Page 28 of Reverb

“Wait, what?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “They used to hit him?”

“I saw it myself with one of them,” Darren said. “Whenever Stone swore, or used a wrong word, or sounded stupid, he’d get hit. It was why he wanted to leave home so bad. As a kid, it scared me, but I’m a dad now, and it makes me sick. I can’t imagine what kind of shithead does that to a kid. But that’s the life Stone had. It’s why he escaped by playing guitar so much.”

I had been writing notes along with recording this conversation, but I put my pen down, my thoughts banging through my brain.

“Anyway, we sucked,” Darren went on. “I was the worst bass player you’ve ever heard, and I’m not just saying that. I was so bad. I’m better off selling landscaping equipment, which is what I do now. Kenzo sounded like he was playing drums for some other band, not ours. Chase was a half-decent singer, but he didn’t care about the music. Chase wanted to be rich and famous, that was all. By any means necessary. He was desperate for it.”

“So, you went to L.A.” I tried to sound normal. “How, um, how did it end? I’d like to know from your point of view.”

“Oh, man.” Darren sighed. “Whatever Stone told you, I can’t add much to it. We played clubs for over a year, but we didn’t get anywhere. We were broke. We fought all the time. Chase was in a bad way—he didn’t want to give up and go home, he blamed us, and he was using drugs. Stone and Chase were roommates, and one day Chase didn’t show up for rehearsal. He was still in bed when Stone left, said that he’d be there, but he never showed. We rehearsed without him for a few hours, then went for something to eat, then went home. I was going to meet some girl I knew. I’ve always felt bad about that—that I didn’t go home with Stone that day, that he had to find Chase alone.”

“Find Chase?” I didn’t like this, not at all. My body was tense, my hands sweating.

“Yeah.” Darren’s voice was sorrowful. “It was bad. Chase had hanged himself inside the closet. The cops said he’d probably done it within an hour or two of Stone leaving. He’d been dead all day.”

The sound that came from my throat was half surprise, half anguish. “Oh, my god,” I whispered.

“I’m sure Stone hasn’t told you too many details,” Darren said. “He hates to talk about it. I do, too, but I feel like so much time has passed, it’s time to admit it happened, you know? It’s time to come to terms with it.” He sighed. “So that’s how it ended. We packed our bags and came home. It took me a long time to even process all of it. I mean, Jesus, we were just kids.”

We were just kids, going to war, I thought. Oh, Stone.

I talked to Darren for a few more minutes, scrambling to keep my thoughts together. “Tell Stone hi for me,” he said when we ended the call. “Tell him to text me when he’s home in Portland. I’d love to drive in and have a beer with him.”

I told him I’d do that. I ended the call, picked up my things, and left the lounge. By the time I got back to our room, I was crying.

I closed the door behind me as sobs escaped my throat. I sat on the bed, took off my glasses, and put my face in my hands. I was crying and crying. I couldn’t stop.

It didn’t make sense. What had happened was tragic, but it was twenty years ago, and I hadn’t known Chase Mackay. I hadn’t even known he existed until a few hours ago.

My tears were partly for Chase, but they were mostly for Stone. How could I have been so wrong about someone I had spent so much time with? Stone wasn’t quiet because he was an asshole, he was quiet because someone had hit him. I wanted to find the man who had done that to a lonely, abandoned kid and strangle him myself.

Stone didn’t want to talk to me about his life, not because he was being contrary, but because he’d seen things no seventeen-year-old should ever see, things he didn’t want to relive.

I’d insulted him and thrown things at him. I’d been shitty to him. Okay, fine, he’d been shitty to me, too—but that was because he didn’t trust me. Stone didn’t trust anyone. Life had taught him not to.

I got myself together, washed my face in the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. I could fix this, and suddenly I needed to, urgently. I had to make this better, right now.

I didn’t solve problems by tucking them away and pretending they weren’t problems, letting them fester. I hated secrets. I talked things out. It was why I had the career I did, why I was the way I was.

I needed to talk to Stone.

Whether he wanted to or not.

The Road Kings would be finishing their sound check at Madison Square Garden, and I had a backstage pass.

ELEVEN

THEN

Sienna

There’s really no feeling on earth quite like being backstage at Madison Square Garden. Behind the scenes, concert venues aren’t very impressive—lots of hallways, fluorescent lighting, unromantic concrete loading docks for the tons of equipment that come in and out. But when it’s the Garden, even the loading dock is pretty exciting. Or maybe that was just me.

Each band member got a dressing room here, and they’d separated to their own spaces before the show. Their mood was tense with nerves. Callie had arrived in New York, and Denver was preoccupied with her presence. Neal was in a funk because Raine had left. Axel was also in a low mood, because Brit had caught a last-minute flight out of New York last night, an unexpected departure. I had no idea what had happened between them, and I needed to call her and talk to her about that. But I had other business first.

I knocked on Stone’s dressing-room door. For once, my mind didn’t wander to the possibility that he had a woman in there. It had been ten weeks. There were no groupies on this tour.

The door swung open, and Stone stood there. Big and dark, wearing black jeans, black boots, a black tee. My eyes were level with his collarbones, and I could see the rough stubble on his throat. I was suddenly more aware of him than I’d ever been, his scent, his presence. I had the urge to throw my arms around his neck.

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