you fucking bitch.
The
crowd cheered as Max was launched upward out of the stage floor and landed in a
semi-crouched position, the note he carried reverberating through the stadium.
Max might be capable of impregnating a bandmate’s girlfriend, but he was an
amazing performer. And even if Dare had hated Max in the past, his skill on the
guitar was unmatched. That was what should matter, not their personal lives.
Not their looks or who they were fucking. Their talent. Their ability to
perform and make music that touched the world.
Logan
might have horrible taste in women, but when he played that bass, it made every
inch of Reagan’s body throb to his infectious rhythm. She couldn’t be the only
woman in the room who got off on that feeling. And, sure, Steve could be a
dick, and she didn’t really believe he was gay, but who fucking cared if he
was? His drumming was phenomenal. Why did people read that garbage? Why did
they slur the celebrities that brought them entertainment? Even if they didn’t
like metal music and saw no value in its dark, heavy sound and passionate
lyrics, the musicians were still people. They had feelings.
I
have feelings, she thought, punishing her guitar with an even heavier hand to
keep her tears in check.
Fuck
them all. It was her life, and she’d live it how she wanted to.
When
the song ended, Reagan lifted her head, surprised to find herself live in
concert. The crowd cheered with their usual enthusiasm, but she stepped back
into the darkest recesses of the stage just outside the perimeter of the
brightly lit drum kit to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. Dare
offered her a pleased smile and a thumbs-up. She had no idea why.
“That’s
our Reagan,” she heard Max say over the sound system. “A more badass version.”
Badass?
More like pissed off.
“You
can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” Max said.
Reagan
shrank back into the darkness several more steps. She’d hoped no one in the
audience had read the articles yet. No such luck.
“I
appreciate that,” Max said.
Who
was he talking to? Someone in the crowd? Reagan couldn’t hear a thing.
“We
made amends long ago,” Dare said into his microphone. “It’s not going to break
up the band.”
Apparently
the fans were concerned about tension between Max and Dare over Vic. And yeah,
she was sure that was far more important to the fans than finding out their
temporary rhythm guitarist spread her legs for two men. At least the article hadn’t
blatantly claimed that she took them simultaneously.
“I
can’t speak for Trey,” Dare said.
Reagan
still couldn’t hear what the fans were asking, so she eased forward, taking her
earpiece out and straining for the thread of the conversation.
Logan
was standing off to the side, near the stage wing, staring at the floor and
shaking his head. She could only imagine the thoughts swirling through his
mind. She felt bad for him. Toni had betrayed all of them, but they’d get over
it. Reagan wasn’t sure if Logan ever would. He’d fallen for Toni hard. His
heart must be breaking.
“For
the last time,” Steve yelled from behind his drum kit, “I’m not gay. I get more
pussy than a crazy cat lady on free-pet adoption day.”
“Would
you stop listening to Exodus End’s music if he was gay?” Reagan yelled at the
crowd, her emotions so overwhelming that her hands were shaking. “Our private
lives are none of your fucking business! We’re here to rock, not have a
discussion.”
“What
do you know?” someone yelled from the audience. “You’re not even a real
member of the band!”
Reagan
didn’t see which loud-mouthed guy yelled those hurtful words, but they struck
her in the chest hard enough to steal her breath. She couldn’t argue; he was correct.
But it still hurt to always be the outsider.
“Reagan’s
right—we’re here to rock,” Max said. “Time to crank, crank, crank it up.” He
made a twisting motion with his free hand, shaking
The
crowd cheered as Max was launched upward out of the stage floor and landed in a
semi-crouched position, the note he carried reverberating through the stadium.
Max might be capable of impregnating a bandmate’s girlfriend, but he was an
amazing performer. And even if Dare had hated Max in the past, his skill on the
guitar was unmatched. That was what should matter, not their personal lives.
Not their looks or who they were fucking. Their talent. Their ability to
perform and make music that touched the world.
Logan
might have horrible taste in women, but when he played that bass, it made every
inch of Reagan’s body throb to his infectious rhythm. She couldn’t be the only
woman in the room who got off on that feeling. And, sure, Steve could be a
dick, and she didn’t really believe he was gay, but who fucking cared if he
was? His drumming was phenomenal. Why did people read that garbage? Why did
they slur the celebrities that brought them entertainment? Even if they didn’t
like metal music and saw no value in its dark, heavy sound and passionate
lyrics, the musicians were still people. They had feelings.
I
have feelings, she thought, punishing her guitar with an even heavier hand to
keep her tears in check.
Fuck
them all. It was her life, and she’d live it how she wanted to.
When
the song ended, Reagan lifted her head, surprised to find herself live in
concert. The crowd cheered with their usual enthusiasm, but she stepped back
into the darkest recesses of the stage just outside the perimeter of the
brightly lit drum kit to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. Dare
offered her a pleased smile and a thumbs-up. She had no idea why.
“That’s
our Reagan,” she heard Max say over the sound system. “A more badass version.”
Badass?
More like pissed off.
“You
can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” Max said.
Reagan
shrank back into the darkness several more steps. She’d hoped no one in the
audience had read the articles yet. No such luck.
“I
appreciate that,” Max said.
Who
was he talking to? Someone in the crowd? Reagan couldn’t hear a thing.
“We
made amends long ago,” Dare said into his microphone. “It’s not going to break
up the band.”
Apparently
the fans were concerned about tension between Max and Dare over Vic. And yeah,
she was sure that was far more important to the fans than finding out their
temporary rhythm guitarist spread her legs for two men. At least the article hadn’t
blatantly claimed that she took them simultaneously.
“I
can’t speak for Trey,” Dare said.
Reagan
still couldn’t hear what the fans were asking, so she eased forward, taking her
earpiece out and straining for the thread of the conversation.
Logan
was standing off to the side, near the stage wing, staring at the floor and
shaking his head. She could only imagine the thoughts swirling through his
mind. She felt bad for him. Toni had betrayed all of them, but they’d get over
it. Reagan wasn’t sure if Logan ever would. He’d fallen for Toni hard. His
heart must be breaking.
“For
the last time,” Steve yelled from behind his drum kit, “I’m not gay. I get more
pussy than a crazy cat lady on free-pet adoption day.”
“Would
you stop listening to Exodus End’s music if he was gay?” Reagan yelled at the
crowd, her emotions so overwhelming that her hands were shaking. “Our private
lives are none of your fucking business! We’re here to rock, not have a
discussion.”
“What
do you know?” someone yelled from the audience. “You’re not even a real
member of the band!”
Reagan
didn’t see which loud-mouthed guy yelled those hurtful words, but they struck
her in the chest hard enough to steal her breath. She couldn’t argue; he was correct.
But it still hurt to always be the outsider.
“Reagan’s
right—we’re here to rock,” Max said. “Time to crank, crank, crank it up.” He
made a twisting motion with his free hand, shaking
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