Page 94 of One Day Like This (Excess All Areas 1)

The world went slightly out of focus for a minute. The metal zills had cut right above his eye. He could hear Jase laugh. Could hear the crowd roar. Alex had stepped from behind his kit. Ben shook his head. But fuck it.

Matt pulled his guitar from over his shoulder and calmly placed it on his stand, then stormed over to Jase.

He charged so hard in the hope of shoving him all the way off the side of the stage, into the backstage area where a million mobile phones wouldn’t record their brawl. Instead, Jase stumbled over the cables on the floor, howling with laughter as he fell.

Too high to put up any real fight, Jase tried to swipe Matt’s arms away. He could feel the loose grip on his arms, but Matt was too in the moment.

“It was just a bit of banter,” Jase shouted.

Matt raised his arm and punched Jase, his fist connecting with Jase’s cheek. “It’s not fucking banter when I’m bleeding, you twat. That song is the source of every good thing that’s happened to us lately. It’s the turning point. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

Arms wrapped around him. Suddenly, he was aware there was no music playing and the crowd was chanting the word “fight” over and over.

“Let’s get out of here,” Luke yelled in his ear as he grabbed Matt around the shoulders and dragged him off stage. “You don’t need all those cameras on you.”

A quick glance to the stage showed a stony-faced Ben haul Jase to his feet and literally drag him off the stage.

Matt shrugged Luke off and steamed to the dressing room.

Luke jogged by his side. “Mate. Stop. You need stitches. Let me look at your eye.”

Matt kicked the door open and marched to the bathroom. In the mirror he could see the damage. The side of his eye was swollen and bloodied, his eyelid wouldn’t open fully. Sweat and blood stained his T-shirt. He splashed cold water on his face, wincing as his hands made contact with the injury.

He was going to quit the band.

He could never get on stage with his brother again. The management, the deal, Izabel’s concert. He didn’t care anymore.

Fuck it.

He was done.

He grabbed a towel and gingerly dried his face.

The cut was still bleeding. He probably did need stitches. Just how he wanted to spend the night, in a casualty department with a million drunks and crackheads.

Fuck.

Theywere the crackheads and drunks.

Perhaps that was part of the problem.

The door crashed open, and Luke came in. “Got the medic to hand over some supplies.”

Within a few minutes, the sting of antiseptic was wearing off, and the sticky butterfly stitches were in place. “Where are the others?” Matt asked.

Luke grabbed a clean towel and slipped a handful of ice from the cooler on the counter into it before he handed it to Matt. “Who gives a fuck? I’ve seen Jase pull some stupid shit, but that was a dick move. What the hell was he thinking?”

“Don’t think he was. But I’m done. Definitely not getting on stage with him again.”

Luke slumped down on the chair opposite. “You’ve said that before in the heat of the moment. You two are at each other’s throats all the time.”

Matt stood. “You think so? That I’m half responsible for this shit?”

Luke put his hands up in front of himself. “Not saying that. I’ve got your back. You want him gone from the band, I’m with you. But there’s too much adrenaline and emotion right now to make big proclamations tonight. Sleep on it. Sleep it off. Then talk to Jase in the morning.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I’m always the one who has to smooth things over, to make things right, to be the good older brother. I’m fed up with watching him implode and take me with him.”

“All fair points.” Luke rubbed a hand across his face. “Mate. We are this close to making it. What are we going to do if we blow this with our new management team? Would we get another chance? You think I like painting and decorating any more than you do? What if this blowup is the one step too far that sends us straight back to it? Don’t make us go back to it, Matt. Not when we are just about to break free of it.”

---