Page 18 of Under the Ink

“So…we gotta train her?”

“I’m already on it.”

Despite his bloodshot eyes, he pulled off the sunglasses. His words would be far more effective if they could see his eyes, red-rimmed or not. “How, Bobby? You’ve never done a sound check on my drum kit—and it didn’t look like you were showing her shit. Wasn’t she playing before I came in here?”

“Well, yeah—”

“So I guess it’s up to me then.”

Good. He had both their attention. While Sage didn’t like being a dick, he wasn’t in the mood for any of this shit right now. He’d just lost a good friend who hadn’t even been buried yet, and he was having to train the guy’s replacement.

He’d rather be mourning.

“If you’d been on time, Sage, this would probably be done by now.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind, man.” What the fuck? It was like nobody gave a shit about Jimmy except for Sage. “Jimmy was more to me than just a roadie.”

“I know. I get it. But the show must go on. You have millions of fans who paid good money to see Shock Treatment—starting now. You can’t let ‘em down.”

“Yeah, I know. But can you let a guy mourn for a day or two?”

Bobby’s brows softened then. “Dude, I just need to make sure Naomi knows how you like your drums. If this is how you like everything set up, maybe me and her can—”

“No, I got it.”

Turning to his new tech, he tried to wipe the scowl off his face. He’d thought pounding a bottle of whiskey would do the trick, but it couldn’t even come close. Sure, it had numbed the edges, but it was all still there.

And it wasn’t all sadness. More than that, it was guilt.

He’d known for some time now that Jimmy had been struggling with addiction. Although Sage had smoked H a time or two, he’d never gotten hooked (even though he occasionally heard the siren song) and that was why he refused to inject. If he’d been a good friend, he would have insisted upon Jimmy going to rehab.

But that would have meant losing a friend to party with.

It was an ugly harsh truth he didn’t want to face. One by one, he’d been losing all his partying friends. It began with each of the guys finding a woman. Johnny finally proclaimed his love for Katie. Kiefer fell for Heather. Then Mickey was able to admit his love for Sierra.

There were still plenty of roadies to party with…and those guys did so much for him. Especially Jimmy. Knowing Sage’s type, Jimmy would meet all the gals lined up to go backstage and choose the two most luscious specimens he could find, asking if they wanted to meet the drummer.

Sure, the drummer wasn’t as in demand as the guitarist or the vocalist, but most of the ladies liked the way Sage handled his sticks.

And when Jimmy’d find two beautiful groupies wanting to party, he’d bring them backstage to wherever Sage was hanging—and once Sage made his choice, Jimmy got the other gal and, eventually, both would get their fuck on.

So was Jimmy’s death actually his fault?

Even if not, the man’s blood was on his hands and there would be no wiping it off.

Meaning all that shit was piled on top of the general grieving of the loss of a friend.

And then Bobby’s stupid phone started ringing—although Sage wouldn’t exactly call it that. His barking ringtone had to be the most obnoxious thing Sage had ever heard, and he wasn’t alone. The band and Bobby had met at Johnny’s place earlier in the year to plan the tour and Mickey and Sierra’s new baby woke up screaming because Bobby didn’t have a fucking clue how to turn it down. That goddamned ringtone would even scare a package pirate away from behind a closed door.

“’Scuse me,” Bobby said, walking off as he put his phone to his ear.

“No excuse for that fucking bark.” When Sage looked at his new drum tech, he expected some sort of shared-misery camaraderie—a smile, a nod, or even an eyebrow raise.

But nothing.

Well, there was no law that said they had to be compatible. She just had to be competent enough to do the job—and despite what Sage thought about their tour manager’s taste in ringtones, the man had rarely failed with road crew talent. In fact, some of Sage’s best tour memories had nothing to do with the concerts and everything to do with the people who helped them put the shows on without a hitch.

This woman would likelynotbe one of those types—but he didn’t give a shit. She was only here for the first leg of the tour anyway, and Bobby was still searching for someone more permanent.

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