Page 51 of Fractured Frets

It’s burning through my veins, through my veins,

Melting away all my restraint.

You’re like a fix to me, fix to me,

Come on and give me my next high.

Lost in the beat, I spun around and struck my strings, playing up to the audience. I hollered and waved to them between the notes and chords I churned out. The energy radiating off the mass of people spurred me on. Riff after riff. Progression after progression. Oh yeah. Full of fire, I stepped up onto the riser next to Cole’s drums. To end the song, I jumped high in the air and slammed on my strings.

My feet connected with the stage.

Pain shot through my hip.

“Argh! Fuck!”

I buckled, collapsing to the floor. I landed on my sore side. Noooo! Rolling onto my back, I lay sprawled out like a dead snow angel on the stage. Holding my guitar across my waist with one hand, I clutched my hip with the other. Tears pricked my eyes. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

Lewis rushed over, laughing, but his smile disappeared as pain contorted my face. “Dude. What the fuck? Are you okay?” He held out his hand to help me up.

Biting through the agony spearing my hip, down my leg, and into my toes, I nodded. “Fuck yeah. Help me up.”

Once I got to my feet and pumped my fist in the air, the audience cheered and whistled.

“Slip, you mad motherfucker,” Flint said into his mic. “You okay?”

I limped over to my mic, nodded, then repositioned my guitar. I dug deep, summoning a huge I’m-good smile. “Of course. What are you waiting for? Let’s fucking rip.”

But my vision blurred. Nausea flooded my gut. Pain burned in my hip.

Shit! I can do this. I can make it through.

Gritting my teeth, I struck the first note of the next song. But worry blazed in Flint’s eyes. There was no disguising I was hurt. He mouthed, ‘You need to stop?’

I shook my head, willing the agony throbbing across my lower back, up my spine, and into my shoulders to stop.

After giving the show all I had in reserve, somehow I made it through. Adrenaline had kept me going. But the minute we rushed off stage, I collapsed onto the sofa in our dressing room. Acid burned the back of my eyes. “Get me Jade. Now,” I hissed in Blake’s direction.

“On it.” Blake charged out of the room.

“I don’t know how you kept playing, bro.” Flint sank onto the sofa opposite me. Sweat still dripped off the tips of his hair, his face and arms. “I could feel pain radiating off you after that fall.”

“Sorry for laughing.” Guilt riddled Lewis’s face as he placed his hand over his chest. “You done more damage to your hip?”

“Whatever I’ve done, it’s bad. I’m in fucking agony. I’ll have to go to the hospital and get it checked.” Fear gripped my throat. As long as I could continue the tour, I didn’t care what was wrong.

“You want us to come?” Cole wiped sweat off his face with a towel and then hooked it around his neck.

“No. But get me an ice pack, please.” I pointed to the fridge in the corner.

Two minutes later, Jade strode in. I striped down to my boxer briefs for her to examine my hip. It had swollen and had transformed my tattoos into a dark angry patch.

Fuck. I thumped my head against the arm of the sofa. So. Not. Good.

“Slip? Let’s get to the emergency center.” She rose to her feet. “I don’t think you’ll be doing any more stage jumps for a while.”

“No. Guess not.” I hated that. “But I’ll still play, even if I have to sit in a wheelchair.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Flint smirked. “But you knew not to overdo it.”

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