Page 59 of Living on the Edge

“Fuck yeah!” Sam and Mick high five each other.

Tate claps me on the back before getting up to go hug Jonny.

“That’s fast,” Kirsten says, nodding her head. “You guys are doing awesome!”

“Sasha says there’s a lot of momentum,” Jonny continues, looking at everyone but me. “She’s already working on extending the tour, even after Nobody’s Fool is done. She’s trying to find us another band to open for.”

There are a bunch of questions, so we wind up getting Sasha on speaker phone.

I’m excited but also resigned.

This should be a huge celebration, but it feels like I’m on the outside looking in.

I don’t feel like I’m part of them anymore.

And it sucks.

* * *

The show is a good one,and we wind up hanging out with a bunch of local journalists as well as some guy fromRolling StoneMagazine. He’s here for Nobody’s Fool but that’s okay—it’s always good to make friends. When journalists put names and faces to the music, it can make a difference.

Drinking together, hanging out backstage, having casual conversations—it’s all part of the game. I’m not particularly good at it, but Tate and Jonny excel and they’re totally on target tonight.

I look around, realizing that Ryleigh is missing out on this too.

She mentioned once thatRolling Stoneis her bucket list magazine, and writing for them is a dream. This would have been her chance to at least get a foot in the door, and she’s not here.

I feel a twinge of guilt, wondering if she’s really sick or if she’s avoiding me.

Just like everyone else.

“Damn, bro, who pissed in your corn flakes?” Tate demands. “You look like somebody died.”

“That’s just my face,” I deadpan.

He shakes his head. “Come on, lighten up. Have a drink.”

“I am.” I hold out the bottle of beer in my hands.

“You’ve been nursing that for like an hour.”

“I’m fine. Don’t want to get so drunk I say something stupid in front of the press.” I lower my voice. “I’m in enough trouble these days.”

“No one’s even asked about it,” he says, just as quietly.

“Not yet. The night is young.” I glance at Jonny, who’s laughing with a local radio DJ. “And he hasn’t said more than five words to me in days.”

Tate nods, momentarily somber. “I told you—I’m working on him. Don’t sweat it. Now come on, there are a couple of ladies looking for some attention.”

I follow his gaze to two busty brunettes.

I recognize them as the fans who won backstage passes from the local radio station, and they’re hanging on Jonny’s every word.

“They appear to be happy where they are.”

“It used to be a challenge to pull them away from Jonny,” he teases. “Come on, let’s go back to having fun together. If we act normal, eventually things willbenormal.”

I hesitate, but he has a point.

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