Page 11 of A Little Christmas! 4: Song

As he and the singer were dragged off the stage, Gage’s focus turned back towards Song, only to see the boy standing off to the side with the rhythm guitarist, one hand pressed to the side of his face.

“Shit,” Gage muttered, ignoring Max’s“what”in his haste to shove through the crowd so he could reach the stage.

The barricade that had been erected between the stage and the crowd had gotten shoved flush against it by the mosh pit, making it easy for Gage to use it to help him boost himself up onto the stage. Song’s eyes widened when Gage stepped in front of him and gently reached to turn his head so he could see the damage.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” Song muttered. “Sorry you had to see that train wreck.”

“The only part that was a train wreck was your singer; the rest of you put on a pretty badass show that I couldn’t care lessabout at this moment. We need to get some ice on your face; it’s already starting to swell.”

“I caught an elbow trying to break them up.”

“Next time, just let your guitarist choke the life out of him and be done with it,” Gage said as he turned away from Song to motion to the member of the security staff closest to the stage.

“Grab me some ice from the bar, will ya?”

“Yeah, I got you, man,” the guy said before hurrying away.

“I’d have warned you that I was going to be here if I’d known this was where you were playing tonight,” Gage told him, not wanting Song to think he was up to something underhanded by coming here alone. “A buddy of mine manages the headliners and invited me to check them out.”

He left out the part about Max scouting them, especially with the way everything had gone down. Just taking in Song’s slumped shoulders and utterly dejected look, Gage knew he was even more embarrassed now than when the fight had broken out.

When security returned with the ice wrapped in some paper towels, Gage gently placed it against Song’s face and escorted him off the stage to the back, where a whole lot of yelling, mostly by the still enraged guitarist, was going on. Sticking his fingers in his mouth, Gage let out an ear-piercing whistle that brought silence to the space as several heads turned his way, including the guitarist, who stood, blinking for a few seconds. Until he got a look at Song.

He immediately broke away from the men holding him back from reaching the singer a second time to stalk over, his fury morphing into apologetic shame.

“Shit, Song, I am so fucking sorry!”

“Apologize by helping me vote that fucker out of the band!” Song snapped. “I am not going to New York with him singinglike that. They’ll burn the stage down with us on it, and it will be all his fault!”

“Fuck you, man, they loved me out there!” The singer bellowed across the backstage area.

For a moment, it looked like the guitarist was about to turn around and stomp a mudhole in his ass, then he took a deep breath, lips moving like he was counting as he blew it out.

“I have not taken enough anger management classes yet to deal with his shit!” the guitarist grumbled.

“Is that a yes to him being gone then?” Song asked.

“Can I punctuate it by launching him across the parking lot?” the guitarist snarled.

“No, but you can launch Mark if he doesn’t agree that he’s gotta go, ‘cause I have had enough of his bullshit too,” the bassist said to the right of where Gage remained beside Song, proud of the way he was taking charge of the situation by trying to rid them of a problem bandmate. “Tonight was the last straw! “I’m done with his ass too; he’s out.”

“Are we making this unanimous, or are you still on the Carson train, Mark?” Song called out, then winced and pressed the ice a bit tighter against his cheek.

“Consider the train derailed, and Carson, you can consider your ass fired,” the one Gage now knew was named Mark announced. “If we can’t replace you before New York, we’ll just have to cancel.”

“Replace this!” Carson snarled, grabbing his junk before promptly puking all over himself.

A collective groan went up, but not even one of his now former bandmates moved to help him. Song just shook his head and stood with shoulders slumped until Gage nudged his shoulder to get Song to look up at him.

“Want to listen to the rest of the bands with me and let me introduce you to my friend Max?”

“I doubt he’d want to meet me after what just happened.”

Snorting, Gage watched people give the puking singer a wide berth as he continued to projectile vomit beer all over himself and the floor in front of him.

“He’s seen worse,” Gage declared. “A lot worse. So how about it?”

“Yeah, let’s go. If I have to look at him any longer, I’ll be tempted to launch him across the parking lot.”