Behind the Lens (Boys of Fallout Book 2) Page 11

  “I’ve only ever screamed on stage. That’s what I do,” Brent says, rubbing his hands a bit too hard with his napkin.

  “Yeah, man, and you’re good at it,” James replies, noticing his discomfort. “Kie, you want to trade spots with one of us?”

  Kie shakes his head. “Nah, man. I’ve got enough girls after my dick just playing bass.”

  I choke on my sandwich, and Brent taps my back before I’m able to stop coughing enough to take a sip of my soda.

  “Really, Nat–you should be used to him by now,” James says, chuckling to himself.

  “It’s hard to get used to that level of arrogance,” I reply, and Kie winks at me.

  “Give it another month,” Aiden says. “And nothing will surprise you that comes out of his mouth.”

  Chapter 20

  Each of the tour stops is blurring into one another as we head up the East Coast towards Mass. We’re in Pennsylvania now, and I’m surprised that we’ve maintained the same line-up for the past two and a half months. Chaos Coma, along with Saints and Sinners play the same exact set every night, and I wonder how they’re not bored with it, but after catching how glazed over their eyes are I realize they’re too stoned to care. Fade Burn and Makeshift Chemistry always mix it up, but they also have enough material to do that. It seems Fade Burn is always coming up with new music and testing it out with the crowd. The lyrics have moved from the somber lovesick songs to something different, and I wonder if it has to do with Tara. She’s there every single night waiting for Adam to get off the stage. It’s obvious they’re close, but I can’t figure out exactly what their relationship is. Tonight is no different, and I take a picture of her and Adam as he exits the stage. I smile as I look down at the image on the preview. I may hate wedding photography, but there is something to be said about capturing a moment where it’s obvious how much two people love one another.

  I head backstage to where Makeshift Chemistry is getting ready for their pre-concert huddle, and as I look around, I realize Brent isn’t there. My gaze moves to my watch. The band only has a few minutes before they need to go on stage. James looks up at me and mouths the words Where’s Brent? The crowd behind me is already raging, and cold sweat drips down my neck as I crane my neck looking for him. I shrug and mouth, Bus?

  James’ head drops back, and his hand goes over his face into his hair. I walk behind him, squeezing his shoulder.

  “I’ll go check,” I say, and James smiles his thanks.

  I run out to the bus and open the door, sticking my head in. “Brent? Are you in here?”

  I go up the steps, and my blood rushes in my ears. It’s unlike Brent to not be backstage with the guys, and there’s a sinking feeling in my stomach that I can’t shake. “Brent?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, coming out of the bathroom.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, my eyes washing over his pale face. The veins in his neck bulge from stress, and I step forward to put my hand on his elbow, but he brushes passed me before I can touch him. I turn to follow him, and I can see the numbing spray in the back of his pocket.

  I grab his wrist to stop him. “Brent — no, you can’t use that stuff.”

  Brent turns to face me, and his nostrils flare as he breathes in. “Plenty of metal screamers do.”

  I can hear the roughness in his voice, and I shake my head, my mouth open in shock.

  “Yeah, right before they blow their vocal chords out because they can’t feel them!” I say, and he licks his lips as he shakes my hand off.

  “They still scream afterward,” he replies, looking at the ground.

  I step away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Have you heard what they sound like when they sing? They’re never the same after that.”

  “It’s a good thing my voice doesn’t matter then,” Brent replies, his jaw tightening as his gaze comes up to my face.

  I swallow as I look down at my camera. “It matters to me.”

  He scoffs, and his hand goes to the back of his neck as he replies, “You have rules.”

  My head shoots up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He wants this too.

  Brent presses his fingers to his temples as he shakes his head. “Nothing…never mind.”

  “Brent, come on,” I reply, the words sticking in my throat as his eyes meet mine. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how much I care about you!”

  “You care about all of us, and that’s great, but I know what I’m doing,” he says, heading down the stairs.

  I grab his hand, and he turns. Our faces are level as he asks, “What?”

  “There’s a difference…” I say, my eyes searching his face. I don’t know what to say–or how to say it. “I know you, Brent. Far better than I know any of them, and way more than I’ve ever known anyone I toured with. And…”

  “And?” he pushes.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says, but as soon as he says it he drops his head back. “I’m sorry Nat. That sounded nasty. I don’t mean to be. But this is my job, and I have to do it. Just like you have rules for yours. I have rules for mine. I scream. I don’t sing. I’ve accepted that…and I have to do my job.”

  I drop his hand, nodding. “So there’s nothing I can say that will make you stop?”

  I know the band is now officially late for their set, but this matters. He can’t wreck his voice just for one night.

  Brent closes his eyes as he shakes his head. “Not really.”

  He takes the final step, and I bite my lip.

  “Please,” I say, my voice a whisper.

  His shoulders tense as he stops again, and he slips his hand into his back pocket, pulling out the numbing spray before giving it to me.

  “You might need to make me some tea with honey after this,” he says as his eyes come up to mine.

  “Thank you,” I say as he wraps my fingers around the bottle before kissing them.

  “You better be ready to play nurse,” he says, a crooked grin coming to his lips as he drops my hand and I follow him towards the door to the venue.

  I chuck the spray into a trash can as we make our way backstage.

  “Where the fuck were you?” Kie asks as we come up the stairs to where the band is huddled.

  “We were discussing role play,” I reply with narrowed eyes, and Brent chokes on his laughter as Kie blinks at me a few times.

  “Alright, while I feel like I missed something really good–we really need to get on stage,” James says, signaling for Brent to join the group.

  The guys bend their heads in, and I step back as they begin to jump up and down.

  “Three…Two…One!” they scream, and I push passed them to the stage, where I turn. I capture their energy as they burst onto the stage and Brent stops, bending his head down to me.

  “I can’t promise you my vocals won’t be messed up after tonight,” he says as James tosses him the mike and he catches it. My face heats as he looks down at me. I’m entirely aware fans are watching this interaction, but at the moment, I could care less.

  I reach up and cup his cheek. “Just try not to fuck them up too much. I can only be a nurse if there’s something left for me to fix.”

  His lips spread into a smile and he raises an eyebrow. “I’ll make sure there’s something.”

  I nod, dropping my hand and he goes to the center of the stage. He claps the mike between his hands as he screams into the mike before each clap. “Rise! Rise!”

  Chapter 21

  My nerves are fried by the end of the concert. Brent is sweating profusely; more than normal, and I can tell his voice is beginning to strain. As he leans forward, leg on the podium to scream the lyrics of the last song, I can see his hand on his thigh. His knuckles are white from squeezing so hard, and I know he’s in pain. I fight the urge to rush to him as James thanks the crowd, and they bow. The crowd screams for an encore. Ev
ery night they come out and play at least one, if not two, more songs in response. When they get backstage James begins the nodding of the countdown to return to the stage.

  “Dude,” Brent says, his voice barely audible and rough. “I can’t do it.”

  “Come on, man!” Kie says, knocking shoulders with him.

  I grab Brent’s shoulder as he titters in pain. He puts his arm around my shoulder and lowers his head to his bicep.

  “Burns so bad,” Brent says, and I bite the inside of my lip to keep the tears from coming down my face. The pain comes off of him in waves as he leans against me, the crowd hollering for one more song as the guys stare at him with wide eyes and open mouths. I can tell this has never happened before.

  “What’s wrong?” Brad asks, grabbing a towel from a pile to wipe his forehead.

  “Brent screwed up his vocal chords,” I say as I push passed them.

  “No shit,” Brad replies, his face paling as he watches me drag Brent away.

  “I’ll be right there, guys. Go on and do some sick solo or something,” James says, and the rest of the band rushes back onto the stage. “Wait, Nat…Brent, are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, and his voice sounds as if his mouth is filled with gravel. “Shit happens all the time.”

  James looks at me, and I nod. “Not the first time I’ve seen it.”

  The first time I’ve cared, though.

  “You look like you’re going to pass out,” James says, putting his hand on the arm not wrapped around my shoulders.

  Brent doesn’t answer. Instead, he just nods.

  “We’ll be done in like half an hour. We’re supposed to do a signing, too,” James says, and his jaw tightens as he looks at his bandmate.

  “I just need some ice or something,” Brent replies, his eyes half-shut. “Then I can come sign too.”

  James raises an eyebrow, and I shake my head. James squeezes Brent’s arm before going back on stage.

  We walk in silence to the tour bus, and I lead Brent to the shower.

  “What happened to you were going to leave something for me to fix up?” I ask, trying to make light of the situation when my chest is so tight I can barely inhale.

  “There’s still something left,” Brent replies, and his voice cracks. He tries to clear his throat, but his body trembles in pain. He manages to squeak out, “See, I’m still talking.”

  “Barely,” I say, brushing a soggy piece of hair out of his eyes. “Do you have enough strength to get those skinny jeans off and get your ass in the shower?”

  His eyebrows go into his forehead. “What if I say no?”

  “Then I’m going to shove you in there fully dressed,” I say, and he looks at the ceiling before nodding.

  He pulls away from me and peels his shirt off to throw it in the hamper. He teeters, and I grab his arm, so he doesn’t fall over.

  “Can you just support me, so I don’t fall on my ass?” Brent asks, and I nod as my eyes slip to his hands unzipping his pants.

  Don’t look, Natalie!

  I stare straight ahead as my mind wanders to what he must look like naked. I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear him kick the pants away.

  “I should be good,” Brent says, and I accidentally catch a glimpse of him in the mirror in his boxer briefs.

  Shit. Better than imagined.

  His eyes meet mine in the reflection, and they have that playful gleam that accompanies the smirk twitching weakly on his lips. I push open the bathroom door as I hear him turn on the water and go to plop on my bed, staring at the bunk above me as I try to forget the image of him standing in just his boxer briefs. I stand, going to the bus door and lock it before stripping down myself. I figure he won’t be out anytime soon, but as I lean down to grab a pair of yoga pants the bathroom door creaks open. I yelp, turning to face him, only in a towel, as I stand there in a black lace bra and matching barely-there boy shorts.

  I press my hand to my forehead as I close my eyes. My face heats as lower my hand and squeeze it into a fist. “Well, I guess we’re even.”

  Brent’s mouth hangs slightly open as his eyes travel up the length of my body, taking in my curves before landing on my face.

  “I don’t quite think so,” he manages to say, his voice a harsh whisper even though I know he’s trying to speak normally.

  “How’s that?” I ask, as I lean back down and pull on my yoga pants.

  Brent finally manages to shut his mouth, and I can’t help the way my whole body tingles as his eyes move over it.

  “Uh…the yeah…lingerie part,” he says. “I think you’re winning.”

  I point my finger at him. “Or you’re winning, depending on what way you look at it.”

  Brent opens his drawer and pulls out a pair of pajama bottoms. “I think I’m winning.”

  I smile at him as he turns back into the bathroom, winking as he shuts the door behind him. I lean down and pull a shirt I’ve been eying out of his drawer, yanking it over my head before heading into the kitchen. I grab a cup, pouring a bottle of water into it before getting my tea and honey from the cupboard. It’s one of the only food and beverage items that I don’t have to hide from the guys.

  “Hey!” Brent says as he comes out of the bathroom and sees me standing in his shirt.

  I shrug. “This is my fee. I nurse you back to health. I get your Deftones White Pony shirt.”

  Brent raises an eyebrow at me before sitting at the table. “Fine…looks better on you anyways….although…”

  I roll my eyes. “Shirtless was better.”

  Brent doesn’t respond, just chuckles to himself as he leans back. He cringes, and I know even that small amount of vocal cord stimulation hurt him. I pull the cup out of the microwave as it beeps and stick the tea bag in it before setting the timer for three minutes. I step forward, putting my finger under his chin.

  “Open,” I say.

  Brent does as I ask, and I cringe as I look at the raw red of his throat.

  “I think you need to go to the doctor,” I reply as he closes his mouth. His head hangs in my hands, and I run my fingers over the scruff on his chin. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Where am I going to go around here?” he asks. “And I don’t have health insurance.”

  “We’re heading to Mass next, and luckily, I have an uncle who just happens to be a doctor,” I reply as I turn back to the tea as the timer goes off. I put two spoonfuls of honey into the cup, stirring until it vanishes into the liquid and then grab my lemon juice from the fridge. I put a small amount in and then hand Brent the cup.

  “And here I thought you were going to play nurse,” he replies, holding the cup up to his nose and sniffing. He cringes but brings it to his lips and takes a sip.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Every good nurse knows when to call in the doctor. Is it as bad as you thought?”

  “No,” he replies with a shrug. “It’s actually pretty good.”

  I squeeze his shoulder before sitting down across from him. “I’m also dragging the whole band to my parent’s house for Christmas Eve dinner…and Christmas too. We can all sleep in real beds. Well, you guys will have to fight over the futon, but you get the point.”

  “Sounds great,” Brent replies, and his voice is raspy. He closes his eyes and shifts uncomfortably.

  “Painkillers?” I ask, and he opens his eyes. “Over the counter, unless you want me to go in the trash and get you that numbing shit?”

  He shakes his head. “The fact I didn’t use it is probably the only reason I still have vocal cords.”

  I stand, going to my drawer and take out a bottle. I hand Brent a few pills before turning to the fridge. There’s nothing to eat.

  “Pizza?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

  Brent pops the pills in his mouth and takes a slow sip of tea before nodding. “You read my mind. Hopefully, I can swallow it.”

  “We could always do baby bird style?” I say as I grab my cell phone.

  “Not
really the way I imagined exchanging spit with you,” Brent replies, and my head shoots up.

  My eyes fall to his lips before I turn, inhaling as quietly as I can. The idea of leaning down and pressing my lips against his is far too appealing.

  “What kind of pizza?” I ask as I pretend to be interested in finding a local delivery service.

  “Let’s stick with easy to chew–just plain?”

  I nod, trying to shake the thought from my mind.

  But it’s really hard when I know what he looks like half-naked.

  And even harder when I remember how his eyes wandered over my skin.

  Pizza, Nat. Pizza.

  Chapter 22

  When we stop at my uncle’s practice it turns out Brent will be okay, but he needs to take at least a week to rest his vocal chords and the next time he feels his throat is raw, he’s not to scream. I glance over at him when my uncle says that and Brent nods, but I wonder if he will. We head to my parent’s house after, and I can’t believe I’m back after only three months. We file off the bus, and my stomach twists as I stare at the contemporary exterior, my chest rising as I breathe in the bitter New England air.

  This is home…sort of. It’s the first Christmas I’ve spent here in a long time. Most of the time I’m so far away that I just phone in. The Christmas lights are lit, shooting shadows across the crisp snow. My eyes move to the driveway, and I step backward as I stare at the red Volvo — Luke’s car.

  “So this is home?” James asks, putting his arm over my shoulder as I blink rapidly, trying to comprehend what the hell my parents are thinking.

  I swallow, shaking my head as I try to think. “I don’t really have a home, per say.”

  “We can understand that,” Brent replies, giving me a smile. I can’t help but smile back.

  “I’m freezing my nuts off. House is nice outside, but I bet it’s better inside,” Kie says, pursing his lips at me as he nods at the door.

  “Lead the way,” I reply, nodding for him to proceed. The other guys follow, and Brent falls into step beside me.