Page 86 of I Need You Tonight
Chapter 32
Mason
“You sure you can handle the meeting with Remar?” Kirk asked, eyeing the beer in my hand. It had been a week since Nicole walked out on the band, and to make things worse, Remar had arranged a meeting for this afternoon. Which was surprising, considering that we were in Memphis and not L.A. Rumor had it that he had flown out specifically for this meeting.
But that wasn’t what had me on edge. I gulped more beer. “Why wouldn’t I be able to handle it?”
“Because you’ve changed. Because half the time you’re either drunk or wasted.”
“I’m not drunk or wasted right now.” Slightly buzzed, maybe. Yes, I was drinking more than I had been a few weeks ago. And yes, I might have taken an illegal drug or two the other day. But that was only so I could perform. My energy level had recently taken a hit, and I didn’t want to let the fans down. Most days I barely had the energy to drag my sorry ass out of my bunk bed on the bus. I was positive I was coming down with something. The flu, maybe?
“Are you sure?” Kirk asked.
“Of course I’m sure. This is only my second beer.”
“It’s your fourth,” Aaron pointed out. All the humor that had been in his tone a few minutes ago had leaked away.
“So what can I say? I’m thirsty.” Because of the meeting with Remar, we had gone to the arena early for sound check, and I had started pounding on my drums. And had kept pounding on them, even when the rest of the band had stopped playing. It was one of the few times during the past week when I’d felt good, when I’d felt a little more alive.
“I’m not surprised you’re thirsty,” Nolan said, “after you broke a dozen sticks while practicing.”
I shrugged, the movement barely more than a twitch of the shoulders. “I break drumsticks all the time during concerts. That’s nothing new.”
“Yeah, but you don’t normally come close to destroying that many.”
I shrugged again and studied my half-empty beer. “So I’m a little moody. I’m a musician. I’m supposed to be moody.” Or so went the theory.
I shifted in my seat, itching to get back to the arena for a game of poker with some of the roadies. I’d won a hundred dollars yesterday, which the guys didn’t know about. They also had no idea about the underground poker group that I’d discovered while looking for something to give me an extra buzz for the show—which was necessary now that I no longer had the desire to bang groupies the way I used to before Nicole came into my life.
My heart squeezed painfully at the thought of her. I swigged some more beer.
“You’re not moody,” Kirk said. “You’re depressed, Mason.”
“I’m not depressed. I’m happy.” I grinned. Then stopped because the action hurt my cheeks. And it wasn’t just my cheeks that hurt. My entire body ached with exhaustion.
“I believe that as much as I believe in the Easter Bunny.”
“I’m sure the Easter Bunny will be happy to hear it.” I tried to form a smirk on my face, but the effort wasn’t worth it and I gave up.
“My mother used to suffer from depression,” Kirk said, ignoring my smartass comment. “I know the signs.”
“Well, good for you, puck boy, but I am not depressed. I’m just tired. Touring will do that to you.” None of the guys could deny it. They were just as tired from all the touring as I was. Ours wasn’t an easy lifestyle. It was the reason Nicole had gone home. It was the reason she and I had never discussed a future together. Our lives were too different for us to make it work.
But no matter how many times I told myself that, I had a hard time believing it. Somehow we could’ve made it work. It was my past gambling addiction that she’d had an issue with. In her eyes, I was no better than her asshole father. She might have had a point there.
I finished my burger, even though I didn’t feel like eating, but if I didn’t eat it, the guys would’ve been on my case for that too, the way they’d been yesterday. We paid for our food, then returned to the arena. The sky had been cloudy when we walked to the restaurant. Now it was pouring, like it was pissed off at the world.
As we passed the security guard standing at the back entrance to the arena, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. Nicole had sent me a text. For the first time since she’d left the tour, my heart came alive in my chest, knowing that she hadn’t completely pushed me out of her life.
I opened the text to find a picture of Bernie, the giant English mastiff. Drool hung from his mouth and his face featured rolls of dark wrinkles. My mouth tugged slightly up at the memory of walking him with Nicole, when we resembled a part of the family she had envisioned one day for herself, with the perfect husband, two-point-four kids, dog, and cat.
She had also sent me a message with the photo:Bernie misses you. A heart emoji was next to her words.
I miss Bernie,I typed back. Meaning that I missed both the dog and her. More so her.
“What the hell is that?” Aaron asked, peering at my phone. “Is it some sort of genetically modified dog? It’s huge…and kind of ugly.”
I pulled the phone to my chest, as if protecting Bernie from hearing what Aaron had said. “Hey, never let Bernie hear you say that. He’s a great dog.”
