Page 1 of Drum Me Away
CHAPTER1
Faith
Here we go again.
Another press conference, another parody of what I expected this life to be.
Damn, I sounded like I hated being a rock star.
Shaking off those drab—and stupid, because seriously, we were fucking rock stars—thoughts, I followed Matthew West into the room where the press were waiting to eat us alive.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Generally, these days, they were pretty good to us. Darkheaven was the flavor of the moment—the most prominent, most popular rock band, quite possibly in the world. We were topping charts that normally were reserved for pop-sounding groups—boy bands and K-pop and moody young girls who sang about the devastation of high school breakups.
So naturally, everybody wanted a piece of us. Especially the press.
Matthew headed straight for the middle seat at the long table set up on a dais with five other identical plastic chairs. Pitchers of ice water were parked every few feet, and a full, sweating glass rested in front of each seat.
Matt strutted like this process was choreographed, which, let’s be honest, it was. He sat in the middle because he was the lead singer. His vocals and ridiculous good looks were a large part of how we ended up here in the first place.
And that had nothing to do with the fact that he was married to the owner of our record label. We’d already had moderate success before he and Angel started hooking up.
Although signing with Starlight Music Distribution was definitely a catalytic point in our careers.
I dropped down next to him, the lone woman in the band and the second voice. As good as Matt was, my vocals elevated his to the next level. We could both have carried bands individually, but neither band would be here, right now. Together, we slayed.
Next came Craig Stenhorn, our guitarist, who sat to Matt’s left. The rest of the band fanned out and sat in the remaining seats: Ice Vinner, our keyboardist, next to me, and Dean Gawe, the bassist, on his other side, leaving Lucas to grab the final seat by Craig. He twisted the plastic chair around and straddled it, draping his arms across the back, totally in character.
Broody, slightly grumpy, effortlessly gorgeous drummer with an edge of danger, at your service.
Lately, I’ve wondered if he’d forgotten that this persona was just that, and not the person he really was. This’ll be our third tour, so it was entirely possible. When we were on the road, we had to be in character pretty much 24/7. A single slipup caught on a fan’s camera phone and the entire charade would be exposed. Our careers, our status as number one rock band in the world, destroyed.
So our publicist, Dahlia, insisted. And since I had less than zero desire to return to the life I had before becoming a rock star, I tended to go along with whatever Dahlia recommended in order to maintain this fantasy-turned-reality.
As soon as Lucas took his seat, the media circus began. Everybody shouting and waving, hoping their question was important enough. Gabriel Hyke, our manager, stepped up behind Ice and pointed at a chunky guy who had wavy black hair and a thick, silver nose ring. He resembled a bull.
“Oliver Croll fromRock Memagazine,” he announced, holding his phone like it was a microphone. “Rumor has it that there’s trouble in paradise. Can you confirm?”
Matt snorted and spread his arms wide. “We have three songs in the top ten right now, and we’ve sold out arenas all over the continent and half of Europe. Does that sound like trouble in paradise?”
“Not the band,” Oliver clarified. “Lucas and Faith’s relationship.”
Oh shit. That topic was not supposed to come up today. Gabe promised—
“Dude, what are you talking about?” Matt asked, his gaze darting from Oliver to me and then bouncing to Lucas.
“We aren’t discussing this,” Lucas snapped, holding his pose, like he didn’t give a crap what this guy was asking.
“Why not?” Oliver asked. “Is it because it’s true?”
“What it is, is none of your fucking business,” Lucas snapped, dragging a hand through his shoulder-length blond locks.
“It’s totally our business,” Oliver persisted. “If you two break up, it could destroy the band.”
Matt snorted, and Lucas practically snarled, “That won’t happen,” even curling his lip when he said it.
“Which part? You two breaking up or the band falling apart as a result?”
Matt looked like he was about to speak up again, but Lucas beat him to the punch.
