Page 102 of Sky Full of Stars

“We’ve all had some shit to deal with lately, some worse than others, but we will always have each other’s backs. Right?”

“Always,” I say.

“No doubt,” Jordan says sipping a glass of scotch.

“Yeah,” Nick blows out a deep sigh. “We’re family.”

“So let’s put all this bullshit on the backburner and enjoy the tour. It’s gonna be the last one for a while. The label are expecting a killer album, which is gonna be tough but it’s what we’re good at. So we have fun, we play the best we’ve ever played, we give the fans something to remember, we fuck,” he gives me a pointed look. “We drink,” he huffs a laugh at Jordan who raises his glass. “And we do it like the bad asses we always knew we were gonna be when we were rocking out like the Muppet band in Nick’s garage.”

“An-i-mal!” Jordan shouts, making us laugh.

He’s right, Arch always is. He’s the heart of the band and he will always be the one to bring us back to what matters.

“In the spirit of kicking ass, and putting this emotional pussy’s circle behind us, we need to go out tonight and party, just our people.”

Everyone agrees, I shove my hands into my pockets as I get to my feet.

“Stop pouting, you can bring your woman.”

“I was going to.”

Jordan smirks, the little shit. But at least he’s not trying to shut her out. It gives me hope things aren’t as dire as I originally thought.

Chapter Thirty

I don’t know how they manage to do it, but we’re in a small bar in Kentish Town called Knowhere Special which you enter via a non-descript door, then down a graffiti covered hallway to a narrow staircase which takes us down to the basement. Once inside, we find a small, low lit, living room style speakeasy, with exposed brick walls, heavy rugs and a chilled out atmosphere. There is only room for around thirty or so people but everyone here is somehow related to the band. There is nothing rowdy about tonight, people have grouped off and are quietly chatting and drinking. The band snagged seats in the far corner away from the bar. The bartenders are all friendly and knowledgeable and I listen to them tell Arch about the local area for a while when we first arrive. They seem chill about having a world famous rock band and their entourage fill out the place for the evening.

Adam pulls me on to his lap the moment we get settled, even though there are more than enough seats. Tomorrow we are heading off to Birmingham and then flying to Dublin in Ireland before going back to the States. The Irish stop is something Elle requested. She has family ties to Dublin but has never been, so wanted to take the chance to visit while she could.

I was caught between feeling excited about seeing more new places and leaving Adam. Forty eight hours isn’t enough time, not even that, given we are both working and the crossed wires last night. Not that I am complaining. I much prefer spending the night in the hotel room with him, after he eventually found me, than attending a rock party. It really isn’t my scene. I’m living in the moment, just like Iz told me, and am having a lot of fun with it.

Adam is still pissed over the mix up and grumbling about Bianca. I told him it doesn’t matter, and he let it drop, but something is still bothering him. I don’t want to waste what time we have dwelling on it. I’m enjoying getting to know his bandmates better. Even though I’m perched on his lap, I am heavily involved with Nick, talking about his grandmother, who it turns out lives close to my mom in Brooklyn. She’s the only family Nick has left. I don’t want to pry about what happened to the rest of his family but the more we talk, the more he opens up.

When Adam goes to the bathroom, I take the opportunity to sit closer to Nick. He’s really sad about his missing guitar. Adam told me some of the significance of the instrument being the last thing his mother gifted him before she died. I find myself opening up about losing my dad.

“It’s hard,” I tell him, swirling the condensation on the table from where Adam moved his glass. “Losing a parent. And who’s to say what is worse, what you went through with her being sick, or me losing him without warning.”

“Sucks,” Nick agrees. Even though we experienced these vastly different situations we could commiserate. “At least you still had your mom,” he finishes his beer. “My dad was an asshole who skipped out on us when I was about two. Never knew him.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head. “I’m lucky I had my grandma, or it would have been foster care for me and that shit would have sucked balls.”

I had to agree. For a while we contemplate our own loss. Adam is at the bar watching but not making a move to come back while Nick and I talk. As much as I was pissed at him for what happened with Elsa, Adam explained Nick wasn’t on the same page as her. I was the queen of miscommunication lately, so I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I still have his helmet,” I spoke quietly but Nick leaned forward on the table, wiping up some moisture with a napkin before resting his elbow on the surface. “They do the whole burial thing you know, with the procession, the uniforms, and flag. I was old enough to know something about it didn’t feel right.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“It’s hard enough trying to get my head around losing my dad, but the whole thing was so over the top. It wasn’t how my dad was, he was this quiet, unassuming guy. If he wasn’t at work he was with us. He didn’t really have hobbies. Anything he did outside of work was always with us or involved the firehouse. He taught me to play basketball, helped me out with school projects, took us on road trips, but he wasn’t showy. I kept imagining him thinking the whole thing was stupid and he’d hate it. A part of me was being selfish. My dad touched a lot of people. His friends, the guys at work, there were people at the funeral who he had saved over the years. The family of the woman he,” I falter and Nick reaches out to squeeze my hand, he doesn’t keep hold of it. “Her family came too. To show their respects, to know they were grateful he tried.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that was. It was bad enough the small ceremony we had. I hated how people were looking at me.”

“Right? Like they felt sorry for you, but it also felt like they were saying, look at me being here for these people who lost someone. It wasn’t meant maliciously at all, but that was how I saw it. The funeral was on the news. I was proud of him, I didn’t express that very well at the time and I didn’t want all those people crying over losing someone I loved. He was mine.”

“Why do I get the feeling you did something un-funeral like?” he raises his eyes to me and there is a hint of amusement behind the sadness.

“They put his helmet on the casket,” I stare into space, envisioning the moment. Knowing my father was in that box but not really fully accepting he was gone. “I don’t know if they intended to bury it with him. I never asked. But it was mine. That was all I could think. He used to let me wear it when I went to the firehouse. So basically fuck everyone and what they want. I got up while the priest was talking, grabbed that helmet and ran.”

---