The thing about flashbacks is that they really do your head in. His relationship with Fallon was the first to spring into mind. I’d been on tour, and he’d stayed in Los Angeles to help Blake and Jenna with the demos I’d left behind. He’d been there for Fallon when she’d overdosed, and when she needed to pour her little, black heart out. He’d been there for her the first time she sought out Will Bushell, and he’d been there for them when they snuck around behind my back and started fucking at the very same Chateau Marmont I stayed at these days, because I’d had to sell my L.A. apartment and couldn’t even stomach the idea of calling myself a permanent resident of that god-awful city.
“Let it all out,” Lucas said.
I leaned forward and watched them through the crack between the door and the frame. They were sitting on the same loveseat, her head pressed against his chest.
He kissed her forehead.
He kissed her forehead.
He kissed her forehead.
He kissed her goddamn fucking forehead.
“I love my brother, Luc. But I don’t like him. At all.”
“We’ll sort it out, Indie. We will.”
We? Since when were they a ‘we’? He was barely a fucking ‘he,’ acting like a pussy every turn of the way.
Stardust sniffed and pulled away, wiping the tears on her face with the back of her hand. “It’s like ever since we lost our parents he’s just this crazy, volatile person. Who does that, Luc? Who does what he did tonight?”
“Your brother is hurting,” Lucas said, and something inside me twisted like barbwire. Her brother sounded a lot like me. Maybe it was premature to think she’d get attached to me. Why would she want another knobhead to stress about?
“Sometimes I think I should just hand in my resignation and go back. Now’s not the time to be away from home.”
“Stay.” He squeezed her palm. “The money you make will be able to help your family more than any pep talk you could give Craig, and we both know that.”
I wanted so badly to push the door open on them, waltz in, yank her up, and escort her outside before I beat him senseless. In fact, the only reason why I hadn’t done that was because Stardust seemed genuinely distressed, and for the first time in forever I allowed someone else to steal a small slice of the limelight and have it their way.
She didn’t need me; she needed him.
Did it make me want to kill him? Yes.
Did it make it any less true? No.
Anyway, that’s the short story of how I ended up ruining Lucas’ drum set.
I was six songs into the gig when I turned to take a breather from looking at all the faceless faces below me. I caught Waitrose glancing sideways and smiling at someone. At the someone I’d fingered twenty-four hours ago. That had done it. I’d walked over and broken his drums, admiring the fact I’d held back from yanking out the stand and smacking him with it. Baby steps, right?
“What the fuck!” He’d jumped up.
“The fuck is you’re fired,” I’d said, already storming backstage. “And what a fucking fuck that is indeed, my friend.”
I was now chasing Indie. Chasing her. As in, spotting her and going after her. Perhaps it was not my finest hour, but it made sense to do it at the time. She turned around and power walked toward the main dressing room, probably to Blake, most likely to make sure I didn’t kill her or anything. I grabbed the tip of her flared black dress and yanked her into my chest. She gasped, falling into my body, and to her horror—my erection.
“I get that you’re going through shit, Stardust. We all are. That’s the nature of being born into this chaos called life. But this is getting a little old, and not so fun anymore. So I’ve decided to fire Lucas, just to make sure you don’t run off to him next time your brother pisses you off. Where’s my thank you for that, huh? We both know it should’ve been you I gave the boot to.”
She turned around, and my heart had a hard-on at the prospect of how she was going to react. Not one to disappoint, Indie’s cheeks blazed red as she raised her hand and, instead of slapping me, pushed me with every ounce of power in her, slamming my back against the wall.
“You don’t have to fire me, because I quit,” she announced, her voice pitching high. Just then, Blake appeared from my dressing room, looking ready to admit himself to the ER with a severe heart attack.
“You stormed off the stage?” He looked so wired I thought he was going to explode. A drop of saliva decorated his chin. He looked rabid. I kept stalking behind Stardust, who was still running away from the scene, even though there was nowhere for her to go. She couldn’t leave the stadium without us. Blake followed both of us. Cirque de stupid. And, of course, I was the leading clown.