Page 43 of Enjoying the Band in Lockdown

First, Dirty Blonde, then Scream it Green, now this unnamed song about rage against rules. This album was going to be epic and I knew one thing for sure. One day I’d look back on these months as a turning point in not just my life but as the start of a new generation of Australian rock royalty.

Despite how the guys had come together with their jam session, I still felt awkward around Trent. I mean, he’d publicly rejected and propositioned me in one breath. In front of my boyfriend. Like, I was living a pretty messed up life and he’d exceeded any tolerance I’d built up from dealing with Jax.

By the time I came downstairs after a nap, a long t-shirt over my bikini, the guys were all at different ends of the pub. Too much togetherness could only end up in bloodshed. Xavier must have gone for a walk and last person I expected to see in the fading afternoon light was Trent. Sketchpad on the wooden table, scattered charcoal pencils everywhere.

I stood, trying not to move or do anything to get his attention. My brain screamed to go back inside, find a good book or bake another batch of cookies. Anything to avoid another confrontation. Another rejection. I couldn’t cope.

Still, curiosity drew me closer. Trent as an artist? I guessed it fit with the brooding stereotype.

Carefully, I took another step forward. Then another. Until I saw the shape of the sketch emerge. A beautiful woman, perhaps in her early twenties? Seductive and sitting cross legged, no background of any note. He was working on the detail of her long, dark, wavy hair falling loosely down her back. But it was the curves of her ass that demonstrated his talent and focus. As hetro as I was, I wanted to reach out and caress the skin!

“So you’re a bit of an ass man,” I said when he didn’t look up, or cover the sketch.

“Something like that.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Yeah.”

To my surprise, Trent invited me to sit down and then proceeded to talk. And talk. For over an hour Trent told me about the love of his life. How they’d met backstage at a concert. How she’d gone from one-night stand to a permanent place at his side. The similarities between Seri and me were obvious. But I stayed silent. This was Trent’s story to tell and it had taken him almost two months to tell it.

He stopped talking long enough to rub at the hair, bringing shade and depth to his drawing.

“Then it was over.”

The statement seemed so final, but surely it couldn’t be over. Not when he could draw her with such love and care, a man who could draw like that from memory had to still love the woman. Surely?

“Came home a week early from a tour. A leg had gotten cancelled and I figured she’d like a surprise. Came home bearing roses, chocolates, even a stuffed bear that was as big as the baby we were planning.”

Shit.It explained so much.

“Surprise was on me. They were in the shower. The car in the driveway belonged to a guy who’d just left my band. By the time they knew I was home, I’d stashed my spare guitars, old keyboard and albums in my car. By the time she started giving me excuses, I’d grabbed my clothes and gave him a choice.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“Get his fucking car out of the driveway so I could leave—”

“Or?”

“We’d find out if my truck would beat his sedan.”

“Trent, I’m so sorry that happened to you, but I’m also sorry for them.”

“Why?”

“Because, he’ll always know her as a cheater. He’ll spend the rest of their relationship looking for the signs that she’s doing it again. And she’ll always know him as the man who could fuck his friend’s woman.” I then understood why Trent rejected me, “I mean, without your—”

“Sydney, I get it. Look, being cheated on hurt. It tore out my pride and left it in the middle of a highway to be crushed by trucks and pushbikes alike. But it was when she said she loved him. The woman who wanted my baby had fallen out of love with me and learned to love my best friend in less than three fucking months. That’s what still hurts. Years later and it’s her loving someone else that still hurts.”

“Are they still together?”

“Last I heard. She stood by him in court. We’d kicked him out of the band because of his questionable behavior with young women at our gigs. We had no proof and the women wouldn’t press charges, but about six months later a girl came forward with enough evidence.”

“So, this whole thing with me and the band,” I hesitated, but Trent didn’t back away. Or stop drawing.

“Let’s just say it cuts too close to home.”

“Xavier said you sometimes write songs.”

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