“Embarrassing and painful?”
“Exactly.”
Doing the sound check onstage, Jake strummed Brian’s guitar and played an intricate riff to ensure the instrument was tuned and responding to the amplifier. He earned a few cheers from the waiting crowd. Roadies loved to play rock star.
Sed looked over his shoulder to where Jessica promised she’d stand and watch the performance. She smiled at him and waved. He waved back. The groupies who’d gotten backstage passes from the roadies glared at her.
Sed glanced at Trey, who was limbering up his fingers. He still didn’t have full mobility, but he could play chords. Brian watched him, wincing when Trey attempted part of one of their dueling solos and missed every note. “If you can’t keep up tonight, just let me carry all the solos.”
“I’m not a f**king invalid.” Trey scowled.
“No one said that,” Brian said. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
Trey glanced at Sed, who dropped his gaze to the floor. Yeah, that was mostly Sed’s fault and he knew it, but fans only remained loyal for so long, and while most everyone understood why they’d cancelled tour dates and refunded tickets, it didn’t make them happy.
“I’ll be fine,” Trey said.
Jake signaled them into position. Sed stuck his earpiece in his right ear and a sound-muffling earplug in his left. He’d be able to hear the band and instructions from the sound crew from the earpiece. Now he heard mostly, “Check. Check. Check.” He gave Dave a thumbs up to let him know he could hear him just fine.
Brian and Jace settled their instruments into place and moved to the side of the stage. A slightly green Trey followed them. Eric stood just behind the drum kit, ready to take his stool as soon as the lights went out. Someone thrust a microphone into Sed’s hand. The adrenaline rush hit him like the most powerful stimulant on the planet.
He lived for this shit. The music. The crowd’s adulation. Their energy. He owned it and it owned him.
The stadium lights went down and the crowd cheered. Another rush, more powerful than the first, kicked Sed’s heart rate up another notch.
The three guitarists trotted across the stage in the dark. The beat of the bass drum thrummed through Sed’s chest. A low blue light illuminated the floor, lighting the stage enough for Brian and Trey to find the foot pedals that switched out their various amps, and for Sed to find the set instructions taped to the floor. The musical intro to the first song was rather long, giving Sed time to hum and warm up his vocal cords for that first scream. Like Brian, he felt a little rusty. His voice a little coarse.
Trey did fine shredding chords in the intro and the crowd cheered. Though good, Trey’s playing was more reserved than usual. Thready.
With too little rhythm guitar to balance it, Jace’s bass riff sounded more pronounced. But when Brian entered with his signature finger-burning note progressions, fans wouldn’t notice Trey’s playing lacked his usual skill.
At the end of Brian’s intro, Sed raced across the stage, his low growl increasing in volume until it broke into a loud battle cry. The crowd screamed when the lights suddenly went bright and they recognized he’d entered the stage. God, he loved these people. All fifteen thousand of them.
Sed sang with his usual enthusiasm, stalking from one end of the stage to the other, raising his hands to encourage the crowd to participate. All the while, the music playing in his ear sounded off. Not terrible, just sort of weak. He glanced at Trey, who’d already broken into a sweat. Not normal for him. He usually rocked on his heels and strummed each chord with gusto. Tonight he had a hard time keeping up.
Shit. Shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. Sed knew he was responsible for this entire fiasco. He’d made Trey feel guilty and uncertain of his place in the band. Sed had just been trying to encourage him, not force him into taking a step he wasn’t ready to take. But they had a show to finish. He hoped Trey could hang in there for nine more songs. No one expected him to be as good as he usually was. Just there. Singing his occasional back up vocal. Strumming chords the best he could.
Brian finished his solo, and the segment where Trey usually accompanied him sounded entirely hollow. Sed glanced across the stage to see Trey staring at his hands as if they were on fire. Brian noticed as well. He quickly made his way from stage left to stage right and talked to Trey out of hearing range of the microphone. Trey shook his head. Brian said something else and Trey nodded. Trey pulled a guitar pick off the tape on his microphone stand and picked up on the series of chords that made up the majority of the rhythm guitar section. He managed to play it consistently until the end.
“How are we doing tonight, Salt Lake City?” Sed called into his microphone. He held the mic toward the crowd and put his hand to his ear.
The crowd responded with loud cheers.
“Are you ready to get crazy?”
More cheers. He glanced at Trey, who liked to talk to the crowd. He and Brian were in deep conversation near the drum kit. Trey looked upset. Brian, ever Trey’s rock, just kept talking him down.
“As you’ve probably heard, we’ve had to cancel ten shows over the past few weeks, but Sinners is back to rock Salt Lake. How do you all feel about that?”
More cheers.
“Hey, Trey, why don’t you come say something to the fans? I think they’ve been worried about you.”
Trey gave him a scathing look and stepped up to the microphone. “Hey.”
The roar from the crowd was deafening.
“He’s still not back to his usual bad-ass self, but he said he couldn’t stand to miss another show. Is that what you said, Trey?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Brian wrapped an arm around Trey’s shoulders and spoke into the microphone. “He’s feeling kind of slow these days. I think they sucked half his brain out through this hole in his head.” Brian pointed to the ugly scar that ran a semi-circle around the side of his head. At least the staples were gone now.
Trey didn’t respond to the barb. Yeah, something wasn’t right. Best leave him alone. They might as well continue and get this over with.
“You know what I think?” Sed said into the mic. “I think it’s time to climb the gates of hell.”
Brian raced to his side of the stage to stomp a foot pedal that changed his amplifier settings. Eric tapped on a cymbal behind them. The intro to “Gates of Hell” was insane, and while Brian performed with his usual spectacular flare, Trey missed an entire progression and his guitar fell silent. There was a horrifically loud bang followed by screeching feedback in Sed’s ear. Sed winced, covering his earpiece with one hand. He turned to see Trey stalk offstage. Trey’s favorite guitar lay in pieces in the middle of the stage, its neck snapped near the yellow and black body.