Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(5)

“Let’s not fight, ladies,” Jimmy chided, bringing Jeannie back to the center of the green room. “Three thousand paid ticket-holders are waiting.”

“He’s right,” Jeannie said, and mustered what we called her Fearless Leader expression: stiff and serious as she eyed us in turn. “We need to get focused and give them the performance of our lives. Circle up.”

We formed a ring in the center of the green room, holding hands, while Jeannie murmured a sort of vague invocation. Violet was a Buddhist, Lola an atheist, so the group prayer was more about channeling our energies, being grateful for our opportunities, and getting the four of us in tune with each other so we could play as one cohesive unit.

Was this what I wanted? I mused while Jeannie droned positive affirmations. I suspected the answer was no, but I’d come too far now. Lola was counting on me. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d still be on the streets. She’d taken me in after Chett ditched me, and we’d gotten this gig together. She needed me to not f*ck this up, and I needed to not be a f*ck up.

“Forget every other show,” Jeannie was saying, her typical closing statements. “Forget we’ve been on the road for months. These fans deserve our best, so let’s go out there and perform as if it were the first day of the tour. Blood, sweat, and tears, ladies.”

We made loud noises of agreement to get amped up, then headed out.

Lola pulled me aside. “Are you okay? For real?”

“Sure, I’m fine. Totally.”

“Where were you?”

“Oh, I… I called my parents.”

Lola’s shoulders slumped and she covered her eyes with one hand. “Oh shit, no. No, no, no. I keep telling you to give it up. It always bites you in the ass, Kace. Every time. You get all upset, then you get even more wasted than usual.”

“No, no, it was great!” I said. “I only talked to my mom but… Well, my dad said hi. I heard him in the background. That’s a start, right?”

Is this where you’re at? Lying to your best friend after all that she’s done for you?

Lola looked shocked. “Really? He talked to you?”

“He said hi, Lola. He really did.”

Lola studied me through narrow eyes and finally relented.

“That’s great, Kace,” she said, hugging me. “I’m really happy for you. To be honest, I’ve been worried lately. You party twenty-four-seven and have a different guy in your bed every night.”

“Not every night,” I said. “I have my dry spells. Like Tuesday.”

Lola snorted.

“Let’s go, girls,” Jimmy reappeared at the door. “They’re waiting.”

I flashed Lola a reassuring smile. “We’re going to kick ass at this show tonight. I promise.”

“I wish you’d promise not to party so f*cking hard afterward. Maybe you’d be able to remember how kick-ass the show was.”

I pretended to be affronted. “That is the least rock and roll thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Keith Richards would roll over in his grave if he heard you talk like that.”

A smile twitched Lola’s lips. “Keith Richards isn’t dead.”

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, slinging her arm around me. Protectively, as always.

Hugo Williams, the Pony Club’s head of security, appeared at the green room door to escort us to the stage. His dark eyes were warm and kind as he smiled at me, his teeth white and bright against the dark of his skin.

“Hey, Hugo,” I said, as we filed out.

“Hey, sweets,” he said in his deep baritone.

This was only our second night at the Pony Club but Hugo seemed extra considerate of me, going out of his way to make sure I felt safe.

Jimmy slung an arm over my bare shoulders. “Sounds like a rowdy crowd tonight, Hugo.”

I smiled up at the bodyguard. “Hugo’ll take care of me. He’s my hero.”

The big bodyguard nodded, like a soldier given an order, and led us to the stage. We took winding back hallways with pipes running along the ceiling. Our footsteps clapped and echoed on the cement.

Jimmy turned to me. “You ready?”

“Born ready, Jimmy.”

“That’s my girl.”

I joined my band mates at a short flight of stairs that led to the stage. A roar went up—the crowd responding to the MC taking the mic.

“Las Vegas! Are you ready for Rapid Confession?”

Another wave of sound, like an avalanche ripping apart the walls of the venue.

The door opened, a dark rectangle blazing with stage lights. We streamed up the short flight of stairs and onto the stage. My red Fender was waiting for me on a stand. I looped the strap over my shoulder and saw Jeannie throw me a nod and a nervous smile—a peace agreement. I nodded and smiled back, agreement accepted.

Lola clashed her drumsticks over her head in a four-count lead-in to “Talk Me Down.”

I played my goddamn heart out. I wrote “Talk Me Down” for myself. It was an anthem to everything that scared me about where I was going and what I was doing to myself. Nobody knew it was mine. I sang backup to Jeannie’s melody. But when I played, my heart came out. The music carved open my chest, flayed my ribs and showed the world everything inside.