed to the floor.
“What the hell,” I heard from somewhere else in the room just as Talon managed to grab my head and pull me into a headlock. As we wrestled, I punched at his sides, a movement that was rewarded with the sound of grunts in response. As messed up as it sounded, a good fight was just what I needed.