“What line?”
“The untouchable writer.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Bullshit,” Sab said. “You took off after the show. Just give me a heads up if I need to start looking for another gig.”
I curled my lip. “Yeah. Go do that, Sab. Go play with your fucking side project.”
“I’m breaking your stones a little,” Sab said. “Calm the fuck down. Just try to keep it all under wraps.”
“I’m not fucking her,” I said.
“There’s a set of words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Sab said.
I grabbed a joint off the desk and lit it up.
I walked to the front of the bus where the young guy stood with two bags on his shoulders, thick black glasses, and the look of awe on his face.
“Nash,” he said. He stuck his hand out.
I nodded and shook his hand. I took a hit off the joint and offered it to him.
I was surprised when he took it.
But I knew the game.
Play cool and casual. Play friendly. Wait for me to slip up.
“Mind if I record this?” he asked.
“What else are you doing here?”
“Right,” he said. “I’m Devin.”
Kind of like Dillon…
I gritted my teeth.
Fuck me, that name was still rolling through my head.
“You guys are coming off the last little bit of your tour,” Devin said.
I cut in. “Tonight’s the last show. Right here at home.”
“And new material?”
“There’s always new material.”
“But how serious is it?”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“There’s a difference between jotting down ideas and actual recording.”
Sab pointed a drumstick at Devin. “High school drummer. Right? But someone got a girl pregnant and the band fell apart.”
Devin shook his head. “Guitar.”
“And who got who pregnant?” Sab asked.
“Bassist,” Devin said. “Fucked the lead singer’s girlfriend and knocked her up. At seventeen.”
“Jesus,” Jay said. “Well done.”
“Look, we always write music,” I said. “Some works and some doesn’t. We’ve been recording on the road.”
“Right here on the bus,” Dex said.
“Anything good?” Devin asked.
“Are you suggesting our music is shit?” I asked.
“No,” Devin said. He paused. “So the track record of the band.”
“Clean as a freshly waxed pussy,” Reed said with a wink.
“There’s a t-shirt,” Devin said as he laughed. “You guys have a reputation.”
“Keeps life interesting,” I said.
“It does. And the rumors about the baddest tour ever?”
Jay moved his hand and grabbed my shoulder.
I passed the joint to him and shook his hand away. “Say that again, Devin.”
“The rumors. There was an offer on the table. A tour. Contract. I heard worldwide tour too. The biggest tour. The two baddest bands…”
“Not even close,” Sab said. “Next question.”
“Where did that come from then?” Devin asked, pushing back at us.
“Some little punk asshole looking to make a name for himself,” Reed said.
“I really think we should talk about the music,” Dex said.
“No, no,” I said. “Let the man ask his questions. Just ask it, man.”
“The history between Filthy Line and Raunchy Recks has been documented. But there’s another side to it.”
“Is there?” I asked.
“Of course there is. But before I get there, the tour… I heard figures in excess of-”
I reached forward and grabbed his phone off the table.
“This is a nice phone,” I said. “New one?”
“Nash…”
“Shit,” Jay said.
I threw the phone against the window behind Devin. It bounced and flew back at us. Devin dove for it and I casually threw a punch, hitting him in the nose. I then stomped on his phone until it was a broken mess.
But I wasn’t done yet.
I turned and pulled at the table.
Then in a blur… Liv burning in my mind…
I trashed the bus.
I broke tables, glasses, bottles, and managed to break one of the windows.
Devin took off, which was a smart move.
The guys left me alone, which, again, was a smart move.
When I left the bus, Bill stood there, smoking a cigarette.
“Sorry about the bus,” I said.
“No worries, Nash,” he said. “They’ll give me a new one to drive.”
“You get it, Bill. You fucking get it.”
He patted my arm as I walked by.
I looked forward and saw Liv standing with Toby.
Her eyes moved to the side and met mine.
I grabbed my dick again.
Spin this, Liv…
Except there was one big problem here.
The only thing spinning was my fucking heart.
10
OLIVIA
The tour bus is sacred. While the stories of excess and sex may pour from the narrow door, the truth is that most of us never really understand what the tour bus means. What actually happens on the bus, when you have five creative minds and souls all colliding together, speeding along a deserted highway, racing toward another city for another show.
That’s why… the tour bus is sacred.
To be invited onto the tour bus means you’re stepping into another world. And maybe it’s cliché to say rules and laws need not apply, but cliché this… someone trying to make a name for themselves off the back of rumors that serve no purpose other than to cause problems.
Maybe our pasts never leave us. Maybe they linger around like the last few breaths of a long day. When you’re watching darkness climb across the sky, praying for a few stars to wish upon, but they never show that night. That’s what the past is. Moments. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Like being on the other side of a thick glass. One where you can see but can’t touch. That’s the past.
So I ask, what’s the point of bringing that up? What’s the point of asking questions that have been asked before? Why can’t someone think of something new? Here, let me offer a list…
‘What’s the chemistry like in the band after all these years?’
‘Before the arena fills up and you stare at all the empty seats, what goes through your mind?’
‘What was the craziest thing you ever demanded to be available backstage?’
I could make a bigger list but that’s not the point.
The tour bus is sacred.
What happens in there can’t be replaced.
A cell phone can.
A window can.
And while again it might be cliché to say nobody got hurt… well, nobody got hurt. And when you’re told not to ask a question and you ask it… well… you just broke something sacred.
I sent an email to Toby without finishing the entire story.
That should be good enough.
Toby would have his team break it into chunks and spread it around social media.