Bad Moon (BBW Paranormal Romance) (4 page)

'I'm fat, not
worthless
,' I reminded myself before whipping out my phone
and scrolling through my contacts for Jason’s name.

I typed in two words.

"We're done."

A weight lifted off of my shoulders and I
held my head high as I marched back to the backstage area, nodding
to the bouncer and lifting up the bottle of rum as I traipsed into
the green room.

"Who wants a shot?" I called out, a jolt of
electricity bolting through my veins. The group of a dozen guys and
handful of girls fell silent for a moment, before breaking out in a
cheer. I caught Trent's gaze and his eyes went wide with disbelief.
Brandon and Martin exchanged amused glances.

I threw my head back and poured a splash of
the rum into my mouth, shivering at the strong grip of alcohol
burning down my throat. I smacked my lips and grinned as several
people approached me.

I was ready to be a little reckless.

"Are you sure you're okay? Trent asked me for
the fifth time since I entered the green room.

"
Yes
, I'm fine," I
said, patting his face and giggling. Okay, so I was a little tipsy.
So sue me, I just broke up with my boyfriend impulsively via text
message. Things were bound to get crazy. But it really wasn’t all
that bad, I met the drummer and bassist from Full Force Rockets,
the second opening band. I managed to avoid bringing up Aamir, even
though I realized they must be his bandmates and I was dying to
know more about him.

"Go and play your music for the happy people,
I'll watch from the chair," I slurred, falling into his
shoulder.

"Oh God Bailey, I need to get you some
water." Trent looked around the room like a madman, and I giggled
because as out of it as I was, I knew the bright blue water cooler
was on the table to my left.

"You're cu—" I brought my hands over my mouth
quickly, mortified by what almost slipped from my mouth. Then I
hiccupped, loud and painfully.

"Here it is," Trent said, finally noticing
the water cooler and getting me a drink. He seemed completely
unaware of whatever I was going to say.

Just then the door behind me opened, the
doorknob jabbing into my back and propelling me forward into
Trent's arms.

"Ow," I mumbled. It was surprisingly warm in
Trent's embrace. He gave me a small smile, and wrapped his arms
protectively around me. I could get used to being a klutz if these
were the results.

"You okay?" he muttered, looking down at me
with his steely gray eyes.

My heart thumped funnily in my chest, as if
someone had turned it on its side. Before I even had a chance to
respond, though, a frantic looking girl with a blonde bun and
glasses behind me yelled out to the room:

"Where the hell is Bad Moon? You guys are on
in ten minutes!"

I immediately pulled myself off of Trent and
grabbed his wrist, raising it high in the air. "They're here!" I
called, cheering out giddily when I saw that the rest of the band
was coming up behind us. Nick cocked an amused brow up at me. I
turned to take in the severe looking woman, and couldn't believe
that I hadn't even bothered to meet her yet when she was probably
the stage manager.

"Come on then," she said gruffly, turning on
her heel and out the door. Such was the treatment of the first
opening band; really I only sent their demo to this venue on a
whim. They knew as well as we did that no one was here specifically
for us. We were time fillers, as far as they were concerned.
Time fillers with a drunk-o manager.

"Guys," I said, turning my head back to them
as we walked out into the corridor. "You have to kill 'em tonight,
okay?"

I could see the fear wavering in their eyes,
bright like the nerves that were shooting through their bodies. I
wondered for a minute what we were getting ourselves into. Young
people with promise, throwing our lives into the fiery throes of
rock n' roll.

"We'll knock 'em dead," Martin said with a
smile, betraying the petrified look in his eyes. "Now look where
you're going mother dearest." Trent pulled me to my right, and my
gaze followed his movement in a delayed, drunken manner. I had
almost walked into a busted amp that sat where the corridor
ended.

"Well that's a fire hazard," I mumbled.

The woman with the blonde bun turned on her
heel and surveyed our hodgepodge crew. I could see the shrewd
judgment in her eyes: there was the tall, brooding leading man who
was lean and wearing a studded belt, and was perhaps the only one
with a stereotypical "rocker" look; Martin came in a close second,
except that he found it amusing to wear a pink shirt that said "I'm
with the band." Then there was Brandon, with a hair metal-like
leopard print tee and fishnets under his black shorts (Martin
dubbed this his Cyndi Lauper look) and Nick, who look like he had
just snapped out of some sort of yoga meditation, with long thick
dreads and a light pair of cotton pants.

Oh yeah, and then there was me. The world’s
greatest dad.

"So you guys already got the technical
rundown while you were doing a sound check, right?" she said
severely, her tone more probing than questioning. The guys nodded
and broke out into a chorus of "yeahs" and she continued to drill
them, making sure they knew the names of the other bands, how long
their set was, and the promotions at the bar they were obligated to
bring up. My attention drifted to the clamoring sea of people I
could catch glimpses of beyond the stage, moving around in the blue
light, an undulating sea of faces. The nerves returned to me,
bursting through my stomach less like butterflies, and more like an
angry hoard of hornets.

They were there for Fun Aim, and depending on
how the guys played, they could love them, or totally hate them for
wasting their time.

Once the annoyingly severe woman stopped
talking and turned her back to address some mumbling voice on her
headset, I turned to the guys and let the buzzing alcohol take over
my percolating nerves.

"Hey, you're going to do fantastic. You're
here because of how great your demo is, don't forget that," I
slurred, throwing a finger forward pointedly, and probably a little
too dramatically. I did believe in them. No amount of doubt could
change that. "Remember that your number one fan is backstage,
cheering you on."

"Aw!" Brandon said, running up to grip me and
a smothering hug. "Come on, group hug!" he called, and the other
guys came up around me, laughing and groaning, and squeezed their
arms around each other forming a tight rim of limbs around me. The
raging hole of empowerment and sadness that my break up tore into
me only an hour earlier was filled momentarily by the embrace, as I
was reminded that I wasn't alone.

"Okay, come on you dopes!" I laughed. "Go
plug in your guitars and blow them away!"

The guys cheered as they broke up the hug,
picking up their guitars and wandering off to the stage to plug
everything in. The crowd hushed for a moment, and then resumed
their chatter, and I knew that the band would have to demand their
attention with their music.

"You can do it," I mumbled to myself,
ignoring the annoying blonde talking into her headset. Then the
lighting changed to a dramatic wash of purple and blue. The guys
looked to each other and then backstage, where the blonde raised a
thumbs up. Without hesitation Nick brought up his sticks and tapped
them, "1, 2, 3—" and the guitars blared, ringing out the first
chord of their newest song, “Believe In Hurt.”

I held my breath where I would normally be
tapping my foot with a big goofy smile on my face. I loved the
song, it was one of my favorites (Brandon had written it about his
ex-boyfriend who cheated on him), but I was too consumed with
nerves to truly enjoy them. The crowd seemed to be reacting well,
and that calmed me a little. It was hard not to fall in love with
them, especially since Trent was such a brooding heart throb, with
his gruff, gravely voice and his heady swagger. From what I
understood of Fun Aim, a huge part of their fanbase were girls, so
hopefully they were falling in love with my boys even if their
aesthetic was a little shaky.

They killed the opening song, Trent hitting
the low final notes perfectly. Shivers went down my spine as he
sang out: "I will never need you again." It was what I needed to
hear. Nothing would bring me back to Jason.

They played a few more fast-paced tunes, all
of which I knew by heart. All of them were on their A-Game: though
I couldn't see their faces from where I stood, I could only assume
that their nerves had evolved into pure drive. They were completely
awesome, and their third song, "Metamorphosis" had a great, driving
bassline that got some people in the crowd riled up, jumping and
dancing.

A smile crossed my face as I could finally
relax a little, completely sure that all of their long hours of
practice had paid off. I pulled out my phone and decided to record
some video to send to Sierra, so that she could catch a glimpse of
our first show.

"Hey guys, whose here for Fun Aim?" Trent
called out. The crowed cheered, raising fists and throwing their
heads back as they belted out their excitement. "Yeah, we're pretty
stoked for them too. Well thanks for being so awesome Orlando, we
got a few more songs for you tonight and if you like us, be sure to
check us out on Facebook and chat with us at our merch table after
the show. This next song isn't on our demo, but hopefully you'll
like it," he said, giving the crowd an adorable grin. I couldn't
hear much over all the chatter and clinking glasses at the bar, but
I swear I could
feel
the collective sighs
of the girls in the crowd.

“What a heartbreaker,” I mumbled, shaking my
head.

Unfamiliar chords broke out, and I raked my
brain for what the song could be. It was slower paced than most of
their songs, and I was shocked by the gentle waver of Trent's
voice. It was beautiful, but not charged with sex and lust like it
usually was. It was tender and filled with sorrow, yearning even.
The chorus broke my heart, and the words were completely new to
me:

"I have been trapped in your chains

wrapped in a love I no longer can feign
and

I just want to smile again."

I immediately thought it must have been
written by Brandon—he was after all still recovering after a nasty
break-up. But still, something told me that it wasn't his.
Something about the style and the way Trent was singing made me
believe that he was crying out from his own heart, intimately
displaying his pain to a crowd of strangers.

But there was just no way. Trent and Lola
were perfect. They were completely obsessed with each other.

I shook the thought from my mind, reminding
myself that I was still kind of drunk and probably over-analyzing
the situation when I was hardly in a position to do so. I was sure
I would find out soon enough who wrote the song.

The boys ended their set on another terrific
upbeat tune that gave Nick a chance to blow them out of the water
with his awesome drumming skills. I shrieked with delight at the
crowds approving roar, throwing myself at Brandon as soon as they
took their bows and came back stage.

"If you were allowed to give an encore,
they'd totally love it!" I squealed, pulling back from our hug to
beam at the rest of them. They were all sweaty but they looked
energized and happy, like they had all just completed a
marathon.

"You think we did alright?" Trent asked me
with a cocky smirk.

"Oh don't get too full of it, we still have
to suffer through the merch table," I laughed, the buzz of alcohol
weakening at the thought of all that physical labor. It had been
years since I had set up a merch table, and I told them as soon as
Trent asked me to do this tour with them that I wouldn't be selling
merch on my own. I wasn't about to deal with hoards of disappointed
girls who wanted nothing more than to talk to the hotties they saw
on stage.

Brandon agreed to help me out this time as he
was eager to talk to the fans. I got him to do most of the lifting
(I could manage to carry a few boxes of shirts without tumbling
over like a drunk loser, but that was about it) and we set up in
the back by the bar, where people trickled over as they waited for
the next set.

People complimented Brandon, saying things
like, "you're the rad bassist huh?" and he would milk it, acting
all modest and crap. He especially got a kick out of the girls; one
asked for an autograph on her stomach because she was, "so sure
they were going to be mega-famous one day!" I fought pretty hard to
keep from rolling my eyes.

Once the next band started playing people
stopped approaching us, and we had time to check them out and
appreciate their sound. They were good, upbeat and had a killer
girl on the lead guitar. But for the life of me I couldn't figure
out where Bailey was. The drummer was kind of hard to see, so for a
while I assumed that was him, but once they stood up to exit I
realized that there was no way; this guy was shorter and his hair
was nearly auburn.

"Looking for someone?" Brandon teased.

"No," I said, blushing.

"You know, I think that guy totally has the
hots for you."

"There is just no way." I gave him my stern,
'I-don't want to talk about this right now' look.

"Why wouldn't there be?" he cocked an eyebrow
at me.

"Because...I'm just not the type of girls
rockers like. I'm fat and frumpy and have absolutely zero tattoos,"
I said, casting my eyes down to the shirts that Sierra
designed.

"Um, hold up." Brandon gripped my shoulders
and turned me around to face him, staring me dead in the eye.

"You are responsible, sweet, charming and
absolutely HOT and CURVY. You're just wearing a stupid t-shirt and
sweatpants that basically hide how amazing you look. Now don't
think I didn't see that cute dress in your suitcase because I
totally snooped while we were eating pizza—"