Derrick

Sitting up in bed, I watch the back of her bent forward while she clasps the straps of her heels around her ankles. She looks back, and says, “If you need any—”

“Yeah, I’ll call you.”

A sleek smile slides into place and suddenly I don’t feel like my “tour” was a one-time thing for her. She stands and straightens her skirt. “You’ve got my number.”

I reach for the card on the nightstand, and hold it up. “I do. Thanks for—”

“My pleasure.”

I’m relieved she cut me off. This is the awkward part I dislike the most. Thanking her for sex would up the weirdness factor. She grabs her hotel manager’s jacket and slips it on over her shirt. One last wave, and she says, “It was great meeting you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

When she disappears, I take her business card in hand again and read out loudly, “Brenda.” The door to the suite shuts and I hear the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place.

Another city, another—meaningless—distraction. Physically I’m sated, but now what? I pick up my phone and text Tommy Rhodes, the band’s manager and my wingman since Kaz abandoned his post: When do we leave?

A return text comes fast: One hour.

I text again: Where are we going?

Tommy: Nashville.

Me: Where are we now?

Tommy: Miami.

Nashville. Miami. East Coast. We’re a damn long way from home in LA. It shouldn’t bother me. It’s not like I’ve got anything or anyone back home waiting.

I slide my sunglasses over my eyes and lie back down. I’m a rock star, damn it. This is probably why I used to do drugs in the first place. I could leave my own mind for a while and live in the euphoria of fame. But being in the band means being clean. Sure, they don’t give a shit about marijuana or booze, but with the history of the band, anything harder breaks my contract. That contract is all I ever fucking dreamed about so I’m not going to screw it up for a temporary high. Anyway, I may not have anyone back home that gives a shit about me, but on the road I can have a Brenda in every city.

Life can be pretty damn sweet if I look at the bright side.

The only problem with my bright side these days is that my head is overrun with memories of a girl I left with a broken heart and out of tune guitar. I meant to fix that before I left—the guitar. There was no fixing the heart unless I stayed, and I couldn’t. Good reasons at the time, but hell if I can remember what they are now.

---

I toss my carry-on in the seat next to me and open the shade. Sunny Miami. I’m leaving before I even had time to experience the city. Other than the arena we played last night, I didn’t see anything beyond the inside of the hotel and an SUV. Releasing a hard breath, I slam the shade back down and close my eyes.

“Rough night?”

I don’t have to open my eyes to recognize the voice—Kaz. My best friend, my former roommate, and the bassist for The Resistance aka the best band in the world, moved on. I know I’m lucky. I was chosen from guitarists vying for this spot from around the world to join this band, along with Kaz. It was a quick and easy fix to a spot they had open. At the time, it was a two-for-one kind of deal.

It took the man behind the brand, Johnny Outlaw—lead singer, former rock star bad boy, and the face of the band—two minutes to decide. As a guitarist himself, he knew what he was looking for. We continued to play through three more songs for the other surviving band member, Dex Caggiano—drummer extraordinaire—to decide. He said he actually didn’t need to hear more, but liked watching us sweat our hearts out through every chord we played. It was an asshole move. So basically he’s my idol now.

The trial period ended a long time ago and we’ve been officially part of the band for years now. Our dreams came true. Dreams and goals, bucket lists and accomplishments, but once those goals are reached, what then?

Before I can say anything to Kaz, Johnny sits across from me and buckles in. Fuck. This can only mean one of two things—I fucked up something in the show last night or he’s firing me. The dude never sits by me. He actually sleeps in the bedroom of the private plane most flights. Or is stuck in interviews and doing PR shit. Having him sitting across from me right now is worrisome to say the least. He’s not talking at me. He’s talking to me. I like this shift in our relationship, this new dynamic.

He stares at me until I remove my sunglasses, then he says, “We all burn out at some point or another. Some take longer to get there. Some sooner. It’s how you handle it that determines your future. How do you plan to handle it?”

Sitting back, my leg begins to bounce and I scoff defensively. “I’m not burned out.”

“Bullshit.”

“There’s nothing to handle. I’m happy as a clam.”

His jaw tics. That usually only happens when he’s pissed, but his eyes don’t show any anger. Blowing out a deep breath, he looks out the window as the plane starts down the tarmac. He says, “Mine was Germany.”

“Your what?”

“My bottom.” When he turns back to me he says, “The fallout from partying, drugs, booze, women, the whole fucking cliché was a year earlier. Sure, I still did a lot of shit after, but no more hard drugs. As for the women, it was entertaining for a while, but there was no substance. No one I wanted to call the next day or even get their number. Some of the time . . . a lot of the time I didn’t even bother with their names.”

Brenda comes to mind. I caught that one as she was walking out the door this morning.

“Look,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “It happens to all of us. Not many relate, or ever will understand this life on the road, the demands of being in a band that’s as successful as The Resistance. But we do. All five of us do. Tommy’s given up his life to put us first without the fame or notoriety we have. The rest of us, we’re doing the best we can in an extraordinary situation. But I’m telling you. I see the signs. I see it destroying you. Slowly. Meticulously, almost to where you don’t notice you’re not you anymore.” We haven’t reached altitude yet, but Johnny stands. “It’s great to be a rock star, but not at the expense of having a life. Two tours in two years wears on you. When we get back to LA, find a life again, Derrick. It’s the only way you’ll survive when you’re on the road.” I watch as he walks down the aisle to the bedroom and disappears inside. What the hell?

As soon as the door shuts, Kaz pops into the chair Johnny vacated. “Shit, man. What’d he say?”

Find a life.

Get a life.

Live my life.

“Find myself again.”

“I didn’t know you were lost.”

“Neither did I. Until now.”

---

We land a few hours later to fans screaming behind the metal fence at the private airport. I wave while coming down the stairs and then slide into the first SUV. Dex slides in after me and shuts the door. Tommy, Kaz, and Johnny take up the next black SUV parked beside the plane.

My head pivots in Dex’s direction. “What up?”

He nods while staring at his phone, reading something on the screen.

I look out the window next to me already forgetting which city we’re in.

“I’m not going to lecture you,” he starts. “I leave that to Tommy and Johnny. This band is their baby, hence why we’re still hitting the road so hard with each new album.”

I’m actually surprised he’s talking to me about this. Dex is reserved. Most would say he’s not, but over time I’ve learned he rarely instigates trouble despite his bad reputation. He’s more of a reactionary man. “It’s fine.” I’m not sure what to say. “It’s smart to support the record.”

“I heard what Outlaw said on the plane. He’s right. We see the signs.”

“What are they?”

“You’re fucking up, not on stage. You’re incredible on stage. But you don’t have anything keeping you grounded.”

“I’m not gonna float away.”

“We’ve had that happen. I fucking did it. You know my story. I think you’re a lot like me, Derrick.”

“And this is a bad thing?”

“Nah.” He chuckles humorlessly. “I just liked to party. There’s nothing wrong with that, but the thrill is fading for you. After the show tonight we’re home for a few weeks. Take it off. Really off, like out of the limelight, and regroup if you can. Well, don’t take off from the band sessions, but the other stuff. Hang out with your friends, get laid by a girl you want to have breakfast with, and get some fucking sun. You’re pale as a ghost these days.”

If only I could have breakfast with the only girl that I’d want to. “What are you gonna do when you get back?”

“See my woman, play with the family. Just live a real life.” He drops his head back on the seat and closes his eyes. “I’ve been given a damn good life, but it comes with sacrifices. That I’m here today, has been no easy feat, and I bow down at the feet of those who got me here. That’s who I’ll be spending time with. The people who make it possible for me to do this. The people who are there for me when I fall, which as you know, I still do. But these days, I don’t fall as far.”

“Am I in that bad of shape that everyone is concerned?” I chuckle.

“No.” He looks at me. “Just that, I know sometimes it feels like you and Kaz versus me and Johnny. It’s not.” He holds his hand out to me. “Johnny once told me that being bandmates makes us brothers. I’m always here for you, brother.”

We do our handshake that the band adopted soon after we joined. There’s comfort in knowing what I’m feeling is normal . . . as normal as a rock star can be. A new perspective is loaded, the trigger cocked, and hits me right on target.

Another day. Another hotel. Another back entrance. We’re shuffled through quickly and into our rooms before the fans realize where we’re staying. Or so I thought. Five stories below, “Johnny” is chanted, the hum of fans outside penetrating not just the walls, but my head. I peek out the window before swallowing ibuprofen and lying down. Six hours before sound check. Time to settle my mind and try to get some sleep.