There were a handful of rules Matt had set for himself when performing live, and as he quickly looked down at the setlist taped to the floor, he realised he’d broken just about every one of them tonight. While he’d like to blame it on the coke and vodka pulsing their way through his blood stream, working their magic on his stage fright, he knew the two white lines and alcohol weren’t the reason.
“‘Champagne Nightmares’, fucker,” his brother yelled in his ear. Jase loomed near him, a scowl on his face.
Matt rolled his eyes. He knew and strummed the intro chords, trying to get his feet back beneath him.
The first rule was to never lose his place on the setlist.
The second rule, to not lose connection with the audience.
The third rule, leave real life off the stage.
The fourth rule, perform like every night is the first night.
The fifth rule, leave everything on the stage.
The sixth rule, remember you’re getting paid to do your job. And tonight, the gig in Wigan would net them a grand.
But he’d just fucked the first rule. And he’d definitely broken the second because he’d no recollection of any faces on the first few rows of the arena. He glanced down and saw a bunch of people totally into their music, and one woman who was eye-fucking him. He winked at her, and she licked her lips. Yeah. Easy lay if he wanted one.
And he’d broken the third rule by mentally bringing Izabel Bryson onstage with him.
Making good on his fourth rule, he got back into his groove, rocking out with Ben who gave him a glare that said, “What is wrong with you?”
Matt jumped onto Luke’s drum platform and shook some energy into his performance so he could make good on rule five.
Despite his best efforts, Izabel came back to the front of his mind. She’d looked tired, and he hated that. He’d been there when Luke had thrown a punch at the stuck-up twat of a banker or investment guy, or whatever Harry was, for fucking Izabel over. And if the bouncers of the club hadn’t been heading their way, Matt would have got a kick in too. But Luke wouldn’t have stopped, and Matt didn’t want to have to explain to Izabel why after nearly twenty-plus years of knowing Luke, he’d not been able to keep him out of trouble.
When he heard they’d split, his heart had expanded a little in hope. But then he’d remembered his promise to Luke to keep his hands off his sister . . . and what Jase had done. And as much as he wanted Izabel for his own, to love and protect from the Harrys of the world, he couldn’t go where his brother had already gone.
Even if it had only been once.
Even if his brother had walked a very dubious line of consent, even as Izabel had stuck up for him and assured Luke she’d agreed.
Images flashed into his brain. Jase’s lips on Iz’s smooth skin. The two of them naked, moving together. Uttering words Matt had longed to whisper in Iz’s ear.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He kicked the drum platform, then kicked again. Numbed by everything he’d taken just to get onstage, he could barely feel it. He kicked it harder, over and over until he was certain his toes bled and the images of Izabel naked in his brother’s arms were gouged from his mind.
Alex looked over at him, and he shrugged the glare off.
Jase ripped his shirt over his head to the delight of the screaming crowd, and Matt looked back at Luke who mouthed, “You okay?”
Matt nodded and finished playing.
His anger dispersed as the crowd roared into focus.
When he walked off the stage fifteen minutes later, Luke threw his sweaty arm around Matt’s shoulders. “Want to tell me what that freak-out was about back there?”
Matt shook his head. No way could he tell Luke it was about his sister. “Not in the slightest. It’s done.”
“Want me to find you someone to put whatever it was right out of your mind?”
“Are you my pimp now?”
Luke shook his head. “Nope. You just look like a guy with too much energy and nowhere to put it.”
“Sex isn’t the answer to everything.”
Luke pointed to a handful of attractive women hanging around the rear of the stage. “Maybe, but it’s a pretty great escape.”
Matt watched as Alex chugged a bottle of water so fast it spilled over his lips. The lithe-framed guy with movie star looks that Alex had been chatting to before the gig stepped into Alex’s space and pressed his tongue to Alex’s neck to catch the drips. Alex didn’t stop drinking but fisted his hand in the guy’s hair to hold him firmly in place.
“I swear to God he holds the record for the shortest time between walking off stage to fucking,” Matt muttered.
Ben laughed. “He’s a magnet for attractive people. Mum said he was the same when he was little. Gender agnostic, he’d smile and later flirt with anyone as long as they were hot.”
He watched as two women approached Jase. All the usual moves. A toss of hair, a palm to the chest, a lick of lips. Fuck, had Iz done that with Jase? Had Jase looked at Iz the way he looked at the two women? Hungry and willing.
Perhaps Matt should hook up tonight. Perhaps it would help him remember there were a hundred million women out there who could be the one for him. He shook his head. An easy lay wouldn’t find her. Casual sex always provided a release of tension, but more and more he realized it had the intimacy of walking naked through Primark.
Still, his eyes were drawn to a blonde, though she didn’t have quite the cool blonde waves of Izabel. The woman’s figure was curvier, all hips and arse, compared to Izabel’s slighter frame. And when she turned and smiled at Matt, he could tell her eyes were dark, not the faded green of Iz’s. But she rocked her denim jacket, held closed by one button across a perky pair of tits, with nothing underneath. Maybe, he could snort a line of coke off her stomach and escape himself for a little while.
Fuck it.
He couldn’t do this tonight. The roadies for the main act had offered to get their equipment off stage, but by the way it was being piled up by the steps, they weren’t taking the same kind of care he’d take with the instruments. And it was clear their offer of help didn’t include packing it back into their van.
“Go,” he said to Luke. “I’ll load up the van with Ben. But no more than an hour.”
“The mood I’m in, it’ll only take thirty minutes.”
Matt shook his head. “Didn’t you say in the van you’d already had that bird from Tesco this afternoon?”
“I’m a man with a big appetite. What can I say? Although, if you want to talk about you nearly breaking your toes onstage tonight, I’m all ears.”
“Fifty-nine minutes,” Matt said gruffly.
“Fine.”
Luke bounced away, leaving him chilled in his sweat-covered T-shirt.
Ben slapped Matt’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he rumbled. “It’s not enough that I found the gig, did all the contracts? How do I end up packing the van while they get laid?”
“Look at it this way, the van ride home will be a lot more mellow than the journey here.”
“True story.”
Once the equipment was in the van, Matt took out his notebook. Words had power. It was pure magic the way they took his feelings and emotions out into the world. Loss, hurt, fear, love. Each could be described with words made from a collection of twenty-six letters.