Page 16 of Opening Strain

All of my belongings are packed into the two suitcases I use for the tour. Since my wardrobe on stage is provided by the label, I don’t need too much. Plus, if I want anything, I can simply buy it in whatever town we’re in or have it delivered to the hoteldu jour.

The band crowds into my suite. “It sucks you have to go away for PT,” Coop moans.

I pause. “It’s similar to when we’re on a break from touring. We all go our own ways for a couple of weeks. Nothing different.” Truly. We hang when we’re on tour, then I usually go to some nice beach for the break. Alone. Well, I start off alone until some obliging chick realizes I’m there.

“I guess,” Coop replies, tucking his sunglasses into the top of his shirt. “We’ve been together so long; you and the other guys are family.”

Family. No, thank you. Instead of getting into it with our guitarist, I slap his back. “I’m sure you’ll get along just finewithout me.”

Río joins us. “Don’t tell me you’re giving each other tearful good-byes.”

Coop gives him a dirty look and replies, “Dick.”

I appreciate both his timing and the reminder to keep my distance. “You wish.” I limp over to my backpack and shove my lyric notebook in it. “Hoping I’ll get some writing done out in the Hamptons.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tris walks up to us. “I’ve got some new stuff in the works as well. I’ll email you when it’s in better shape.”

“Cool.” Writing with collaborators makes everything better. We don’t need to write anything since our new album dropped and the tour will support it, but this is how we work. Always having new songs to perfect keeps us on our toes. I know this isn’t how other bands do it, but UC has its own ways.

The only band member who hasn’t come to wish me well is 007. It’s hard for me to get help from Jenna, but for him...it’s an impossibility. “Hey, can you please do me a favor? Keep an eye on 007 while I’m away. You know my seeing Jenna is bringing up all sort of shit about Darren’s death. This is tough on him.” Me, too, but I don’t share this with the band.

“You know we will,” Coop replies. “We’ve been through it before, and we’ll do it again.”

Coop’s right. The fallout after Darren died was terrible, especially for the keyboardist’s best friend. Seeing 007 laugh again was a milestone we won’t ever forget. Watching him accept Tris as Darren’s replacement was an even bigger one. No, I never want to relive such dark times. None of us do.

I catch the guitarist’s hazel eyes, which appear browner today. “Thanks.”

The moment is broken when someone knocks at the door. Tris offers to get it and Luke strides through, with 007 at his side. Wow.

I extend my right hand. “Happy you were able to see me off.”

We shake. “It’s not every day our lead singer leavesfor PT. You’ll be back in no time, jumping around the stage like the madman you are.” 007 smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not sure about the latter, but I know you’re right about the former. Eleven days is no time at all.”

“That’s right,” Luke pipes up. “Are you ready for the helicopter ride out to the Hamptons?”

“No way!” Variations of this greet my ears.

I toss my head back. “All you have to do is pull your groin and you too can get a ride in a helicopter.”

They laugh. It’s been nice hanging with them, I won’t lie. If I believed in friends, these guys would be them.

They help bring my luggage to the taxi, then Luke and I are off to the helipad. On the way, he tells me to focus on my recovery and he’ll take care of the tour. He does, however, promise to keep me in the loop about staging so I can hit the ground running—no pun intended—when I return.

Luke brings my luggage to the helicopter, where it’s loaded into the cargo hold. He looks me in the eye. “Take care of yourself, B. I want you healthy and whole when you get back.”

“Sounds good to me.”

With a pat on the back, I turn and face the chopper with its blades whirling. An attendant points me toward the open door—where there are no steps or ramp. Under normal circumstances, I would simply hop into the cabin and buckle my seatbelt. These are anything but normal conditions.

I approach the doorway and toss my backpack onto the empty seat. At least no one else is here to witness my embarrassing entry. My hand fists around the grab handle, and using my good leg, I step on the thin bar and bring my other to meet it. I repeat these awkward movements, stopping to absorb the piercing pain.

A hand lands on my back. “You okay, buddy?”

Through gritted teeth, I reply to the pilot, “Yeah.”

“Alright, once you get settled, we’ll be on our way.” Two more pats on my back.

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