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At least that's what I think it would feel like. I never went to college. Never even made it as far as filling out an application.
“They’re fine,” I offer. Hayden seems like a nice enough guy and Walker seems like a bit of a tool, but that’s only based on maybe ten minutes of interaction. I’ve learned not to judge people too quickly, but that doesn’t mean I’m not cautious when getting to know new people.
Boone doesn’t seem satisfied by my answer, but he knows not to push and instead scoops up two of the larger bags, leaving the small ones for me to carry back onto the bus. As we step back on, I see Hayden in the back area, shifting clothes around and unpacking.
Walker is still seated at the booth, drumming a beat against the table while fiddling on his phone. His attention is solely zoned in on the device, and as I walk by, I try to catch a peek at what, or who, has his attention.
Bright colors flash on the small screen, and is that…
Candy Crush!
Yep. That’s what he’s been so engrossed since I first stepped on the bus?
And he’s still annoyingly shirtless.
5
WALKER
My boots tap along to the beat of Nickelback’s “Burn It to the Ground” as it pulses through our greenroom. Reid’s on the couch opposite of me, chugging a bottle of water while I sip on tequila and soda water.
His brown hair is shorter than the last time I saw him, which, hell, must’ve been about four months ago. When we took the hiatus, he took some distance from the band. Not surprising he put distance between him and Hayden as they tend to get into it the most, but I know Nikolai felt a little hurt by his silence. Nikolai was the one who brought Reid into the fold all those years ago back in high school when we needed a guitarist and even though we’ve always been a group of four, those two were thick as thieves.
Reid’s jaw is tight with tension, and I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or something more. I don’t get nervous going on stage like I used to, but it’s also been a while and we’re playing a completely new set so there is a bit of worry in the back of my mind of how it will go. Even though we’ve been playing together for ten years, there’s still room for error every single night we step onstage.
“I’m jacked for the show tonight. Looking forward to being back out there playing with you,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the music.
Reid looks up from his phone and nods. “Me too, man.”
Just as I’m about to ask him what he’s been up to while we were on a break, Nikolai comes charging over from the bathroom and plops down on the couch next to Reid, doing vocal warmups while he tries to burrow his way into Reid’s side. I half expect Reid to shove him off, but he instead looks resigned to the close contact and the line between his eyebrows relaxes the slightest bit.
“Hayden, let’s go,” I yell toward the bathroom.
“One second,” he calls back.
I stand and jump up and down in place a few times, shaking out my hands and letting the adrenaline begin to flow through my entire body.
This is the feeling that I’ve been missing.
Been craving.
I can see my excitement mirrored on Nikolai’s face. His cheeks are already slightly flushed and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that only comes from being onstage.
Hayden joins us finally dressed in black joggers and a button-down dark gray shirt with the arms rolled up his elbows, covering a tight black tank. Typical stage outfit for him.
We used to try to change our style for each individual tour, but ever since we released our past two albums, we’ve all decided to just settle into our own personal styles.
For Nikolai, that’s often suits sans any shirt underneath the jacket. For Reid, that’s typically dark jeans and a mix of t-shirts and jackets. For me right now, it’s whatever pants are the cleanest and bright colored shirts with the sleeves cut off.
Always with the sleeves cut off. My arms gotta breathe.
“Finally,” Reid mumbles, shutting the music off with his phone and standing to leave. He shoots Hayden an annoyed look and Nikolai slaps his arm.
Either Reid doesn’t pick up on the worry lining Hayden’s mouth and the rigid set of his shoulders, or he just simply doesn’t give a fuck.
My bet is on the latter.
I quickly chug the remainder of my drink before tossing the solo cup into the trash can by the door.
