4. Pissed off in Atlanta

four

Pissed off in Atlanta

“ Y ou what?”

Jinx rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I talked to Coleman. Now calm the fuck down.”

“About me?”

“Yes, about you. He’s worried, and after soundcheck yesterday, so am I.”

“Figures,” I huffed. I was referring to Coleman calling Jinx instead of me, not Jinx being worried. I’d given them something to worry about. A little. “I’m fine.” I held up my hands. “I’m not going to tell you that this shit with Coleman doesn’t have me upset. If he’s worried about me, he should call me, not drag you into our mess.”

“He seems to think you’re not a couple anymore and the breakup was hard on you.”

I laughed, but it was a cover. I didn’t want Jinx poking around in my pain. “Breakup? We were never a couple to begin with.” Jinx glared at me so hard I actually felt it. “Seriously, okay? We were fucking around. That’s it.”

“Then why are you streaking across the stage and getting blind-ass passed out drunk before the show?”

“Because I’m Ziggy. That’s what I do.” I also escaped these conversations, but that was impossible to do in the back of a tour bus with him blocking the way. I could probably take him, but I’d have Miami and security on top of me. So no. I held my hands up, making light of the situation that felt anything but.

“Ziggy. I don’t want to get in the middle of things with—”

“Don’t. Okay?”

“But I do worry about you. I can’t sit back and watch you self-destruct. That’s not what we do anymore. Remember?”

We had all banded together to pull Miami out of a dark place. We re-established our group dynamics and agreed that we were family above all else. Brothers. I nodded, remembering. But I still didn’t want them wandering around in my dark quagmire.

“So, no, Zig. I’m not going to ignore it when Coleman calls me worried. If you don’t want to get real with me right now, that’s fine. But if you need to talk. Or if you need anything at all. I expect you to come to me. Don’t think I’m not going to understand, brother.” The seriousness of his golden-brown eyes hit me hard.

“I get it. I understand. But I’m fine. He called me and left a message asking about the show. I called him back, but it was late, and I was tired. He took it the wrong way. I’m fine.” I needed a joint like nobody’s business. Thankfully, I had friends in Atlanta who would hook me up, and I’d already arranged backstage passes for them. Although, labeling them friends was probably stretching it. I licked my lips. That’s all I needed to set things right, a good strong doobie so I could chill. But Jinx wasn’t moving out of my face. “Jinx. If I do need to talk or whatever, you’re first on my list. Okay?” That would never happen, but I needed out of this conversation.

“Fine. Get some rest. We’ll be in Atlanta in about forty-five minutes to an hour, depending on traffic.” We had two shows there and would be getting hotel rooms. I was more than ready for that.

“Cool beans.”

Finally, he moved on, and I slid into my bunk. Tapping out a beat on my knees, I closed my eyes. What I needed to do was concentrate on moving forward. I needed to get through this show, this tour. Maybe I could figure out the rest of my fucking life after that.

The bus drove by the Mercedes-Benz Stadium with its huge silver falcon right in front of the modern geometric building. It was all angles and glass, looking more like a museum than a stadium to me, but inside would be more traditional. After circling around a lot of concrete parking lots and roadways, we could see a patch of green for about three seconds before we were inside the parking garage next to the World Congress Center. There was a Hilton there, and we’d be entering through the back as usual. I doubted we would get to see much of it besides elevators and hallways before hitting our rooms.

In fact, Marci got off the bus first and went inside with one of the security guards in tow. No doubt she would get all the key cards and direct us where we needed to go. Checking in ourselves at the desk would be too high of a security risk, and if word got out, fans could swamp the lobby pretty quickly. With social media so instantaneous, it’s not hard to get a ton of people to descend on a location pretty fast. Although, I’d seen that more in places where major bands like Social Sinners lived. West Coast hype and all that. But we were getting bigger. Hell, we were playing huge stadiums again. We were fucking back!

And I was pretty sure I was going to fuck it all up.

When Marci came back to the buses, she stopped on ours first. Miami and Jinx shared this one with me. Wolf had one with his man and brother-in-law and Kay from our opening act, Bramble Punk. Still an odd name to me, but better than the last name, Lazer-fuckers or some shit. But Kay was odd, so it fit. The rest of his band was on the third bus. Roadies and Techs were on the fourth one, which was super full, with nothing but bunks. I was happy I didn’t have to ride there. The final bus had a couple of security guys, Marci, and the new creative director, Kai. I didn’t know much about him yet, but he was redesigning our logo, our websites, taking over our social media, and, oh, he designed the stage. Yeah. Coleman had hooked us up with him. Great. Each bus had a security guy as well. Ours was Drake. The equipment rode in two semi-trucks and parked inside the stadium fences to unload later.

Marci handed Drake a folder and said some shit to him, but all I heard was, “Get moving.”

That was all the cue I needed to grab my duffle and sling it over my shoulder. At the last second, I reached into my bunk and grabbed my beat-up old cowboy hat and a pair of dark shades. Incognito and all that mess. Which was stupid, because it probably made me look more like a rock star with my cropped T-shirt and ripped jeans than not. Whatever. It was Drake’s job to keep me safe, and I trusted him to do it.

We followed him through the Employees Only door and to the service elevator. Damn, we wouldn’t even be using the first-class guest elevators. No. Service all the way. All stainless steel. Boring. On the third floor, the doors opened, and we were escorted down the hall and to the guest elevators. Yay ! And these were nice, more like you’d expect from a swanky place like this.

We stopped at our floor, though I wasn’t sure what floor that was. I didn’t think I’d need to know, anyway. We were always accompanied by security. They needed to know, and apparently, they did. Drake handed Miami a card and pointed to a door. “This is you and Jinx, sir.”

“Thanks, man.” Miami keyed the card, but Drake held up a finger and went in. I assume he made sure no one was lurking in the closet before he came back and let them in.

The next door was my room, and he handed me the card. I swiped it and pushed the door open. Drake barreled past me and into the room, but I didn’t wait for him to finish his inspection before following. He’d gone into the bedroom area while I checked out the main room, which was set up like a living room with a sleek couch in front of the huge window facing a TV that hung on the wall. Beyond that was a small table and chairs and a wet bar. Now that had my attention. The mini-fridge was hidden behind a sleek panel the same as the rest of the cabinetry, but inside were tiny bottles of exactly what I was looking for. I pulled out a tiny bottle of Crown. It probably had one shot in it. That wouldn’t be enough, but I’d rectify that. I tossed my hat on the couch and dumped the entire contents of the bottle down my throat and grabbed another.

The warmth immediately spread through me, calming my nerves. I unwrapped a glass and poured my second bottle into that. Let’s be classy here .

“All clear.” Drake glared at me. Of course he did. “You’re supposed to wait outside.”

“What if I’m attacked out there…” I pointed to the front door, which was still wide open. “While you’re in here.” I raised my glass and winked.

Drake shook his head. “We should really assign an extra guard for you.”

I laughed maniacally as Drake shut the door behind him.

I took out my phone and texted my man, Marcos, making sure he knew where to go and when to show up. I so needed a hit before the concert tonight. With that done, I ordered room service. Steak and potatoes. Plus two Crown and Sevens. Doubles. If that didn’t do it, I’d order more. I’d rather go down to the bar. A quick Google showed a sophisticated meeting spot to drink and socialize, but that was off-limits. It would cause too many problems, and we’d only just started this tour. I was sure the guys would like at least one night of calm before my chaos exploded all over the fucking place.

I opened the front door, and predictably, Drake was leaning against the wall opposite the room where Jinx and Miami were. “I ordered room service.”

Drake nodded.

I went back inside. Maybe a quick shower would slow me down a little, but I doubted it. I hardly ever slowed down. My internal clock was set to overdrive and had been for as long as I could remember. As a kid, I ran circles around everyone on the playground. I’d gotten into the school band and picked up drums to channel some of that energy. It wasn’t long before I had a starter kit at home as well. I loved music. All kinds, but especially rock and punk. The harder and edgier the sound, the better. Before long, that’s all I was ever doing. Drumming. I beat that first kit to death, though I’m sure it sounded like shit.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was pretty boring. Shower. Eat. Drink. Lay on the bed, wishing I could actually take a nap. Some song lyrics filtered through my head. I was not the star writer in this band. They gave me songs, and I whipped out some notation for it. But occasionally, I would get words. Most of the time, I didn’t bother writing them down. But if they stuck with me longer than a minute, maybe I would. This time, I didn’t. I fell asleep and napped until Drake pounded on the bedroom door. Time to rock.

Playing at a stadium was like no other thing in the world. We had a great soundcheck, loving how we rocked the place without fans in the seats and imagining how hyped the show would be with them. That was the best part of what we did. Being a part of this band was a lifestyle of travel and music and the fans that made it possible for us to live it.

When we finished the check, we headed to the dressing areas, which were set up in the football players’ locker rooms with a lot less privacy than we were used to, but it was also cool as shit. Atlanta Falcons memorabilia covered the walls. The players’ names were on the cubbies they used for lockers. They didn’t have their gear in them, which would have been neat, but I could understand it not being out where anyone could walk off with it. But each cubby had a cushioned bench where we could sit in front of them. Everything was red, gray, and black, and the Falcon logo was placed aesthetically around, including the giant one in the middle of the floor as you walked in the door. If I were a bigger football fan, I would have been super-stoked.

We had about thirty minutes until the meet and greet at the Overlook, a room they reserved and set up for us. There would be signing and chatting and pictures. I actually loved doing this kind of stuff, probably more than the others. I think it started feeling like a chore for them, something you had to do. But for me, it was something I was allowed to do. I was allowed time to hang out with cool fans who wanted to meet me and party to my beats. These people didn’t have to be here, they wanted to. These were the people who made Midnight Hunt a possibility, and for our comeback, it was even more glorious. We had fans who remembered us from way back when and new fans checking us out for the first time. They created an electric atmosphere where I was privileged to live for a brief moment.

I hurried to pull a shirt over my head without even looking at what it was. I wasn’t changing my pants. Before we took the stage, I would slip on one of my sleeveless shirts or a jacket, but for now, it was come as you are. Messy hair and holey jeans, be damned.

Drake and a few of the others on the security team ushered us up to the meeting space. We had a brief chat with reporters, but Miami and Jinx did most of the talking, which was fine with me. I wasn’t here for the media.

The Overlook was basically a big open space where people could mingle. We had tables set up to sell our shit, and all of it had the new logo and marketing. Kai was hovering there, inspecting everything. He was an interesting character, slight as a reed, with black hair that had dark red streaks, and it stuck up everywhere, but fashionably so. I imagined it took him hours to get it all exactly as he wanted it, with him fussing over every single strand.

Drake nudged me over to the tables. We had Sharpies set out that we could use to sign stuff, and in between each table, there were those banners that popped up out of a case that we could take selfies in front of. All appropriately branded. I wondered what we’d spent on that shit when we could have done plenty in front of the open area that let you look down into the stadium instead for free. There were always places to get pics. But whatever. I wasn’t in it for the money, and if the fans liked it, that was fine with me.

As soon as I was settled, the doors opened and fans poured in. There was a rush to the table, and most of them headed for Jinx. He brought new fans in for sure since he had a successful solo career before we got back together. None of the rest of us had much success on our own. Well, Wolf had, but it had been behind the scenes, producing for others and playing studio gigs. He actually had massive credits on other artists’ work, but he was super humble about it.

Me? Fuck. I fucked around, played with several bands, but without the Hunt, I wasn’t much more than a hard-rocking drummer. With the Hunt though, we were spectacular.

I greeted fans making their way down the line. Signed T-shirts, posters, arms, and whatever else they stuck in front of me. We took pictures, mostly in front of the banners Kai had ordered, but once it cleared out and started getting late, I did a few in front of the spot overlooking the stadium with a couple of dudes who were nearly as old as me. We took a few, making faces and throwing fingers, and a few serious ones too. I shook their hands with a slap and a fist bump, and they wished me a good show. They were what I thought of as original fans . They’d followed us from the beginning and talked about seeing us play at the Georgia Dome when it was still around. One of them wore our original concert shirt. These were the fans I loved most. Loyal to the core.

We wrapped up and headed back to the locker room to chill, which is when Drake touched his earpiece and asked me if I was expecting guests. All the security guards had the earpieces to chat with each other. I’d probably use the things to prank-talk everyone. Oh the funny lines I could come up with. Like Houston, we have a hard-on . And that’s probably why I didn’t get one.

“Yeah, Marcos,” I answered instead. “I put him on the backstage list and asked him to come before the show.”

“Got a last name?”

“Uh…no. Not really. Just Marcos. Got a phone number.”

Drake huffed. He actually huffed. Well, to be fair, he hadn’t been on tour with us before. He’d learn. I had people in most cities we were touring in. Not in Richmond, which was our next show, but the two after were Jersey and Boston. Yep, had people there. The East Coast was home for me, and I could get a hook-up nearly anywhere. At least in the major cities.

I sat on a bench and waited. Soon enough, Marcos came strutting in. He had some other dude with him. “Hey. Thanks for the passes, man.” He slapped my hand and fist-bumped me. “This is Zade. Good friend of mine, loves your music.”

“Hey, cool. Nice to meet you.” Zade’s smile was odd, or maybe awkward. I couldn’t tell if he was going for seductive, casual-friendly, or creepy. But maybe he was simply out of his element and feeling uncomfortable. He wore baggy jeans with a chain hanging on the side from belt loop to back pocket and a Midnight Hunt T-shirt that was two sizes too big and faded, but not enough that I couldn’t tell what it was—our old logo—but enough to be super comfortable and soft.

“Yeah, Zade. Thanks for coming, man.”

His face flushed, and I thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.

Marcos did. “Yeah. So, got a minute, Zig?” He nodded to the side like he wanted privacy to talk, but it was more like he wanted to make our transaction, and so did I.

“Yeah, come on. Zade, make yourself at home.” Zade nodded and Marcos followed me into the shower room. We weren’t technically supposed to be in there, but no one stopped us, either. “Got something for me?”

“Yeah, good stuff. Two bags. Purple is the sativa. Before shows, right. Give you a good buzz. And this one with silver tape leans more to indica. Before bed. Put you out.”

“Quality?”

“You know it’s there. I don’t let you down. Ever.” He shook his head and handed me the bags.

We’d already agreed on price over text, so I handed him more than he’d asked for out of my wallet. “Dude…” he said, still shaking his head and acting like he was giving some of it back, but it was an act. We both knew it.

“Nah. You always come through, dude. Keep it.”

“Cool, man.” We did the hand slap—fist bump. I stuffed the bags under my shirt until we got back to the main dressing area.

I dumped the bags into my duffel, but not before I pinched some out of the purple bag and rolled it up. But I couldn’t light up in here since I had security tailing after me. Well, they worked for us, so I wasn’t going to sweat it. In fact, I was going to make Drake complicit. Marcos and Zade trailed after me as I went and found him. It wasn’t too hard. He was like a head and shoulder taller than everyone else in the room.

“Dude, Drake! I need your help, dude.”

“What can I do for you?” The words felt like it pained him to say them.

“We…” I gestured to Marcos and Zade. “We need to go outside. Like a back door or something.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s a pre-show requirement for me, dude. It’s going to make this show go a hell of a lot smoother. And there’s no threats. It’s still early.”

“Fine. Give me a minute.” Drake stormed off, tapping that earpiece.

“That’s new.” Marcos bumped his shoulder into mine. We’d known each other since Midnight Hunt had been playing dives. “Ya’ll sure have come a loooong way, dude.”

“No lie. We’ve been lucky. Twice.”

Zade scoffed. “Lucky my ass. You’re talented. All ya’ll.” He motioned around, and I had to assume he was indicating the band.

“Thanks, man. It’s a group thing, for sure. We’re all better together. Except maybe Jinx.”

“Nah…” Zade rolled his eyes. “His solo stuff wasn’t near as good as the Hunt.”

I gave him a cheeky smile. I couldn’t deny I liked hearing that.

Drake walked back over, motioning for us to follow him. He led us through a few back hallways in what looked like a service area and out to a loading dock. We found a more secluded space, and I lit that bad boy up. It wasn’t a big one, but we passed it around until it was only a roach.

All things in my head settled. I bounced on my toes. “This is what I’m talking about. Yeah.”

Marcos said, “For real.”

Zade added, “This is so cool.”

We grinned at each other like a troop of monkeys. “Let’s get back in. The show’s gonna start. Ya’ll staying to watch?”

Marcos nodded subtly, but Zade grinned ear to ear. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything, man.”

Showtime !

When I took the stage, I was on fire. I felt ready. And I wasn’t thinking about Coleman at all. Nope. Not at all. I didn’t give a fuck what he was doing as I jogged across the stage with my sticks over my head. And I wasn’t going to. Nope. I was getting into the zone. I was stoked.

I counted off The One About Fighting and we were rolling.

Wolf’s bass thrummed out the beat along with me while Jinx hit the licks like his fingers were lit. His ax screeched. And Miami. Whatever you wanted to say about him, egotistical prima donna, whatever, he had the vocal chops of a Viking god. And he let loose, stoking up the crowd.

We went through our lineup and our solos, the bulk of our show, and moved to one of our new songs. Wolf kicked it off with a killer backbeat for a few bars before I joined with a pounding drum intro. When Jinx slid his bar over his strings to make them hiss and scream, we were rocking it out. Miami’s signature scream had the crowd screaming even louder.

Whisky Gone

Dropped the bottle

In the trash

Another bottle of whisky gone

There's an itch

Like a rash

Never be the same

Now you're gone

Drinking again

Thinking again

Wondering where you are

Who you doing?

Where's the ruing?

Seize my day

Not begging you to stay

I listened to the words as I stomped on the bass drum. I could have written that damn song. Lyrics didn’t normally ring true with me, or at least not on that level. I pushed those thoughts away, concentrating on the music. Fuck feelings.

When the song ended, I stood, raising my sticks over my head. Miami and Jinks dashed off the stage and handed their guitars to their roadies to store for tomorrow’s show. I circled around my kit to the front of the stage and motioned for the crowd to get riled up. This wasn’t what I normally did, but I felt like I needed to spice some shit up after Whiskey Gone and it’s too close to home lyrics. So, I stopped at Miami’s mic. “What are you doing, Atlanta?”

As expected, the crowd went nuts. Concertgoers usually liked to see unexpected things, and this was it for tonight. “We’re happy to see you here…” I paused, waiting for them to settle some, feeling what it was like for Miami, at least a little bit. “The guys are leaving.” I pointed to the side stage, and as expected, the stadium erupted. I chuckled into the mic, and when the noise died a little, very little but I’d take it, I held my sticks up over my head. “You gotta be louder than that if you want them back.”

The crowd surged forward a little, and for a second, I worried. Horrible accidents had happened with crowds losing control and stampeding. But these were our fans. I wasn’t letting that shit happen. “Hey, now. No rushing forward. Don’t get that crazy.” I pointed out to the audience.

I glanced over to the guys. Wolf was drinking out of a water bottle. Miami was looking at me like What the fuck, dude? And Jinx simply shook his head. He knew. Good ol’ Ziggy was gonna do whatever I was gonna do.

“Okay, Atlanta. Here’s the deal. I’m going to slip off and grab some water. And if you want the Hunt to play some more, you have to yell. Don’t rush the stage. You know how this works. Just scream until you’re horse…” I laughed manically, loving the reaction I was pulling from them. “Midnight Hunt fans rule!” I screamed into the mic.

I jogged off stage as they did exactly what I asked. I shouldered past Miami, ignoring the shit he was spouting and grabbed a bottle of cold water. I poured some of it over my head and swigged the rest. My shirt was soaked, and I unbuttoned the last three that I had still done up, so it hung loose.

Miami stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Whatever…”

“Hey, they loved it.” I shrugged off his criticism and jogged back out ahead of the others. Before heading to my kit, I pulled my shirt off and tossed it into the crowd.

Jinx strapped on his guitar, getting ready for the encore, and so did Wolf. Miami waited to join us, bouncing on his feet. I slid behind the kit and started pounding out what I’d worked up for the pre-intro to the song. Something to get the crowd going again.

We were going to play Dip and Grind , our most popular song from this album we were promoting. Everyone knew it, so this interlude was simply a tease.

When Wolf was ready, he gave me a nod, and I slipped into the real intro for the song. This one had a different edge to it than our other stuff. It was a little funky and fun. And perfect to end the night. Wolf joined in on his spot, and Jinx joined right after him. And that was Miami’s cue. He jogged out, motioning upward like a bird, getting the crowd going yet again. Those fuckers wouldn’t be able to talk in the morning.

Miami screamed out the first line…

Dip, dip, shift and dodge

My friend Pierce actually sang the lyrics on the album because it wasn’t Miami’s style at all, but he couldn’t tour with us. We struck a deal with him to play his lyrics from a recording when we played live. That took a lot of work to get to. Lawyers were involved. The original agreement had us not playing it, but it was such a fan favorite we couldn’t get away with that. We also had a video of Pierce singing, and it played on the three giant-ass screens around us. One behind and the others on either side.

Miami sang with him as if he were here. And Pierce was fine with it because he got paid every time we did the song. What was surprising was the crowd singing along with him.

Pierce’s voice rang out over the speakers.

Running like the wind as fast as

your feet will take you

Screaming wild with the wind

until I stop chasing

You back track lee and tack anything to get away

no matter how hard I beg you to stay

Feels like a race but one I can’t win

Then you’re close, spinning around,

so we can do it again

Miami’s voice broke into the chorus even as Pierce was still holding the last note.

Dip, dip, shift and dodge

every time I get close

Dip, dip, shift and dodge

Duck and turn where I can’t follow

If you don’t stop

We’re gonna break

Dip, dip, shift and dodge

We’re gonna rock it

We’re gonna shake

Everything is coming down

Grinding to a halt

Stop

On that last word, we all stopped. I loved that part and couldn’t hold in my chuckle as we started playing again. The crowd went right along with us. And if they were disappointed that Pierce didn’t come out, they didn’t show it. When the song was over, as required, Miami thanked Pierce and indicated that other obligations didn’t allow him to tour with us.

There was talk on the side that he might do the song with us when we played Rocktoberfest this year. That would be killer, and I’d enjoy seeing my friend again. Even if he was kind of a prick.

We walked to the front of the stage and lined up, taking a bow after Dip and Grind ended.

Show was over.

When we walked off the stage again, we weren’t going back. We high-fived each other in the hallway, and I bumped my hip into Miami. “Great show, man.”

“I couldn’t be happier. Hope the rest of the tour goes this well.”

“Fuck yeah!” Wolf hollered and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “Damn, you’re sweaty, you shirtless beast.”

We all laughed, bursting into the locker room again like a flock of loons. I headed to my area and grabbed a towel to wipe down. I’d take a shower when I got back to the hotel, but I needed a shirt. After running the towel over my shoulders, neck, and under the back of my hair, I tossed it on the bench. Grabbing a fresh concert shirt with our new logo on it, I joined the others in the center of the massive room, where chairs were placed around a round table. There were a couple areas like this for us to hang out, and we’d be here a little while. Backstage pass holders would stream in shortly, expecting to chat us up. Back in the day, groupies would be included in this, male and female alike, ready to party, fuck, or both. But not now. Just fans. There was a difference.

I grabbed a beer out of the cooler, not caring who was responsible for delivering it. Coleman was always great about arranging refreshments and things we’d need. I vaguely recalled contracts were involved, but I didn’t care. I actually trusted Coleman. Fucking Coleman. I didn’t need the reminder. Hell, cold and wet was all I cared about as I popped the bottle open. I sat back in one of the caramel-colored leather chairs after taking a big swig. It was oversized, probably more suitable for football players, but super comfortable. “This is nice.”

Fans started coming in and shaking hands with us, getting things signed. I nodded and smiled. I enjoyed interacting with fans, but I was tired and had a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I perked up when Marcos and his friend showed up. Couldn’t remember his name. I nodded when he greeted me. “You like the show?”

Marcos gave a thumbs up. “Ya’ll rocked. Right, Zade.” Ah… Zade was the friend.

“You killed it, man. The part at the end where you talked to the audience. That was epic.” He was practically jumping up and down, and while I appreciated his excitement, his energy was wearing me down. I’d been up too long, and I did all the interactions and played the show. I needed a hot shower, a strong doobie, and a soft bed. Stat.

“Glad you liked it. It was fun.”

“Liked it? Fuck, I loved it, man. And how can I get a shirt like that? I only have the old one.”

“I like the old one.”

Zade’s eyes widened. “Want to trade?”

I didn’t really. I’d end up throwing it away, so I figured I could just get him a new one. “Nah…you keep it, but I’ll get you one. Hey, Kai, hey.”

When Kai saw me waving at him, he walked over. He glanced at Marcos and Zade. “What’s up, Zig?”

I pulled at the bottom of my shirt. “Hey, can we get one of these for my friend, Zade, here?”

“Sure, I can get one for both of them. What sizes?” He looked Zade up and down. “Large? It’ll be big, but if it shrinks up, it’ll still fit. That work?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Marcos shook his head and blushed a little. “I don’t need one.”

“Nonsense. I’ll get you a medium.” Marcos was a smaller guy. Kai jogged off before anyone could change their minds.

A few minutes later, he came back with a couple of shirts in hand. “Here you go. And you. And…” He pulled a marker out of his back pocket and handed it to me. “In case you want to sign these?”

Marcos didn’t seem interested in any of it, though I’d always known him to be super laid back, so I wouldn’t expect him to be fan-boying all over me. We’d known each other a long time, after all. Zade, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. He jumped up and down and extended the shirt to me. “Yes, yes. Would you please?”

Kai had the foresight to design the logo in a way that gave us a nice white spot to sign them. Being an abstract logo on a black shirt would have been impossible otherwise. “Sure, man.” I uncapped the marker and signed on that spot, leaving room for the others if he wanted to collect them. “I’m sure these guys would be happy to add to that.”

Zade clutched the shirt to his chest. “No. Just you.” It seemed a little weird, but fans could be like that. I’d seen a few others who picked a favorite and ignored the rest of the band, so I let it go.

After chilling a little while, security started clearing out the fans. We didn’t want to linger too long. We had to remember what it was like to get through a long tour. It was never simply performing on stage with all the meet and greets, interviews, socializing, and partying. It took a lot out of us.

“I have an early interview tomorrow. You can catch it on 96 Rock tomorrow.” I gestured toward the door since Zade didn’t seem to want to leave.

“That’s cool, dude. Come on, Zade, let’s bounce.”

“Fine. Nice meeting you, Zig.” He turned abruptly and hugged me before practically running to the exit.

I shot Marcos a questioning look. He shrugged and rolled his eyes like he didn’t know what the fuck that was about either. “Later, man.” He fist-bumped me and sauntered out after his friend.

“That was an interesting couple,” Wolf commented.

I didn’t actually think they were a couple or that Wolf meant it that way. But I chuckled anyway as I said, “I never knew Marcos swung that way.”

“I remember him from that show we did last time. It wasn’t here, but Fox Theatre.” He pointed with one finger on the same hand that held his beer bottle.

“Much smaller show.” The Fox held around four thousand, but we had about an eighty-thousand crowd tonight. A world of difference.

“Right. Good show though. So I take it Marcos is a friend of yours. Were you hoping to hook up?”

I practically spit my beer. “Friend. Only friend, dude.” Thinking about Marcos that way made me want to puke. “More like a brother.”

“Ahh…plus you have Coleman. Where is he, anyway?”

That was the million-dollar question. He had been with us for almost all of our last tour. And when we recorded. Fuck, we had been practically inseparable since the band got back together at Rocktoberfest two years ago. Now he was a fucking ghost.

Finally, back in the hotel room. I stripped down and showered with my eyes closed. Didn’t even have enough energy to jack off. I needed sleep. I hadn’t been kidding about that early interview. We didn’t have to do a soundcheck or anything the next day since we kept the same settings, which were dead on. So Kai filled the time with interviews and another major meet and greet.

I face-planted on the bed after my shower with nothing on but the towel around my waist. I expected to be out in a matter of seconds. But that wasn’t what happened. My body was down for that game plan, but my brain was not.

It decided to kick around those words in my head again. I did an extremely difficult pushup and grabbed a notebook out of my duffle. We all carried them around because inspiration hit when it hit. So I jotted down what was in my head, hoping to get them out enough to calm that brain down so I could sleep.

You threw my heart in a pine box

My love went deep, six feet -- repeat

Can’t even claw my way back—nowhere left to dance

With me you buried another chance or no second chance

There’s no second chance

I could hear Miami really screaming the last line of that. I tapped the notebook with my pen. I was shit at putting notes to the words. I was never great at reading music. But drum notation, I could do. I picked up drums for the more physical aspects of it, but I never regretted it. Drum notation always felt like a personal love language written just for me. I learned it quickly and writing it felt like a breeze. I added some beats to words but kept it simple. I’d let the guys play with it before I really laid down the rhythm, but I could practically hear it all in my head, so I knew it was one we could work on. I jotted down a little more…

You came to me with offerings

A life and more

Flowers and verve

But you bring only death in a carriage of black

Leaving my heart a fatality

That part wasn’t as good. It felt forced, and it didn’t flow. But I knew better than to scratch it out. Instead, I drew brackets around it and wrote work on this in the margins. The guys would see what I was going for and play with it until it felt right. Wolf and Jinx were super good at that. They generally wrote most of our songs, though hits came from different places. From life, from our hearts and souls, but often they were from fun things.

It was pretty clear that this one had Coleman’s fingerprints all over it. Sharing that with the guys would be hard. I did not like to be vulnerable, even in front of them. But a song was a song, and if they said something mushy, I could tell them to fuck right off.

With that out of my system, I rolled back over on the bed and was out like the old proverbial light.

The next morning, I woke up early and looked out the window at the sunrise over the skyline. It was incredible, so I grabbed my phone and snapped a few pics. We would be going to a lot of places, and I knew from having done this once before I needed to appreciate all I could.

I got on the floor and did my yoga. I needed to stretch and help strengthen my back. I wasn’t getting any fucking younger, and I’d learned long ago that backs for drummers could be an issue. Repetitive Stress Injury was real. So was Carpal Tunnel and a host of other things. That list made yoga vital.

I slowly went through my practice, ending flat on my back with my eyes closed and arms out to my sides, palms pressed to the floor. I could lie like that all day.

But my cell rang. It was Coleman’s ringtone.