Chapter 11 Jealous God 1
Jax
I had done a lot of foolish shit in my life.
Like a ton.
But I had never gone on stage so hammered that I almost fell off and had to be carried off before the set was even over. I had certainly never been as wasted as our lead singer was tonight. Hell, it wasn’t even just tonight. Dion, sex god and crooner extraordinaire, had been teetering on the edge of a total nervous breakdown since we had kicked off this leg of our world tour in Las Vegas ten days ago. Usually, I wouldn’t have been too worried. He was going through a rough time with the press since his relationship with our old drummer Isla had publicly combusted.
But this was different.
This wasn’t a rockstar having a good time and pushing boundaries. This was someone I cared about hurtling full tilt towards death, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it until the tour was over. And by then I was afraid it would be too late. Dion was going downhill rapidly.
He was spiralling, drinking heavily between shows. Drinking and maybe more. And that by itself was so out of character for Dion that it was scary. Sure, he wasn’t above the odd use of recreational drugs. None of us were, but this felt different.
“Thank fuck that is over.” Finally, back on his feet, Dion gripped one of the iron support girders off stage, swaying where he stood.
One look at him and it was clear that he wasn’t the man he used to be. The fire and passion were gone, and I couldn’t be sure when that had happened. Had he been this miserable back in Vegas when we had picked up Rock Song of the Year, the pinnacle of our career so far? If he had been, I hadn’t noticed.
None of us had.
It was pretty hard to miss now, though.
With my back to the darkened stage, I took a deep breath and let the sound of the crowd wash over me. They were screaming for us, just like they had every night we had played so far. Their voices were loud and insistent. And usually, we would have given into them and bounded back onto the stage to give them one last song.
Tonight, there would be no encore.
There probably wouldn’t be for the rest of the tour. Not with Dion acting the way he was.
Our manager, Erik, just wouldn’t allow it; it was too much of a risk. Dionysus Rising might have to finish this tour, but if the look on his face was anything to go by, we would do so quickly and quietly. There was no way that Dion…
My thoughts scattered as Erik himself stepped out of the wings. His blond hair was tousled, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up over his tan forearms. We had worked with Erik for a long time, long before the band had found even an inch of success, and never in all of those years had I ever seen him look so pissed off.
“What the hell was that?” Stopping right in front of our band’s namesake, Erik drew himself up to his full height. Things were about to come to a head, and Dion couldn’t even see it coming. Or maybe he could, and he was just past caring. “What the actual fuck, Dion?”
Dion shrugged, his eyes glazed and unfocused. I had never seen him care less than he did right at that moment. It was a scary thought, because as much as I hated to admit it, Dion was the glue that held Dionysus Rising together.
“Fuck off, Erik.” He waved our manager away, and Erik spluttered, at a loss for words for a few seconds. When he composed himself, I saw violence shining out of his eyes. Erik was the calm one out of all of us, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be an asshole and give us all a run for our money when he needed to.
He didn’t do it often, but one look at his face and I knew he was about to blow. “If this is about Lo—”.
He didn’t even get to finish the sentence. Dion swung for him. It was a sloppy punch made even sloppier by how wasted he was. Erik side stepped him easily, catching his shoulders and holding him at arm’s length.
“Brother…” Tate spoke for the first time since we had left the stage, and the judgement in his voice was palpable.
“Don’t fucking mention her name. Don’t...” Dion’s voice was ragged, and my frown deepened. I was pretty sure Erik had been asking about Lola. Which made absolutely no sense. Why was Dion so messed up over our drummer’s baby sister? Sure, everyone kind of knew they had hooked up at the Summit Awards in Vegas. Although none of us spoke about it. That still didn’t explain why Dion was acting the way he was.
I risked a glance at Louis. “Do you have any idea what is going on?”
In answer, the newest member of Dionysus Rising shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked away.
Yeah, he knew what all of this was about. He knew, and, like Erik, he wasn’t telling the rest of us.
“Want to let the rest of us into your little secret?” Usually, Tate was the life and soul of the party, especially after a show, but he spoke softly, gently almost. There was anger in his words, though. And that was fine. I was angry as well. Dion’s very public meltdowns were affecting all of us.
“It’s got nothing to do with me,” Louis huffed. As our most recent member, he was the most disposable, though none of us wanted yet another change in our lineup. When Isla, our former drummer, had fallen pregnant by someone else and left, it had almost broken us. No one wanted that again. Plus, Louis was a phenomenal drummer. He brought a new energy to us. And it was an energy I liked.
“So, you didn’t…” Dion rounded on him. “It wasn’t your idea?”
“It was mine.” Erik shook his shoulders, bringing him back around to face him. “Wesley called me and asked if I knew anyone. I put Lola’s name forward.”
There was an uneasy silence as each of us tried to make sense of what was being said.
None of it made a lick of sense to me. I threw a glance at Tate, who looked just as confused. I had a feeling they were talking about Wesley Gunner, the lead singer of Louis' old band. We weren’t exactly friends, but we had hung out a few times over the years. It was one reason we had known Louis was a perfect fit for us. We had heard him play many times. I just didn’t know what was going on between Wes and Lola that would make Dion an even more irritable bastard than usual.
That was the part that made little sense. To any of us, by the looks of it.
“You put them together? Why, for fuck’s sake, why?”
“It was for one party. Wes needed a pretty girl on his arm for a club appearance and Lola was local. It meant nothing. I doubt she even had a good time and she sure as hell—”
“Then why isn’t she answering my emails?”
This was all too much for Louis. His shoulders were stiff as he walked past us all. “I don’t need to hear any more of this.”
“Have you said something to her?” Dion snagged the drummer's wrist, whirling him around. “Have you been badmouthing me to her? Is that why she is ghosting me?”
“You’re doing this all by yourself, Dion.” Louis' voice was angry, and growing angrier by the second. He snatched his arm away. “Every fucking day you’re in the papers, and the headlines are never good. If my sister is ghosting you, then you have no one to fucking blame but yourself.”
A stunned silence fell over the group.
“Louis is right, Dion, and you know it, which is why I’ve got you some help. I should have done it weeks ago.” Erik nodded at the rest of us, silently telling us he was finally doing what we were paying him to do. I didn’t know the extent of what had happened in Vegas, but I had a feeling we were all going to find out sooner rather than later.
“You’ve got him some help?”
Erik nodded. “Yeah, I’ve employed someone. She should be with us tomorrow afternoon.”
“Come on.” Wrapping my arm around Dion’s waist, I felt the full weight of his heavy-ass frame settle against me. And God, he was heavy. Not fat heavy either. Dion was built solidly, with muscles on muscles. It drew women to him in droves. He was the face of Dionysus Rising, and we used his sex appeal and cover boy muscles to our full advantage. But right at that second, it was nothing but a massive pain in the ass.
Anyone who weighed as much as that asshole did should not be getting fall-down drunk, forcing me to carry his limp ass back to the tour bus.
Tonight, at least, there would be no after-show drinks in the dressing room or anywhere else. Dion needed to sleep it off. Tomorrow, whoever Erik had brought on board to help him would hopefully start doing their magic. Dion was one of my oldest friends, and I wanted him back.
And not this shell of a man, either.
“I hope you get the mother of all hangovers, asshole,” I muttered as he stumbled forward and almost caused both of us to go down heavy. My arm tightened around him at the last minute, righting us both before we kissed the carpet.
“You love me really.” His words were so slurred that they were barely intelligible.
“It’s a good job I do, because you’re—”
“Need a drink. Need to phone Lola.” He mumbled so much over her name that it came out more ‘Lubla’ than anything else.
“You don’t need either of those things, Dion. You need sleep.” Heaving him back upright, I tried to walk again. “Come on.”
“Asked her to marry me.”
I don’t even think he meant to say it out loud, but his words hit me up like I had walked into a brick wall. I was so shocked that I almost dropped him.
“You married Lola?” I racked my brains to try to work out when it might have happened and came up blank. But then again, so much had happened in Las Vegas that I hadn’t even thought about babysitting Dion. Everyone knew, even Louis, although he staunchly refused to say anything about it, that something had happened between Lola and Dion. His interest in her had been clear from the moment she had appeared on her brother’s arm.
But marriage?
Even by our crazy standards, that was, well, crazy.
“When the hell did you marry Lola and who knows?”
Erik obviously knew something, but did he know this? Could it be something he kept away from the rest of the band? It affected us all. And Louis… What the hell did Louis have to say about all of this? We needed him. If he bailed, then we would be stuck on tour without a drummer, and it wasn’t like Isla could step in.
I swore.
Isla. Fucking Isla. Did she know? I couldn’t even imagine what she was going through if she did. Isla had loved Dion since they were kids. In her head, it was always meant to be them, forever. Yes, she had fucked up and messed around on him, and no one could blame Dion for getting out of a relationship that had made him unhappy for as long as he had been in it. But still… Isla was my friend, too. I wanted her to be ok.
I wanted them both to be ok.
“She didn’t show...” Without warning, Dion doubled over. His vomit hit the carpet and splattered across both of our legs. He didn’t seem to care. But I fucking did.
“Fuck.” I took an involuntary step back, looking behind me at the two bodyguards that were bringing up the rear. I’d had enough. I loved Dion. He was closer than a brother, but I was no babysitter. If he wanted to get so wasted that he spewed on my shoes, then he was on his own. “Take him to Erik’s bus. He’s on babysitting duty tonight.” I gave them a nod, but I didn’t need to watch them to know they would do their job. It was one reason we used them. Unquestioning and loyal. They didn’t bat an eye at any of the shit we got up to. Most probably because they were getting up to worse.
Leaving my intoxicated and possibly married friend in their care, I pushed my way out of the fire escape and across the fenced parking lot to the bus that Dion and I usually shared. Tonight, it would just be me. And honestly, I needed the alone time to try to digest everything that happened.
Tours were always brutal, especially to someone like me who valued their privacy. I enjoyed my alone time, and that was always scarce on tour, where you pretty much lived on top of each other. I loved it though, lived for it. We all did.
I needed to mull over what Dion had just said as well.
Dion married.
Although he hadn’t said that exactly, he said he had asked her. On a whim. After knowing her for only a few hours. And after knowing him for as long as I did, I couldn’t picture any woman ever saying no. They never said no to him.
No wonder he was all messed up.
No wonder…
Stepping up onto the bus, I paused long enough for my eyes to get accustomed to the light that had come on automatically, and any thought of spending some alone time vanished.
One tanned slender leg hung out of the bed, and a mass of dark curls was barely visible through the drawn curtain of one bunk.
I groaned.
Fucking groupies sneaking onto the bus was the last thing I needed. It was the last thing Dion would need plastered over the front pages as well.
“Up ya get, Goldilocks.” I stomped towards her, only coming to stop when I was hovering over her. She was in the topmost bunk, which put her almost at eye level. Flicking back the curtain angrily, I tried again. “Goldilocks, you’re in the wrong bed.”
Brown eyes blinked sleepily up at me, confusion dulling the golden flecks in them.
“I...” Coming awake suddenly, she shifted her weight, and it drew my attention to one breast where it had fallen loose from her silky tank top. There was a dusting of freckles across the swell.
I didn’t get to take in anything else as she let out a shriek. Batting me away like I was some attacker in her house, and she wasn’t some desperado on my bus. “You’re not Dion! They told me this was Dion’s bus.”
I rolled my eyes.
Was this seriously happening again?