Page 59 of Your Chorus
The look on his face told me he’d been standing there for way too long, and I can’t turn back to face him now.
“Where the hell are you going?”
I just keep walking, fighting to keep myself from breaking into a run as I pass dozens of techs, festival staff, and security guards all swarming around the backstage area. There are too many fences here, too many bodies.
Have to get out.
“Cole!” Matt is still calling out behind me. “For fuck’s sake, Cole, wait!”
A hand clamps down on my shoulder. I shrug it off, scanning for the nearest exit into the grounds.
“Tazz will play the show,” I grunt out before I even realize what I’m saying.
Our main guitar tech knows pretty much all my bass parts. He’ll be able to cover for me, but I’ve never walked away from a show before. I’ve never even considered it.
“Fuck the show!” Matt shouts, still trying to get me to turn around. “Cole, you look like you’re going to go rip someone’s head off or...or chug a bottle of vodka...or something! Something bad! I don’t know what the hell happened back there, but you shouldn’t—”
“Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, and it must come off as one hell of a glare because he moves a few inches back.
I heave out a breath. “Look, man, I...”
My hand shakes when I raise it to rub my eyes. I curl my fingers to hide it, but Matt must still see.
“Trust me,” I tell him, “you do not want me on that stage tonight.”
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Just tell the guys...Tell them I’m sorry, okay?”
“I will. It’s fine.”
Somewhere in the back of my head, I register how fucked shit must be if Matt, who I sometimes think could survive solely on his devotion to Sherbrooke Station, is just letting the band’s bassist walk away from one of the most anticipated moments of our career.
“Cole, man,” he starts to ask, “are you okay?”
There’s no answer for that, so I leave him without one. I spot a gap in the fence, and I’m gone.
