Page 25 of 4-Ever

We were back in the States, at a sold-out stadium show in New York as we prepared to open for yet another headlining band. After almost couple of years playing around Europe, we still had no record deal. Six years of working our asses off. No lie, sometimes it was difficult to keep positive. To not let our frustration get the better of us. Especially for a group of guys in our early twenties who’re impatient for everything.

So, six months ago, we headed back to the US and started again. Not with our tail between our legs, but with an understanding that this was going to be our life. Only a small percentage of musicians got a record deal and made it big. It wasn’t giving up. It was just accepting that being a working musician meant you had to keep going, no matter the size of the show or the crowd.

We didn’t want to do anything else, and really? Life was still fucking good.

We had steady gigs lined up and made enough money to rent a studio and record a proper demo. We’d just sent it out to several labels and we were once again waiting for responses.

Tonight, we were playing our biggest audience to date. And judging by the screams and hollers already, there was electricity in the air.

I was pumped up, and like always, ready to play my heart out.

The stage manager waved from the sidelines and started the countdown.

I started our first set with the pulse-pounding drumbeat for Never Look Back. No matter how many times I played a song, the rush of making music with my friends never got old. Sometimes I’d close my eyes on stage and just marvel at the sound, my heartbeat times a thousand.

And performing, just like sex, was usually better with a partner. Or several. You can do it alone, sure, but the energy of a crowd amplifies the rush.

Music is, after all, one of the ultimate human experiences. That’s pretty deep for a rockstar, right?

When the curtain finally dropped and the flash of lights exploded, so did the crowd. Brodie belted out the opening chorus and I could hear people screaming his name. That was new. And fucking awesome. It made all my senses ignite.

Since we’d returned to the States, with new songs and a strong backlist, our popularity slowly began to rise. We now had festivals and booking agents calling us for a change. I could feel the tide shifting in our favor. It was as real as the pedals at my feet and the sticks in my hands.

Brodie strutted across the stage, touching the hands of the lucky few in the front row and using his sex appeal to work them into a frenzy.

By the time we’d finished our fifth song, I was soaking wet. Jeans may look sexy, but for a drummer playing under the heat of the stage lights, my balls were now glued to my pants. I’d ripped off my t-shirt already and threw it in Ronin’s direction. He made a big show of sniffing it, then chucking it into the audience. The crowd screamed our names.

Fucking hell, that was a rush. People knew our goddamn names.

We closed out the set with Nine Gone Wrong and the roar of hollers and claps had all four of us shaking our heads in disbelief. After three bows, we took our leave, but the boom of the audience followed us, even backstage.

“What a fucking night!!” Brodie shouted and hugged us each in turn. “Did you feel that? Could you believe that?”

“They were yelling our names.” Holloway grinned. “This is it, guys. We’ve arrived!”

“You were amazing, boo.” Ronin hugged me, and kissed the top of my head, both of us slippery with sweat.

“Right back at ya,” I replied. “That was incredible. Brodie, they were going nuts for you.”

“For all of us,” Brodie stated as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face.

“Excuse me, can I speak to your manager?”

A sudden, strange voice interrupted our celebration.

All four of us turned around to find ourselves face to face with a middle-aged guy in a pair of expensive looking jeans and a crewneck sweater. Not our typical fan. And judging by the severe expression on his face, not a happy one either.

“You’re looking at him.” Brodie pointed to his chest.

“It’s about your set, I have to tell you—” the stranger started.

“Look, if you’re here to run us down, or if you have a problem with our songs, you can go fuck yourself. You can still hear the fans out there screaming. That should tell you everything you need to know.”

The guy shook his head and stepped forward.

“That’s not why I’m here,” the stranger insisted, and the boom of his voice had all of us, Brodie included, jolting. “I’m Greg Haddley, the CEO of Bandit Music. I represent Chaotic Chains.”

The headliners tonight were represented by Bandit Music, the biggest label in the country.

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