Page 78 of Never Say Die
Georgia placed the laptop on the desk, angled toward the crowded room, and smashed her finger on the volume key. “Yeah, that’s the best they could do, I guess. There’s a bunch of reporters wandering around outside, and they’ve got the courtyard roped off. We’re okay, though. Just freaked.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear you’re okay. Now. . .” Jacob shoved his phone at the screen, open to a picture of Aiden and Shay pressed together on a dancefloor. The Instagram caption read:Knight’s Blood sighting!! Holy shit, do we ship it?2.1k likes. 139 comments. “What the fuck am I looking at? I know that’s not Aiden Moore and Shay Bennett, because if thatisAiden Mooreand Shay Bennett, I’ll have to get on a plane, fly to Louisiana, and throw you both through a window. Tell me this is photoshop. I swear on Jim Morrison’s grave?—”
“They’re dating,” Georgia said, matter-of-factly.
Shay gathered a breath, as if he intended to speak, and sighed instead.
Aiden turned his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s not a big deal,” he bit out, and picked nervously at his nailbeds. “We were dancing at a club, oh well.”
“Oh well?” Jacob hooted. He waved his finger and leaned closer. Every single one of his teeth filled the screen. “Oh well?!Prudence, shoot them. Right now. I’m not messin’ around. Shoot them!”
Pru—that backstabbing bitch—pawed excitedly through her unnecessarily large purse.
Shay whipped his head back as if he’d been struck, mouth rounded in a confused ‘o’.
Aiden got to his feet, standing on the bed with his shoulders pushed toward his ears, and hopped to the floor, hollering, “I’m hurt, okay? Don’t shoot me—Pru, donotshoot me!” He backed into the hallway, hands outstretched toward motherfucking Prudence Domínguez and the airsoft gun clasped in her steady hands. “I’ll punch a girl! I’m so fucking serious right now, Pru. If you shoot me—ow, Jesus Christ!” Wind whistled around the plastic ball. He howled, falling against the wall as the pellet struck his leg, like being flicked with a rubber band at close range.
Dylan’s laughter sent him tumbling off the bed. Georgia cackled and wiped her teary eyes, pointing at Shay as he dove for the closet. Pru shot him twice in the back, earning a string of high-pitched curses.
Jacob laughed, full-bellied and awful, and applauded.
Sherlock hopped toward Aiden, inspecting him with atwitching nose. Aiden groaned, annoyed, and cradled the ferret under his chin. “You’re a dick,” he snapped at Pru, and got to his feet, setting Sherlock on the nearest bed. “You’re fired.”
Pru flipped him off. “You didn’t hire me; you don’t pay me.”
Shay fumbled to touch where he’d been shot, reaching blindly over his shoulder. “So, that was bullshit. What the hell, Jake?”
“Listen, dipshits, I’d bet my left testicle you kill each otherlongbefore the honeymoon. If you two decide to glorify your misplaced affection while you’re on the road, I can’t stop you. But you’re in a goddamn band, on a goddamn national tour, and it’s my goddamnjobto make sure every major record label and music venue in America knows who you are. You’re gothic, hot,singlesex symbols,” he said, jabbing his finger at the screen. “This is a new age we’re livin’ in. You wanna be public? Fine, be public. But if you get caught with your dick out, you better be with that trashy, gutter-mouthed asshole right there. I’m serious, Bennett. And you, Moore, pretty boy, if you get caught withyourdick out, you better be with that backstabbing, GQ-wannabe sitting next to you. Because if you two get with other peoplewithoutmaking your indiscretion an orgy-level, pornographic couples’ escapade, your fanbase will turn on you like rabid dogs. You’re notpeople, okay? You’re posters on someone’s bedroom wall. You’re a fantasy. You ruin that fantasy? You lose fans, we lose money.”
“Damn, no sex tapes?” Aiden asked, teasing at a smile.
Shay blushed from his throat to his forehead.
Jacob, surprisingly, considered that. “Paid platform?”
Aiden laughed so hard his stomach hurt.
“We’re not doingthat,” Shay mumbled, and palmed Aiden’s face, pushing him backward. “Anyway, can we move on?”
“Fine, yes. Now, shut up and gird your loins,” Jacob snapped, adjusting his glasses. “Next stop is New York. We took over theSummerStage in Central Park, Chain Reaction’s old tour slot. Don’t panic, that’s still happening, but I need you to listen, okay? Listen very fucking carefully.”
Aiden hiccupped through lingering chuckles and narrowed his eyes, rubbing the sore spot on his calf. Shay exhaled, defeated, and Georgia sat straighter, squaring her shoulders. Dylan sipped his vape pen. They exchanged worried glances, collectively preparing for the worst.
Finally, Aiden said, “Out with it, c’mon!”
“Lewis O’Malley, lead singer for Illicit Affairs, blew his vocal cords. I got a call from a festival rep yesterday, and, well, long story short, you’re playing HellFest with Killswitch Engage, Disturbed, and In This Moment at Madison Square Garden,” Jacob said, calmly.
Silence held the suite in a chokehold. Aiden dug his fingers into the bed beneath him, feeling for the edges of a dream. He was awake, though. So,soawake. His heart slammed, crowding into his throat until he opened his mouth and a bewilderedwhat?tumbled out. He grabbed Shay’s thigh, then his forearm, and turned to stare at their bandmates, seated on the opposite bed.
Dylan coughed, exhaling white vapor. “Holy shit, guys.”
Everything erupted. Georgia jumped on the bed, shrieking and laughing. Aiden climbed over pillows and rumpled comforters, and swung his arms around her, sending them both to the floor. Dylan whooped and whistled, and Shay laughed, hard and loud. They yelled and grinned, hugged and tripped over each other, and Aiden thought,we did it, I did it, we’re doing it.Georgia smacked her lips to his cheek. Jacob hollered through the speaker on the laptop, jabbering about extended rehearsals and a rush merchandise order, and said he’d be there for the show.
“I’ll send promo material to the band e-mail, all right?Update your social media accordingly,” Jacob said, projecting his voice over the ruckus in their suite. “No needles, no hospitals?—”
“Don’t get anyone pregnant,” everyone shouted, together and at different times, and dissolved into laughter.
They ordered room service, like proper rockstars. Oyster shooters at midnight. Shoe-string fries, steamed seafood, and crispy alligator steak. Sat in their pajamas, reminiscing about the beginning. All those mid-day festival slots and dive bar gigs, ditched classes and warehouse raves. Spending Easter with Dylan’s grandmother, and sneaking Georgia out of her house in the Redondo suburbs. Camila crashing parties and dragging Aiden home, and Shay arriving at his window minutes later, hauling him into the wild again.
