rumbled.
“Anyway, a few went missing here and there. But this morning, I went to take one and there’s less than ten left.”
“The Oxy?”
“That’s the one.”
Blake took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out as he released it. He felt it was his duty to be diplomatic here, even if he assumed Rhett was the culprit right alongside her.
“What makes you think it’s Rhett?” he made himself ask.
“Lily and him hung out in our room this morning. They had breakfast together, room service.”
Lily and Erica were usually roommates, because the two of them tended to go out together while the band was on tour. And Lily having Rhett over made sense, too. While the rest of the band had more or less written him off as the irredeemable prick that he was, she still tried to play nice.
Being in a band felt like managing world diplomacy sometimes.
“Anyway, the pill thief definitely isn’t Lily. You know that all natural green eating and essential oils shit she’s into right now.”
“Yeah, suppose you’re right.”
Blake whooshed out another sigh, then took a bite of his carrot stick. He tilted the bowl toward Erica, who declined.
“You think we should tell Palmer?” Paul and Patricia Palmer were the band’s managers, known as Palmer and Patty backstage.
“I don’t think I have enough to prove it,” Erica said, her tone sour. Blake felt inclined to agree with her, as certain as he was that Blake was guilty.
“Well, thanks for letting me know,” Blake said. “I’ll keep it to myself, but also keep an eye on him. If he’s using more than booze, we should know about it.”
“That’s why I thought I’d tell you.”
After more lighthearted small talk and an encouraging hug, Blake let Erica wander back to the dressing room. He stayed put right where he was, trying not to think about Rhett.
Not thinking about Rhett was all the more important these days, because any time he thought about Rhett, he thought about Cal. And how none of this would be happening if Cal was touring with them. And how amazing it had felt to just kick back and play music with Cal again, after all that time. How it felt as though nothing had changed at all.
He realized why his texts kept coming out stupid. Because texts were a thing you planned , when typing them. They weren’t spontaneous. They weren’t heartfelt. They were authored, with thought and attention put into them.
That wasn’t what Blake needed. That wasn’t his strength.
He stood up, shut the door to catering, and dialed Cal’s number. He wanted to express some gratitude with his actual voice, hear Cal talk back to him. That would be better. Warmer. More human.
Instead, Cal’s voicemail greeting implored him to leave a message. He hadn’t even recorded a personalized one, just the generic female robotic tone reciting his phone number.
It was better than nothing.
“Hey,” Blake started, “it’s me. I was just calling about last night. It was a lot of fun, catching up and just playing some music with you.” He paused, but not for long enough to think too hard about what he was saying.
“I’m in town for a few more days, filming at Red Rocks and stuff. I’d love to catch up again before we roll out.” He took a deep breath, held it. “I missed you, Cal. Let’s... let’s not be strangers, yeah?”
He cut the call, then shoved his phone away deep into a pocket.
Stepping out onstage that night, Blake felt more settled in his homecoming. As if now that he’d tentatively reached across that bridge to Cal, he really was back where he came from.
* * *
T he gig was great . Rhett even behaved himself. Although Blake wondered if Rhett’s pleasant and relaxed demeanor that particular night was chemically induced.
It was awful: every few minutes he got the urge to check his phone, just in case Cal had gotten back to him. He’d never had to deal with that sensation during a concert before. And it meant that once the show was over, he stole straight
“Anyway, a few went missing here and there. But this morning, I went to take one and there’s less than ten left.”
“The Oxy?”
“That’s the one.”
Blake took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks out as he released it. He felt it was his duty to be diplomatic here, even if he assumed Rhett was the culprit right alongside her.
“What makes you think it’s Rhett?” he made himself ask.
“Lily and him hung out in our room this morning. They had breakfast together, room service.”
Lily and Erica were usually roommates, because the two of them tended to go out together while the band was on tour. And Lily having Rhett over made sense, too. While the rest of the band had more or less written him off as the irredeemable prick that he was, she still tried to play nice.
Being in a band felt like managing world diplomacy sometimes.
“Anyway, the pill thief definitely isn’t Lily. You know that all natural green eating and essential oils shit she’s into right now.”
“Yeah, suppose you’re right.”
Blake whooshed out another sigh, then took a bite of his carrot stick. He tilted the bowl toward Erica, who declined.
“You think we should tell Palmer?” Paul and Patricia Palmer were the band’s managers, known as Palmer and Patty backstage.
“I don’t think I have enough to prove it,” Erica said, her tone sour. Blake felt inclined to agree with her, as certain as he was that Blake was guilty.
“Well, thanks for letting me know,” Blake said. “I’ll keep it to myself, but also keep an eye on him. If he’s using more than booze, we should know about it.”
“That’s why I thought I’d tell you.”
After more lighthearted small talk and an encouraging hug, Blake let Erica wander back to the dressing room. He stayed put right where he was, trying not to think about Rhett.
Not thinking about Rhett was all the more important these days, because any time he thought about Rhett, he thought about Cal. And how none of this would be happening if Cal was touring with them. And how amazing it had felt to just kick back and play music with Cal again, after all that time. How it felt as though nothing had changed at all.
He realized why his texts kept coming out stupid. Because texts were a thing you planned , when typing them. They weren’t spontaneous. They weren’t heartfelt. They were authored, with thought and attention put into them.
That wasn’t what Blake needed. That wasn’t his strength.
He stood up, shut the door to catering, and dialed Cal’s number. He wanted to express some gratitude with his actual voice, hear Cal talk back to him. That would be better. Warmer. More human.
Instead, Cal’s voicemail greeting implored him to leave a message. He hadn’t even recorded a personalized one, just the generic female robotic tone reciting his phone number.
It was better than nothing.
“Hey,” Blake started, “it’s me. I was just calling about last night. It was a lot of fun, catching up and just playing some music with you.” He paused, but not for long enough to think too hard about what he was saying.
“I’m in town for a few more days, filming at Red Rocks and stuff. I’d love to catch up again before we roll out.” He took a deep breath, held it. “I missed you, Cal. Let’s... let’s not be strangers, yeah?”
He cut the call, then shoved his phone away deep into a pocket.
Stepping out onstage that night, Blake felt more settled in his homecoming. As if now that he’d tentatively reached across that bridge to Cal, he really was back where he came from.
* * *
T he gig was great . Rhett even behaved himself. Although Blake wondered if Rhett’s pleasant and relaxed demeanor that particular night was chemically induced.
It was awful: every few minutes he got the urge to check his phone, just in case Cal had gotten back to him. He’d never had to deal with that sensation during a concert before. And it meant that once the show was over, he stole straight
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