Page 38 of Wicked Truths

“What do you think?” Marcus asks the crowd.

The fans go wild as Sullivan counts us down. My fingers find their placement on the cool keys. I’m thankful for one of my fathers pressuring me into lessons when I was barely school-aged. Never thought I’d be grateful for that, but people do dig a guy who can play piano. Not more so than guitar, I’m guessing that’s gotten me laid significantly more than the instrument I’m currently seated at, but whatever.

Marcus acts as lead on this song. We’ve never performed it live, but they’ve got a chemistry that lends itself well to a ballad duet. If the press hadn’t broken the story, then I’m fairly sure the fans could tell they’re boinking just from their energy during this song.

Not that it’s a bad thing.

It’s clear the audience is here for it.

Poor Sullivan hates it, which I kind of dig. Then again, I firmly believe he needs to shit or get off the pot. I’ve heard enough chatter to get that he used to be close with Oakley.

We play out the song, and it’s time to say our goodbye to the audience. They had good energy, which is always a plus. A slow smile spreads across my face.

This is my dream made reality.

* * *

I’m not new to the scene, but shows in America are nothing like what I experienced back home. Our tour manager stocks backstage with a smorgasbord of attractive bodies, but we’ve got more responsibilities than ever before.

The press descends every damn time we try to catch our breath, even if it’s just a couple of carefully selected print interviews. Mostly, I feel bad for Oakley. She’s supposed to be the star of the show, but it’s clear they all want access to Marcus.

I shrug, ignoring the chaos, and chug the bottle of water I’m offered.

“You should really make sure you crack those if you’re going to drink it,” Sullivan says from behind me.

I spin to face him and shrug. “I heard the roadie pop the lid as he handed it to me.”

His head shakes. “That’s not the kind of thing you want to risk.”

“You’re right,” I concede. “I’ll be more vigilant in the future.”

His blue eyes narrow as I study him. Perhaps I’ve been a bit too sarcastic lately if he can’t tell when I’m being sincere. He swipes a tattooed hand over his face. “Come on, we’ve got to do the meet and greet.”

I sigh but follow him off toward whatever meeting room we’ll be in tonight. I suppose I need to put more effort into building friendships with my bandmates.

* * *

While I’m down for being the center of attention, I’m starting to wonder if I’m getting too old for this shit. I roll my eyes at the two chicks on either side of Marcus. Oakley looks like the top of her pretty little head might explode at any moment. She’s going to have to toughen up. It’s all part of the game.

Marcus does his best to rearrange the grabby hands and even gently shove the chick off who is busy trying to literally climb into his lap. The label should probably reconsider plying the backstage areas with liquor because those ladies are lit. Unluckily for them, Marky is taken.

Sullivan stands off to the side, signing a few things for the dude-bro collective. They probably came because of the college chicks currently about to be removed.

Marcus catches one of the security guys’ eyes and makes the sign. The women grumble and complain as they’re guided out. The tour manager takes a seat next to Marcus, probably telling him he’s got to learn how to chill the fuck out and be felt up by random women.

Damn, maybe I am jaded.

I’m not even thirty, but I am getting closer to it. I swipe a hand over my face. I’m far too introspective for the middle of our launch tour. It’s hard not to wonder what my mates would think of all this. They’d have been blown away at the level of wealth and grandeur, but I don’t think they’d have loved it long term.

I glance around and realize most everyone has cleared out.

What I don’t see?

Oakley.

That sets my instincts buzzing for whatever reason. I push myself off the couch and my shoulders pull back when I spot our petite lead singer.

She’s talking to some guy I don’t recognize, but her arms are crossed over her chestandshe’s leaning away from him. He’s got practically a foot in height on her and at least a hundred pounds.

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