Page 66 of Beyond the Stix

“I’m sure Dante can work their magic and get you an appointment,” I suggest with a smirk as Danny takes the lead toward the lower back platform of the stage.

“It’s okay. Let’s focus on these ten minutes, so we can have a kickass time tonight.”

The stage manager directs us to get on stage, and Tobias cues us on the order of our entry.

The area where the crowd will gather tonight is empty, but I can see the growing number of fans who are already filling the outer perimeter of the venue.

“I swear it’s twice as many as last year,” Callum says as he hooks up his guitar.

“That’s crazy,” Rafe adds as he plugs in his Strat and tests it.

“I don’t care how many people are out there, this is going to be the bomb,” Bobby sing-songs, with a slick dance move toward his keyboard set up.

“Fucking goof,” Danny chuckles, as he takes center stage. I get behind my drums, while our sound and tech guys establish our lights and graphics.

As I settle in my seat, I hear my father’s voice in my head.Gobeyond the stix, son.

A small smile crests my face, and I utter, “Tonight will be for you, Dad.”

After Danny does a mic check, I kick off with a partial song from our last album. Even though it’s practice, I give a hundred percent to the quick jam session.

With everything on point, I get off the stage, feeling renewed energy coursing through my veins. That verve carries methrough the interview time, and then to the signing, which ends up being much longer than what we had last year.

“Now that’s what I want to see. That energy,” Dante says with smile that shows off their white teeth. “Ron will be proud.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I say, dropping onto the bus’s leather sofa and leaning my head back, exhaustion winning out. The four of us—minus Danny, are lounging about like lazy dogs on a hot summer day. Even though the it’s October, and the weather in the desert is still practically in the mid-seventies.

I casually pull my phone from my back pocket and glance at the screen. Nothing but social media notifications. No messages from John. Disappointment churns in my gut. I so want to tell him to go to hell for keeping things from me again, and making my fucking heart bleed.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, and close my eyes. Then my cell vibrates, and despite my nerves gnarling up like a tangled ball of yarn, I manage to casually grab for my phone. This is it. Everything I said to John—especially the apology, he can shove up his ass.

But it isn’t him. The number showing on the screen isn’t one I’m familiar with.

Do you miss me?

What the hell?

Me: Who is this?

Guess.

This is definitely not John. He doesn’t play games like this. And it’s not Jessup, since I blocked his ass. Then who could this be? The person could be texting the wrong number.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Danny loudly announces, pulling my attention away from the screen. My best friend has a blissed-out look on his face. With Tobias’s smug smile, we all know what they were doing in the back bedroom.

I fake-glare at my friend, before rolling my eyes. “Stop smiling.” I raise my hand.

“What?” Danny abruptly stops, a mask of virtuousness on his face, but he knows damn well that I know.

“Don’t make me say it,” I counter.

“Say what?” Danny says innocently.

“Come on, we all know you had a quickie back there,” I huff out. “You were louder than a two-dollar whore.”

Callum sits up. “He did? I didn’t hear anything.”

“How could you not? Danny’s far from quiet,” Rafe chimes in. “Tobias, harder—hey baby.”