Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(6)

Therapist? Too tired for that shit.

Bryn. The Blue Phoenix drummer is in the country, or he was last week, and he’s always ready to listen. I dial and wait, willing him to answer quickly.

“Jem?”

“Hey, Bryn.”

“You okay, man?” asks my new go-to guy now Dylan’s on his endless holiday with the love of his life.

In the past lead singer Dylan would be the first person I’d call. Not anymore. My relationship with Dylan is rocky at the best of times, we’ve only recently started talking again after my attempt to ruin his relationship with Sky.

“You back from overseas?” I ask.

“Yeah. What do you need?”

A shitload of drugs. “Fancy another trip to London? I’m scouting bands for Steve. Wanna help?”

Bryn makes a soft sound. “Steve has you looking for bands? In clubs?”

“Yeah, I can handle it, Bryn. When we go back on tour, I need to be confident I can stay clean around this stuff.”

“Hmm. Isn’t this a bit soon?”

I settle onto the sofa and rest my head on the back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe. A month since I came back from Thailand, from my discreet rehab centre. Like the world didn’t know where I was. Back in my house in Notting Hill, I focus on writing new tracks but without the rest of the band to work with, I’m disconnected. The way Ruby Riot’s music vibrated beneath my skin last night is the most excited I’ve been about music for a long time. They remind me of the raw Blue Phoenix, a perfect blend of talent and synchronicity between the musicians. Hell, if I can focus on helping them make it, it could keep my mind off my other addictions

“So, come babysit me.”

“Seriously, Jem, think about this. Third stint in rehab, make this one count.”

“So you don’t want to come over? I’ve found a good one. Check them out online: Ruby Riot.”

“You’re complimenting a band? This is worth seeing. Okay, I’ll come over this evening for a couple of days.” He pauses. “You obviously need me to.”

Trust Bryn to spot my real reason for calling.

Bryn’s decision to come and stay lifts some of the darkness and compulsion to blot out the world. That and the fact he’ll be here in a few hours means I can’t exactly greet him when I’m stoned, can I?





Chapter Four



Jem



Two Blue Phoenix guys are harder to hide than one. The Camden venue is bigger than the last place I saw Ruby Riot, and jammed with students. Most pretend not to notice us, if anyone thinks Blue Phoenix are old school, it’s these guys. This both suits and amuses me. On my way through, I check out some of the chicks and none of them responds. I’m long overdue getting laid and judging by their indifference, this could be fun. A challenge could be the thing to take my mind off obsessing about sex with scarlet-haired rock chicks.

The venue owner gives Bryn and me one of the back rooms to hang out in. The chipped wall is decorated with band posters dating back years and it doesn’t take long to locate a tatty Blue Phoenix one near the top. I remember playing here. And I’m pretty sure I remember getting an awesome blowjob in this very room.

“What you thinking about?” asks Bryn.

“Old times.” I indicate the poster with my bottle of water.

“Reckon this band could be the next Phoenix?” he asks.

I choke a laugh. “Come on, nobody can be the next Phoenix. It’s like saying, ‘can Phoenix be the next Stones’. Close but not close enough.”

Bryn shakes his head with a small smile. “Such humility, Jem.”

“Have you listened to them? Ruby Riot?”

Now he fixes me with a half-disparaging look, lips pouting slightly. “I not only heard but saw them, too, on YouTube. I can see one of the attractions for you.”

“The chick? I wouldn’t rate a band based on how hot the singer is!”

Bryn gives me a disparaging look. “If only I could believe that.”

“But you heard them? You can see this is beyond my dick’s opinion?”

“I’m winding you up. Yeah. Be interesting to see them live.”

Five minutes into their set and I can see Bryn agrees. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know the sound gets under his skin too. Again, Ruby’s voice travels to my soul, to the place we share that I don’t want to be. The crowd, a sweaty sea of black, is as spellbound as the last time I saw them play, and again I hover near the bar. Wearing a tank top and short skirt with knee high striped socks and kick-ass boots, she’s sexy as hell. I have a thing for huge ass boots wrapping half of a girl’s leg. I really, really shouldn’t picture them wrapped around me. Too late. I shift against my hardening reaction to her; one I bet a few other guys are having.

I doubt Ruby can see me from here, but I want her to look at me. Instead, she spends a lot of tonight singing to the floor or the ceiling, hair flying around her as she moves around the stage. Oblivious. Despite the synchronicity of the band, she’s on the edge in her own space. It’s as if Ruby’s something rare the guys have captured and she won’t allow herself to be part of them. Not completely.

A girl with long, dark hair sits on a stool nearby, facing the band. She’s petite, dressed in a short black dress that barely covers her ass and tits, and red and black striped leggings. Is this a thing? Chicks with stripy legs? She side glances me and her mouth makes an ‘o’ of recognition, so I nod.