Page 14 of Goodbye Note

“It’s this cold.” Val waved me off.

I nodded, knowing this was the worst time to press it. “You have been sick a lot.”

“It’s shit,” Val agreed. “I swear someone sneezes in a club, and I’m sick the next day. My voice is shot. I’m looking forward to our month off before Warped.”

“Can we circle back to who pissed in your cornflakes?” Bronx asked, holding open the door for us to walk out to the bus.

“He’s waiting for the singer of Second Star to reply to him.” Val sold me out.

“No shit?” Fox asked, turning around to block the entrance to the bus.He was lanky with blacked-out sleeves and geo patterns that stretched from under his chin down to a point between his pecs. It might have struck an imposing figure to a stranger, but I’d known him too long. While he could be an asshole, he wasn’t to me.

“I don’t know. We had a…moment at his release party, and I gave him my email…” The more I spoke, the dumber I felt. I shoved my hair out of my eyes, sure I was fucking up the style.

“Did you scare him off already?” Fox lifted a brow.

I held up my middle finger. “I don’t even have his number.”

“Wait, is this the band you were gushing about?” Bronx snapped his fingers, screwing up his face, trying to remember. “Second Star? They’re playing Warped, right?”

“Yep.” I shoved past Fox, knowing we needed to get on the road.

“You’ll see him in a month. Do you need to talk to him before?”

“We had—” I cut myself off. “No, you’re right.”

Bronx and Fox exchanged a glance.

“They had a moment,” Val filled in for me.

I flipped him the bird. “He seemed into it. Maybe he was just blowing smoke. He’s busy. They went platinum. It doesn’t matter. Come on. We got to go.” I’d feel better after a few hours in my bunk.

“Give him some time. It gets wild when you blow up. You’ve got to remember.” Val softened, all the tease dropping out of his voice.

“I’ll feel better after I sleep.”

* * *

I didn’t feel better.

I felt anxious.

I felt like the world was closing in around me. Like everything I touch turns to ash. Heading back to play in our hometown intensified my imposter syndrome. It didn’t matter that I had a successful album, was about to headline one of the biggest festivals in the world, and Rolling Stone had called Dopamine-Fiend one of the bands redefining grunge; the rejection still stung. And none of it would matter when I walked over the threshold of my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn to see the worry written in the lines on my grandmother’s face. I knew she saw my father every time she looked at me.

I didn’t know how to prove to her I’d never be my parents, and the cherry on the fucking cake was finally having the courage to open up to someone about it all and it falling flat.

* * *

By the time we got onstage all of my energy was gone. Left some place on long stretches of highways. I focused on the passion from our home crowd. They were the reason we got to live this life. This was the reason I could pay my grandparents’ mortgage every month to pay them back for taking us in when my parents couldn’t be trusted. To pay them back for the surgeries and therapies following my accident.

Our fans were the reason they could have a good retirement.

I had to keep driving forward even if my grandparents believed it would end in ruin.

I settled into a rhythm, getting my vibe back, when a flicker caught my attention.

Intense green eyes.

I noticed them before anything else. They held an otherworldly ferocity.

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