Shattered Dreams (Boys of Bellerose, #3)(64)
Frustration belted through my drumsticks as we crashed into our first set of the night, but this time I let it flow free. I wasn’t fighting my emotions or running from them. I wasn’t holding back tonight, and it made a massive difference in our music. Everyone knows the drummer is the heart and soul of a band, so if I was off, we were all off. When I was in the zone, though…
“Holy shit, we’re on fire tonight!” Rhett yelled over at me in a break between songs. He’d switched off his mic, and Jace was schmoozing the audience like only Jace could. The feverish excitement on Rhett’s face was something new. Since his therapy session, he’d been walking with a lightness to his step, like he was finally able to breathe freely. I envied him but also knew that one completed conversation with Billie would make a world of difference.
It wouldn’t alleviate my guilt entirely—nothing could change my involvement in her worst trauma—but I was aching to try and soothe her hurt. If my version of events could bring her some kind of closure—even if it meant she hated me for it—then that was what I needed to do. When she was ready. I could be patient and wait for her to re-engage the conversation.
Music poured out of us, the new sound of Bellerose totally elevated by all the pain, loss, and love that we now shared. It helped that the Edinburgh audience was totally wild, one hundred percent with us on this journey.
About a third of the way into our show, we got a quick break while the roadies rearranged the stage, so I gratefully accepted a sweat towel and bottle of water from one of our crew.
“Gray… that was lit,” Angelo commented with a nod. “Respect.”
I nodded back, swallowing my mouthful. “You too. Quick learner, huh?”
His smirk was secretive. “Apparently. Helps that some of those classic Bellerose tracks used to be Snake Soup originals.”
My brows rose. “Shit. Yeah, I forgot Jace brought a lot of that first album with him… Well, thanks?”
Angelo just shrugged, grabbing his own sweat towel to mop his face as he moved to talk with Jace. Rhett gave me a nod but had his arm firmly around a smiling Billie, so I couldn’t blame him for not letting her go.
With a sigh, I finished my water and quickly dashed around the corner to take a piss. In my ear, the stage manager gave us a two-minute warning, so I had enough time. The single stall was occupied, though, and I hammered on the door with my fist.
“Hurry up!” I barked.
The door opened a split second later, and a coked-up looking groupie girl stumbled out with a giggle, sniffing. One of our road crew followed her with a smirk, adjusting his jeans.
“’Sup, man?” he drawled when he saw me there. “Sick set out there.”
Ignoring him, I pushed into the cubicle and locked the door. It was none of my business who our crew wanted to fuck, but they knew not to use the closest pisser to the stage.
The one-minute warning hurried me along, and I finished up, giving my hands a quick wash, then paused when I saw an empty coke baggie on the side of the sink. The logo printed on the bag seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place why. Something about it struck a bad feeling, and the last time that’d happened was when Billie mentioned her mom’s name.
My knowledge of European drug traffickers had never been incredible in the first place, though, but maybe Rhett would know. I tucked it into the pocket of my jeans and hurried back onstage just in time for the lights to flare up once more.
“You good, bro?” Jace asked, away from his mic. There was nothing but concern in his eyes, and I nodded back. Despite all the messy shit we had going on with Billie behind the scenes, out here we were solid. We were brothers. With a half smile, I twirled my drumsticks and smacked out the beat to our next song.
Jace grinned and grabbed his mic to work up the audience once more, accompanied by my drum solo. I gave it heaps, improvising as he flirted with the ten thousand–strong crowd, then Angelo and Rhett joined me to launch into “On the Edge,” one of the hits from our latest album.
My gaze shifted to offstage where Billie bounced along to the beat, a huge smile on her face. It was a huge contrast from the first concert she’d attended, when I’d given her headphones to drown out Jace’s lyrics about how she’d broken his heart.
Knowing now what it felt like to fall for her… I got it.
We finished the concert on a high, and all exited the stage dripping sweat and buzzing with endorphins. Billie and Vee were waiting with excited congratulations, but it was Rhett who swept her up in his arms to spin her around. Of course it was. A dark look passed between Billie and Jace, making me curious about what their latest argument was over.
Angelo clapped me on the shoulder, then approached Rhett with a sly smirk. “Sorry, Silver, I need to steal Bella away.”
Rhett hated to share. No matter what he said about being okay with it, he had a buttload of residual trauma from his childhood that meant he held onto things that were his with fierce defensiveness. Clothes, guitars… girls. He was all for a threesome, but god help anyone who tried to take his things away from him. Quietly, I was waiting for this polyamorous thing with Billie to explode, with Rhett as the spark and fuse.
“Fuck off, Ricci,” he replied, surprising no one.
“Don’t be a child, Silver. Bella promised me a date.” Angelo folded his tattoo-covered arms over his damp Bellerose t-shirt. Concert Angelo had had to make some huge changes to mafia Angelo’s wardrobe, and he looked like a totally different guy now. Edgier, and less murderous.