Page 16 of Bonding the Band

Arlo chewed his lip, turning to the others for guidance.

“Come on, kid,” said Gary. “Let’s get you outside for some fresh air while the others finish their search.”

I snorted. I knew what fresh air meant.

I followed Gary out of the tour bus on unsteady legs and leaned against the side of it once we were out, watching as Gary closed the door so we wouldn’t be overheard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? We have a show in four hours.”

“I told you. I’m sick.”

“We don’t have time for this bullshit. Come on.”

He was on his phone with one of the tour techs who had a steady hand with a needle, and I was herded into Gary’s car, where the tech was already hanging up a banana IV bag. I kicked the seat back and closed my eyes while my arm was sanitized and the IV needle was inserted. The tech was gentle, and I knew the fluids would help—they always did—but it was what happened when he’d leave me and Gary alone that I worried about.

The tech wandered off to finish setup, and Gary took out his own little stash of what the fuck ever he gave me and plunged a syringe of it into the fluids.

“There we go.” Gary grinned down at me. “You’ll be right as rain in time for the show.”

I never knew what it was, but I knew what it did. Whatever concoction he poured into me erased any exhaustion, and the fluids nuked any nausea. Between the two, they always got me in a state where I could go perform.

The problem this time was that it didn’t seem to matter how much of either was pumped into my body; the symptoms never went away entirely.

I stared at the steady drip. It was the only way I could avoid disappointing my fans, even though I really wanted to crawl under a rock and hibernate for a year. There was too much money floating around for me to do that. A canceled show would cost millions in the short term, and probably cost us fans. If I skipped shows as often as I wanted to, we’d have no fan base left,and I couldn’t do that to the guys. As much as I felt disgusting about it, I would let Gary give me whatever it took to keep our careers going.

“Don’t mope,” Gary ordered. “You’re a rock star. St?—”

“Start acting like it, I know. It’s just getting harder.”

“Maybe it’s time to up your dose. You’ve probably habituated to what I give you.”

My heart was already racing as the first dose dripped into my bloodstream. I wasn’t sure what more would do, but Gary was already prepping another syringe.

“Please don’t. I’m fine.”

“Except you’re not. Don’t be a baby.”

I groaned at a wave of nausea, and while I was distracted by that, Gary launched a little more of whatever the drug was into the fluids bag.

“Deep breaths, kid. You signed up for this life, remember? It’s not your fault the others are so much stronger than you. If you weren’t such a little bitch, you wouldn’t need any of this to get by.” Gary sighed. “I know it’s not your fault. You’ve always been like this. You don’t have to worry, because I’m always going to be here to take care of you.”

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing rather than responding. My head was swimming, but it would settle by the time the show started.

A knock on the windows scared the shit out of me, my eyes flying open to see the others standing there, looking sheepish. I held down the button to open the window.

“We didn’t find anything,” said Beckett.

“You’re either the hide-and-seek champion of drugs, or you’re telling the truth,” commented Phin.

“Are the fluids helping?” Arlo asked.

“Not yet,” I croaked out.

“Are you sure we can’t get him some medical attention before the show?” Beckett asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Gary insisted. “The fluids aren’t magic. At least let him get through the bag before you start panicking.”

The others frowned.

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