Page 25 of Living on the Edge

We’ve had bands refuse to let us open for them because of the mess it makes, but Nobody’s Fool has no issue with it. In fact, they think it’s great. We made sure it wouldn’t be a problem before we signed with Hart Records.

So it’s part of the show now.

It adds a lot of work for the roadies, which I feel bad about, but I take good care of my drum tech. Hell, I take care of all of them, slipping them money whenever I can. They think that it’s a sacrifice I make, because I want them to know how much I appreciate them, and not to let the other guys know so they don’t feel bad.

For the hundredth time, I wonder how long before someone recognizes me and figures out who I am. Well, who I used to be. I’m not August Hollingsworth anymore, I’m just not. My father tries as hard as he can to pull me back into the fold but I keep my distance. Luckily, my paternal grandfather, the family patriarch, thinks what I’m doing is a hoot.

He loves the fact that I’m a musician.

He just thinks that I’ll get bored with it and fall in line soon.

And he’s the only one I don’t want to disappoint.

My father is an asshole.

There’s no way to sugarcoat it.

As successive CEOs of Holland-Burke Pharmaceuticals, he and my grandfather have made billions. My grandfather started the company in the seventies and made a lot of money. My father took over in the nineties and—well, did I mention my dad is an asshole? He tripled and quadrupled the prices, got in bed with a bunch of politicians, and essentially made us stupidly wealthy.

My grandfather sits on the board, but, even though he’s not the jerk my dad is, he likes money and power. So they lord over the company and continue making money, usually at the expense of sick people.

And I hate every minute of it.

That’s why I changed my name.

That’s partly why I joined a band in college.

That’s why I do most of the things I do.

If word got out that I’m the first-born Hollingsworth son, the heir to the family dynasty, it could tank Crimson Edge. Sure, there are people who think my family is awesome, but it’s not the masses. Most people hate pharmaceutical companies and none more than the one my family owns. If all those people decided to boycott the band, we could lose everything we’ve been working for.

It’s complicated, and never more so than tonight, since we’re playing in our hometown.

It’s past time for me to tell them who I am, but at this point, I don’t know how.

“You ready?” Tate comes up behind me just before the show, bouncing on the balls of his feet, nervous energy practically radiating out of him.

“Let’s do it.” I rub my hands together and roll my shoulders.

I love to play, and once I’m out there all the background noise in my head will go away.

I’m always the first one out, checking my set and making sure everything is in position for when the first wave of water comes down. The other guys come out one at a time, with Jonny last, and as soon as he grabs the mic, the water flows down in a rush, I hit the drums, and we go right into the opening number.

It looks wild from the audience, especially the way we have colored lights flooding the stage, and Jonny leans into the excitement. We have to be careful not to let the water go everywhere because of the electricity involved with the amps, the guitars, and so forth, but we’ve got it down to a science now. The crews from both bands are always in the wings, just in case something goes wrong.

There’s plastic beneath me, and a clear polyurethane half-wall set up to keep it from going down to the lower level of the stage since I’m on a raised dais. The water flows into some kind of receptacle Bobby came up with that catches and recycles it, so we’re using the same water the entire show.

It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than it used to be, when I’d just have water bottles next to me and dump them out at strategic points in the show.

On the plus side, being wet keeps me cool, which is nice.

“Minneapolis—did you miss us?” Jonny yells into the mic. “We’re home, motherfuckers!”

The crowd goes wild, the lights come up, and I close my eyes as the water washes over me. Then I hit the bass drum hard and let my sticks do their thing, sending water in every direction.

Everything slips away as our music blasts through the arena.

We start with “Rough Around the Edges” because it’s got a gritty but memorable melody, and the hope is that it’s as popular as “Living on the Edge,” which is the single that features the duet with Lexi.

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