Page 70 of Bulletproof
“Trav, are you all right? What happened?”
Travis wrapped his arms around Derek and clung to his lover. “Thank God you’re here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I took those fucking pills. I swear I’m never taking them again. At first they worked. Then they hit me. Itook too many. I usually take a half, only when I really need it. I took an extra full pill tonight because—”
“Slow down. Do you need me to call a doctor? Should I call Felix?”
Felix, fixer of all things. Travis held his head in his hands to stop the room from spinning and to combat the dizziness. “I just need some water. And to sit down.”
“Get him some water!”Derek shouted. “And a chair!”
A bottle was thrust into Travis’ hand and someone put a cool cloth around his neck. Derek helped him sit into a chair that someone placed behind him. As Travis drank the contents of the bottle of ice-cold water, Derek wiped Travis’ brow with a towel. The change in temperature steadied his spinning head and stabilized his heart, so it no longer felt likeit was going to explode. He heard the music coming from the stage. His band had continued without him, as if the band didn’t need their lead singer, or if they didn’t even notice he was fucking gone.
“Are you gonna be OK to go back on stage?” Derek asked.
“I . . . I don’t know what to tell them.” Heat flushed his cheeks again, more embarrassed about abandoning the fansthan anything else.
“Just go back out, finish the song, and make a joke about it. Tell them you had to take a shit.”
A laugh escaped Travis’ throat. “Derek, you always make everything better. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A proud smile permeated Derek’s lips, and he glowed with happiness. The reaction made Travis appreciate Derek so muchmore. This man wanted to help him. Enjoyed it. “Thank you,” Travis said, humbled. He stood and kissed Derek, their mouths exchanging respect and affection, and it gave Travis a burst of confidence. He crushed the empty water bottle in his hand and ran on stage. Raising one arm above his head and flashing rock and roll horns at the crowd, he took the mic off the stand and seamlessly jumped into thelyrics. The crowd screamed back and returned the two-fingered salute.
When the song finished, Travis stepped closer to the edge of the stage and addressed the audience. “Sorry I ran off so suddenly, but I had to take a shit.”
The audience laughed, and Reckless continued with the next song. The 30-minute set flew by faster than usual, probably because once Travis got overhis dizzy spell his confidence was at an all-time high. Tonight marked the last show with Bulletproof and a groundbreaking opportunity for Reckless. Travis let go of all his inhibitions and had fun with the music, just like he’d heard Felix tell Bulletproof before they took the stage at every show, and the audience loved it. Travis took the advice of Bulletproof’s manager, a man with decades ofexperience, and it worked. He left the stage flying high and hoping to see Derek, but he knew Bulletproof had prior commitments that would probably keep them occupied right up until their set time.
“You had to fuck up the last show, didn’t you?” Mark scowled at Travis as they walked back to the dressing room.
“I didn’t fuck nothing up.” His good mood now soured, Travissnarled at his bandmate.
“You ran off stage in the middle of the show.”
“I had a fucking dizzy spell and left the stage to get a drink of water. Would you rather I passed out and fell on my fucking face?”
“That’s because you took those pills,” Ricky said. “You got issues, dude. While we’re on break, try to pull your shit together. I’m not trying to soundlike an asshole, Travis, but we gotta finish this album or we’re gonna end up a one-hit wonder.”
A knot in Travis’ gut twisted so tight he almost doubled over. “Don’t put everything on my shoulders.”
“It is on your shoulders,” Mark said. “We got tracks. We need lyrics.”
“Then you write the fucking lyrics. I’ll just sing them.” Travis wanted to take back thewords the moment he said them. He was a songwriter, not a singer for hire.
“Well . . .” Troy said, cautiously. “We have been.”
Travis stopped midstride in the corridor, oblivious to the stagehands and production crew walking briskly back and forth around them. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Me and Mark wrote lyrics for tracks 13 and 14.”
Betrayal slithered over Travis’ skin like a disease. “When did you plan on telling me?”
“You’re never fucking around,” Troy replied. “When you’re in our dressing room, you’re locked in the bathroom doing those vocal exercises. Otherwise, you’re with Derek and Bulletproof. You act like you’re part of their band instead of ours.”
Travis slammed the dressing room doorclosed behind him and glared at his bandmates. “Who are you kidding? Ricky and Mark hate each other’s fucking guts. The rest of us barely tolerate one another. I tried to reach out to you guys in the beginning of this tour. Tried to do stuff together. You all had your own agendas. We don’t have to be best friends. But we don’t have to be fucking enemies either.” Ricky and Mark glared at each other,but neither said anything, and Travis was done trying to befriend his bandmates. His head went back to the lyrics that had been written without his knowledge, and acid rose in the back of his throat. He turned to Ricky, the closest thing he had to an alliance. “You knew that they wrote lyrics for two of the tracks?”
Ricky nodded. “Yeah. We can’t wait for you. You should’ve been writinginstead of taking a joyride with Bulletproof’s tour bus in the middle of the night, or hanging out by the pool with them.”
