Page 85 of Taming the Rockstar

Priya cringes. I sent her an email about the break-up when it happened, and luckily, she hasn’t asked any questions until now.

“All I’m saying is,”

“What? You know everything about my failures and shortcomings because we fucked around for a few months thirty years ago?” Vince yells.

“No! I’m just saying you can be an asshole sometimes, like right now!”

“Well, so can you!”

“How am I an asshole?”

“You’ve dug your claws into my personal life ever since we broke up! You can’t fucking stop! That’s the thing about you. You push, and push, and push when you really should leave well enough alone.”

“I’m trying to help you! All I’m saying is maybe I could provide some insight!”

“Priya, you’re not a therapist! You didn’t graduate secondary school!” Vince hollers. His face is red in the heat.

“Well, neither did you!”

“At least I know when I’m not wanted,” Vince snaps.

“Real mature, Vincent.”

“Oh, because digging into your ex’s business is what maturity is all about. Stop being so fucking nosy!”

“I’m not being nosy. I’m trying to help! When will you get that through your thick skull?!”

“Never! Because you’re not being fucking helpful!” Vince shrieks. He flings his book into the road in frustration before he can get up and retrieve it; a semi-truck honks and barrels over it.

“You’ve done it now, Priya.”

“I struggle to understand how you freaking out and being a fucking baby about this is my fault.”

“I struggle to understand why I put up with you in the first place!” Vince snaps back.

“You think you’re the one putting up with me?! Oh, that is fucking rich! If you didn’t have me, you and Henry would be in a fucking Ramones cover band in Bristol. You would be nothing without me!” Priya’s shrieking now.

“Your ego’s so big you needed a whole fucking band to carry it! But no matter how talented you thought you were, you couldn’tmake it as a pop star. So now you’re washed up and bitter, digging your claws into places they don’t belong, you fucking harpy!” Vince howls.

“Fuck you,” Priya hisses. She turns on her heel and stomps away toward the desert. I don’t have time to tell her to wait because the AAA agent finally picks up.

Two hours later, the bus is on its’ way to a repair shop, and the band and I are in an Uber on our way to the hotel.

The tension between Vince and Priya is still palpable. I’m stressed because the bus will be in the shop for at least two weeks, so I need to book our flights and hotels to all the places we were planning on driving.

The Uber pulls up to our hotel, and we exit in an exhausted heap.

I check us in and hand everyone keycards, ignoring the spark that still fizzles inside of me when Vince’s hand accidentally brushes against my palm.

Henry and Apollo yawn; it’s only four, but we need to be at the venue by five. It’s going to be a long night. Everyone shoves their suitcases into their rooms. Then we booked it to the venue.

Vince sits beside me. I can feel his thigh pressed up against mine. I don’t know why, but I want to tell him I’m sorry.

However, right now, he’s too busy shooting death glares at Priya to notice.

When we walk into the green room, Priya slams her makeup bag down onto the counter. In turn, Vince shoves his backpack into an empty chair. They’re petulant and pouting like children while I’m stuck on the phone with Delta explaining that theybetter not lose $10,000 worth of equipment when we fly to New Mexico on Wednesday.

“I assure you, ma’am, your luggage will be regarded with the utmost importance,” the customer service representative drones.

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