Everything I Need (23 page)

“You’re on, man!”

Figures. A strip club always makes Roger feel better. Jared is rolling up his sleeves when he looks up and raises one eyebrow at me.

“Look okay?”

I tilt my head to the side as if I’m actually checking him out. In all honesty, he looks great. We all went for everyday clothes, even though Frankie wanted to dress me up. I’m wearing ripped jeans and a Slipknot t-shirt.

“Yeah, it does,” I say to him before grabbing the door handle.

I turn around and take a good look at my boys. Matt and Jared are right in front of me, with huge grins on their faces. Jeff is quiet with his hands in his pockets. I think he’s nervous because this whole experience is so new to him, but he’s very charismatic so I’m sure this won’t be too bad for him. And Roger, aw my, is standing way in the back, looking like he just wants to get this shit over with.

“Good to go?” I ask them and they all smile and nod, except Roger. Spinning back around I open the door.

The room is huge, with the same wood paneling as the hallway. I take the two steps up to the makeshift stage right in front of me. As I head for the middle chair, I notice Tristan and his band sitting against the side wall, off of where the reporters are standing. He’s wearing red flannel and jeans. Staring at me, he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgement. The corner of my lip pulls up at seeing him.

I know I’m inside a building, but I’ve kept my sunglasses on. I kind of like having them on right now, so no one can see my reaction if I don’t like certain questions. This is probably why Tristan wears them.

As we take our seats, the reporters greet us. Not bad so far. Roger is on my right with Matt on my left. Jared is sitting beside Roger, and Jeff, beside Matt. Scooting forward in the chair, I reach for the bottled water they have on the table. I take a quick sip and place it back down on the table.

There are microphones set up in front of us, so I pull mine in a little closer. I can feel Roger’s knee bouncing up and down beside my leg. Damn. Good thing there’s a tablecloth or the reporters would know how nervous he is. Placing my hand on his knee, I try to calm him. He looks down at me and blows out a breath. Facing the crowd, I decide to get this going. I lean into the mic.

“Hey everyone.”

Just then, a female reporter wearing a very nice, light blue suit and blonde hair twisted up and out of her face steps up. She looks like she’s just graduated from college.

“Sophia, how is this second album different than your band’s first?”

Hmm . . . that’s a simple question.

“Our new album is quite darker and heavier than our first album. I gesture at my boys. “We pretty much took what we did on our first album, but turned it up a thousand.” I smile at the last part. Matt leans in, and speaks next.

“We didn’t want to be pressured into ‘radio friendly’ songs. We pretty much said, screw all of that, we’re gonna do what we wanna do.”

I nod in agreement with Matt.

Another, older female reporter gets up and asks the next question.

. . .

“Some people who have actually gotten to listen to the material do indeed call it way darker than the last. By any chance, does that have to do with the passing of your former bandmate?”

I nod.

“Each album is based off a temperature . . . circumstances. The circumstance for this album, unfortunately, was death. Cory was more than a bandmate; he was our best friend. But to answer your question, I think his death influenced us in a lot of ways when writing and recording this album. It’s a great outlet to let aggression go, to grieve . . . pretty much what we were all feeling at the time and still do to this day.”

She seems pretty satisfied with that comment, taking her seat again. But the next reporter, a mousy-looking David-Spade-in-Tommy-Boy kind of dude, gets up. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he blurts out,

“Why didn’t you get him help? I mean, you must have known about him using. I would have, for my
friend
.” 

Fuck you, dude!

Chapter Twenty-One

Tristan

My gut hardens and my skin burns as I watch this little piece of shit talk to my girl this way. His snotty comment is fucking below the belt.

“Christ . . .!” Caleb hisses.

Sophia’s beautiful face pales. Her jaw hardens as she pushes her lips out, either trying to control herself from freaking the fuck out, or, what I fear, trying to hold back tears. 

Roger’s face is hard red. Huffing, he tries to stand. But Sophia calmly turns to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. As he looks down at her, something happens between them and he instantly stills, going back to take his seat. She faces the prick reporter again, sliding her sunglasses up the bridge or her nose with her delicate finger. When she leans forward to the mic, I notice her cheeks; they’re glossy with her tears.

Fuck this!
I’m going to let this fucker have it, but Caleb reaches out and grabs my wrist. I glare down at him, but he just shakes his head.

“Wait, dude,” he says, but fuck!

The rest of the guys are shaking their heads or looking down as she speaks weakly.

“Um . . . yeah.” She swallows hard, clearing her throat. “I guess at the time, we, or better yet, ‘I’, was naive . . . You don’t think something like that could happen so close to home. You see it on the news and hear about it, but to actually think it could happen to you or someone you know . . .” she shrugs her shoulders, her hair falling into her face. “I guess I thought we were invincible. One never thinks about death ’til you’re staring it right in the face. I know I should’ve just cancelled the tour and gotten him help. Shit!”

Her voice breaks but she recovers herself, continuing in a stronger voice.

“I blame myself every single fucking day for what happened to him, but that can’t bring him back, now can it?” Her eyebrow rises above the frame of her glasses. The little prick has a smug look that I’ll be ripping off in just a few minutes.

Lux starts walking toward the stage, but Sophia gives a quick shake of her head, halting him.

“To answer your question . . .” she pauses, gesturing with her hand to catch the guy’s name.

“Mike,” he proudly replies back, piece of fucking shit.

“Mike. We were younger and were thrown into something that exceeded our wildest fantasies. We were all caught up in one thing or another at the time. Unfortunately, our dear was the price. We live and we learn, and hopefully, even if it’s just one person, if Cory’s story can make a difference, then . . .”

She leans back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest and exhaling.

“It was his time. I don’t really know what else to say, honestly. He was the best fucking friend to whoever needed one, would give out his last dollar to help someone, just an all out gentle soul that is missed by all of us and by his family every damn day. There’s no point bringing it up now because I can’t go back. Would I change the way things went? Hell, yeah. But I can’t. And if Cory were here with us right now, he would tell us to stop wasting FUCKING time on this and talk music. After all, that’s why we’re here today, isn’t it?”

A tight grin forms on my lips at how forceful my girl got there at the end.

“Next question,” she says, but the dude steps closer to the stage, doing a small raise of his hand.

“Just one more, Miss Ariel.”

Jared leans over the table, glancing down at Sophia, but she doesn’t notice. She folds her arms on top of the table, leaning back in.

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice carrying that familiar fire behind it. This guy is so close to the edge with her.

“Tristan Scott!” he yells out, gesturing at me with his thumb. He glances at me over the sea of heads. The little fucker has to stand on his toes just to get a glimpse of me sitting here. Some of the other reporters also look my way. 

Grinding my teeth and trying my hardest not to tell him to ‘fuck off,’ I focus my eyes on my girl. Sophia’s presence alone acts on me two different ways; either riling me the fuck up to lunatic or calming me down to where I at least don’t want to crush someone’s skull. Her head tilts in my direction briefly before she speaks.

“What about him?”

“It seems as if you two are an ‘item’ now. How will that affect the upcoming tour? I mean, weren’t you two in some kind of relationship a couple years back?”

Cocking her head to the side, she lifts one finger.

“First, is this really music related?”

“Actually, Miss Ariel, it is. You’re both in bands and it’s about the tour.”

Her head turns slightly back over to me. I can feel her focusing on me even through her shades. Then, a slow, lopsided grin creeps up on her beautiful lips.

“I don’t really know, but it’s fun so far . . .”

A few giggles from female and some male reporters erupt while some others start flashing their cameras at her. Lux walks up on the stage now, his fake, ‘I hate this’ smile plastered on his face. He motions for everyone to settle down. Jared’s hand flies up to his mouth to stop laughing at her comment.

“Okay everyone, we’re on a set time frame, so that’s it for Dollar Settlement right now. They will be having another interview when the tour starts in Detroit. Now, Undead Society will be joining us to talk about their sixth studio album.”

He spins on his heel, following them out the door. Sophia does a quick, low wave and gives one of her genuine smiles to one the reporters as she walks off the stage, but I know damn well she’s putting up a front.

A few minutes pass before Lux walks out again. I narrow my eyes tightly on the target. Showtime, you little fucker. Gunner throws me a quick smirk over his shoulder. He knows something’s gonna go down. Not even bothering to take the dinky steps, I lift my knee and step right up onto the stage. Lux, whose back is to the reporter, gives me a stern but pleading look.

Not showing any emotion, I look past him, pulling out my chair, the same spot that Sophia was just in. Caleb’s on my right with Gunner taking the left. Running my hand through my hair to get it off of my face, I push my sleeves up my elbows even further, then fold my arms on top of the table and lean over it. These chairs are fucking uncomfortable. The guys nod and say a few words to some of the reporters that are standing close by. Once everyone is set, a different, older, male begins with the first question.

“Metal music is being blamed for hostile acts on youth. How do you feel about the incident here where the young man who was a ‘huge’ Undead fan, always quoted your music on his social media accounts before the tragedy happened?”

Caleb leans in.

“I got this,” he says to me, then continues to the reporter, irritated. “You know, if you have a negative bent, you’re gonna use ‘music’ as an excuse for whatever is wrong with you. If you’re fucked in the head, you’re fucked in the head. We like to hear the stories where we helped kids let go of some of their pain. And if one kid tells us how we helped him out through some tough times or helped him celebrate through great?” He shrugs. “That’s what it’s all about, really. Releasing, communicating, connecting . . . not some fucked up tragedy that happened, and ‘music’ getting the blame for it. It’s a universal language. Everyone gets it. You can’t use it as an excuse.”

“Tristan!” The little prick yells. I tip my chin at him.

“Talk is that this album is more watered down than previous albums. Why the change? Trying to be more mainstream?”

I run my tongue across my lower lip then press them together. A low cackle climbs up my throat.

“No. It’s called evolving. We’re still ‘Undead,’ but we like to change up certain ways of doing shit. For instance,” I shrug. “There’s a lot more melodic energy used in this album. Some songs are still ‘hard,’ I guess you would call it, but others are also about the melody. I’m not one-sided.”

“It just seems that if something works, why change it?”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Caleb whispers to me. Zoning my eyes in on him, I respond cockily.

“You know what? You go and write a fucking album and record, then come talk to me.” Not giving him the time to respond, I growl, “Yeah, have fun at work Monday.”

The rest of the reporters must sense the heat boiling off of me, because they keep their questions strictly about the upcoming tour and album. Easy ass, same as fuck questions. Just when we’re almost done, dick face steps in again.

“Tristan, may I have just one more?” he shouts.

“Go ahead,” I snarl at him. With that dumb-bitch smile of his, he taps his finger on the side of his face.

“You’re not really seen with anyone longer than just one day, ever, when we do see you. You were kind of out of the scene for a while since your last tour failed.”

“It didn’t fail.” My voice deepens.

“Yes, yes it did. Apparently you were a mess all over Europe.” He quirks his fucking eyebrow at me.

Rolling my head over my shoulders, I grab the mic loose and sit back, holding it.

“Say whatever you want. I’m not gonna answer a fucking stupid question like that.”

“No need for that, Mr. Scott,” he laughs at me and this brings my already heated blood up to a full-blown boil.

“I was just wanting to know what was going on in your head, is all. How could someone like you lose control?”

“It fucking happens,” Dave speaks up down the table. But I don’t need him to. This little shit doesn’t need to know my life. That was a shitty time and I’m sure as hell not going back there.

Clearing his throat, he looks around at everyone when he speaks.

“Did it have to do with what happened back in Minneapolis or the photos being leaked of you and Miss Ariel?”

Hauling out of my chair, I slam my fist down hard on the table, water spilling as the reporters start gasping. Pointing at him, I growl through clenched teeth.

“You say anything about her one more time!”

Caleb grabs my shoulder as Lux hurries his way on the stage.

“What, Tristan? Are you
threatening
me?” The guy asks mockingly.

I try to catch my breath. My chest feels like it’s about to explode from the pressure. Caleb starts leading me off the stage as Lux hastily tries to wrap this up.

“All right everyone, thank you for your time.” He continues on but I don’t hear him. I’m out of there in an instant.

“Dude, fuck!” Caleb says to me as soon as we’re out the door.

My hands are at my sides. I keep fisting and un-fisting them, wishing so goddamn much that I could feel that fucker’s face beneath my knuckles. Then, just like that, I see her and all the shit that just happened, disappears.