Chapter 18: Frontmen Worry About Their Chi

Now that Madam is Official...I wonder what Leed has to say about that? Let's find out?

Leed

My phone plays Dusty Springfield and I groan. Not because I don't dig a little Dusty, but whenever the song "Son of a Preacherman," plays, it means Adam is calling me. I give everybody in SCIC their own ringtone. It helps me determine how important it is to interrupt what I'm doing when I get a call.

Adam is a man of few words. He never calls when he can text. If he's calling, it's shit-sure important and hardly ever good news.

Dammit. What did I say about this tour? UNFUN.

Coitus-interruptus is THE MOST UNFUN.

"Sorry, Angel, gotta take that." I pull out, and pat Sophie on the butt. Sophie's sounds go from sexy-kitten to screechy-siren.

She turns around and glares at me. "Are  you fucking serious, asshole?"

"Come on, Soph, you got your money's worth. I haven't had a minute's sleep. You came like ten times," I laugh at her, but really I'm questioning why I even fuck with her. She has the looks of a divine being, and the sex-drive of a goddess, but she is so mean. I swear sometimes when I'm giving it to her, I get this blurry disoriented moment of fear, and I see horns on her head.

But that's probably just the drugs.

Sophie's grabbing clothes and slamming doors now, so I slide out on the balcony as I slide my screen to accept Adam's call.

"Better be good. I was just inside heavenly pu—"

"Ashlynn got busted up in a car accident last night."

At Adam's word's, a strange burning sensation prickles through me. Like there's fire in my veins. I've never felt anything like that before—not even on stage—so I just sort of...stand there, following the stinging path of sensation. It started in my throat chakra and spread to my chest and brain all at once. Now, its radiating down my arms. I grip the balcony railing, because my burning fingers need something to do.

"Leed! What the fuck, man? Are you even listening?"

"Sorry," I let go of the railing and take a cleansing breath. The burning fades. Must be the damn Molly. "I told you I was fucking when you called, didn't I? I can't really listen, until my dick lets me..."

Shouts, whistles and pointing pedestrians from the street below make me realize I'm naked on the balcony. I give  a peace sign and stroll back in. At least the minor embarrassment of my little peep show is a cockshock. Which is actually a relief to me, but an irritation to Sophie. She rolls her eyes at my deflating member as she snatches up her sandals and heads for the door.

"Good times til it wasn't, Angel. See ya around," I call after her.

I hope not. Running into my ex from LA at an out-of-town club seemed like fate giving me the perfect lay-up, but really...now I remember why I broke it off with her.

I'm so over mean girls.

"We need you down here in my suite, man," Adam is saying calmly. "Shit is going down. Dawes just called me. Kat's parents are downstairs with a cop giving the hotel management grief. They think Kat was...coerced into coming on the road with Trace or something. And according to Ben, Kat is practically catatonic from druggin' and drinkin' hard last night, and Trace isn't here to answer for this—he left last night and is already with Ash at the hospital in Tennessee...and Kat knows that Ashlynn and Trace are married, and—then there's the minor issue that we have a show tonight and our guitarist is in another state..." Adam's laundry list of headaches is endless.

Suddenly, with my cock not running the show, my brain engages. "How bad?" I growl.

"Pretty fucking bad," Adam says grimly. " I just said the cops are here, remember? Cops and brands sponsorship don't mix, bro."

"I meant—how bad is Ashlynn? Jesus, Adam...get your fucking priorities straight." Am I the only person in the damn band that actually cares about people?

"She's alright. Well, considering. Trace says she's banged up pretty bad, concussion, one wrist is busted, and she'll be detoxing hard soon, but she's stable. Airbag saved her."

As Adam describes her injuries, that weird burning sensation is in my throat again. Dammit. Did Molly even gives us pure mollies last night? I'm going to have to have a talk with Molly about finding a high quality pusher. I hate bad drugs, man.

Molly's shit is definitely messing with my Chi. My throat chakra is all out of whack. I've got to do some serious cleansing before the show tonight.

I take another deep breath. "Good, that's good—that Ash isn't hurt bad."

"Leed—"

"Be there in a damn minute, alright? I gotta put some clothes on. Please tell my sister to do the same," I intone sarcastically.

Adam's silence tells me everything I need to know.

Adam opens the door with a rather defiant look on his face. Mac is behind him, on the phone. With wet hair like she just showered. Wearing her shorts from last night and Adam's favorite T-shirt—a highly coveted Johnny Cash classic. Signed by the Man in Black himself, a couple years before he died. Adam got it when he was eight years old. His daddy had the foresight to make sure it was too big back then.

"I can't believe you let her wear that shirt, man. You won't let me wear it. That's so fucking wrong, Adam. Do you know good I would look in that shirt? Bro's before—" I stop, realizing I shouldn't really finish that sentence. I sigh. "I really don't like you banging my sister. Again. You know that, right?"

Adam smiles ruefully. "I know that, Leed. And I know for years, I acted like a douche, trying to hide it from you. So that's why I want to tell you straight up, I'm sorry for gettin' with your sister behind your back. I'm not going to do that anymore. And you should know—Mac was never just a random to me. I love her. I've always loved her. I'll treat her right, man."

"Fuck, man, I know," I say, crossing my arms, tucking my fingers under my pits and staring at the floor.

This love shit...it's not my scene.

Gets a guy in trouble every time. I hope Adam knows what the fuck he's getting into. I do appreciate him being upfront, though.

"And...she says she loves me." He's watching me carefully, gauging my reaction.

I laugh and clap my hands.

"Good one, Bro."

"No. Really. She told me so. Ask her. I...well, I think she would tell you...I hope she's not ashamed of me," he grins, watching her. She's still talking on the phone, but she gives him a brilliant smile, the second he turns to look at her. Her gaze slides to me and the smile turns to a smirk as she gives me the finger.

"No shit? She really said she loves you?"

"No shit," he assures me.

I'm expecting the bad drug after-effects to come again at the reality-altering revelation, but there's no more burn. I just feel...a little empty. I never really thought Mac would admit it to herself, but I guess I've known for a while now...the only one that could ever reach her was the Sweet-Talkin' Son of a Preacher-Man.

I slap him on the back. "Your funeral, man."

He holds out his hand with a shit-eating grin. "So we cool, brother?"

I slap him a homie-handshake. "We cool. Just don't burn down the band."

I kiss Mac on the cheek as she ends her call "You look happy."

"Very! That was Trace. Did you hear? Ashlynn's going to be okay."

"Yes, I'm...glad." My throat burns a little again. That's it. I'm never taking drugs again.

I need to change the subject. "I'm not sure your giddiness is over Ashlynn, though. I think you've got that freshly-fucked glow, baby sister." I swing around just to double-check. No, no black eye on Adam. Bodie's out of the bet. I hold out a hand toward Adam. "Tell me, Mac. Did you hit that in the limo or did you ho-tel it?"

"Easy, man," Adam growls. I give him the finger, and I put my arm around Mac's shoulders.

"Relax...actual bro's before boyfriends."

"Fuck that," Adam grumbles, but Mac laughs.

"Limo!" she confesses. "What about you? Did you find heaven last night in the back of an Escalade?"

"More like...purgatory in the sheets. That's not important. The important and very bad thing here, Mac, is that you just cost me a hundred bucks and braggin' rights, screwin' my boy in the limo. I thought you'd make him work for it a little."

"Jesus Christ!" Adams swears. "This ain't how it's gonna be, you know," he points a finger at me then Mac. "Our sex life is not for band entertainment purposes just because we are official now."

"Calm down, baby," Mac blows him a kiss. "Who won?" she asks me. Mac has such a better sense of humor than Preacher.

"Trace." I grumble.

"Damn, he always wins," Mac says.

"You right,baby sister," I realize. "Time to turn the tables. We should place some bets on his little love triangle trouble...though...that shit is so complicated, we'll a need a bracket, not a simple bet..."

"Put Riley on it," Mac suggests.

"Brilliant! I'll get on that..."

"You guys finished acting like high school freshman?" Adam looks pissed.

Oh what's the matter Preacher? Don't like your bandmate/woman jokin' around about your sex life? I guess you shouldn't screw where you live.

Tams and I being the obvious exception to that.

"We have serious problems, here." Adam checks his phone. "Dawes says there's a whole elevator of bad business on it's way to Trace's suite."

"Well, let's go see what we can do for KitKat," I say.

I'm actually kind of interested to meet her parents. They've done a number on their daughters. That's the way life is, sometimes. People don't necessarily have their shit straight just because they become parents. My parent's case in point.

But hey, you can't go claiming that parental static and carry it around with you. My parents are both coo-coo for cocoa-puffs in their own way, and I turned out perfectly normal.

Adam sighs heavily. "Yeah. Priorities. She's gonna need some support. But right after, we gotta talk about the show, guys."

"The show must go on," I say, and snatch Mac's Starbucks from the table.

"Hey!" she punches me. "Give it back!"

"Not on your life," I sip her coffee. "I get anything I want from you, because you got the Man In Black!" I tug on the autographed Johnny Cash T-shirt.

"I know, right?" Mac squeals as twirls in it. "I've been after it for years! Who knew all I had to do was give Adam a—"

"Hey!" Adam points his finger at her again. She winks at him. "A sincere 'I love you.'" She slides underneath his arm and puts her hand in his back pocket. He rolls his eyes and kisses her on the temple. They look happy.

I feel sad.

It's probably just drug-blocked Chi.

No way could it be anything more.

I'll fix it with a few Sun Salutations, a kick-ass performance and maybe a little fangirl lovin' tonight.

A pretty blonde hippie-chick. A sunny little thing that wants to hug me up and treat me nice for the night.

Yeah, that's all I need.

So....an interesting tidbit about the concept of body chakras..the throat chakra is often associated with a person's ability to express their truth.  I can see why Leed, as a vocalist and Eastern philosophy kind of guy, would be concerned about his throat chakra. But, I wonder...was it really just the drugs unbalancing Leed today, or does he have a truth he's not expressing...maybe not even to himself?

Please vote/list/follow/comment/feel all the feels. Thanks so much for reading my little story!