Page 56 of Omega Rock

“I’m fine,” Noah argues as he staggers.

For fuck’s sake.I grab Noah’s shoulder and lead him back toward our tour bus. He fights it a little, but considering he went to the party already two beers deep, I don’t let go or trust him. We still have to perform tomorrow. It’s the first damned night of tour. We shouldn’t have to be reeling either of them in like this onnight-fucking-one. Not that I didn’t do my fair share of getting black-out drunk when I was with Lost Time. But doing so when motivated by disappointment and anger was a recipe for disaster and a cycle of self-sabotage.

Aiden scoops Mia’s small frame up into his arms. She argues a little, but mostly puts a hand to her mouth and—I hope, at least—tries her best not to vomit on Aiden.

We get them both back to the bus where I hand Noah a bottle of water and some pretzels to snack on before helping Aiden with Mia.

It’s going to be a long as hell night—and a rough morning.

Sometime after Mia’s stopped vomiting and we get her washed up, changed, and laid on her side on a bottom bunk, Aiden and I exchange a glance. By this time, Noah’s sobered up enough to take part in the conversation, which is good because he needs to fucking hear it, too.

“Mia’s got a drinking problem,” I say. “This isn’t the first time it’s shown, and remembering back to when we first met her, Wes basically said as much. So we’re not doingthisagain.” The last part is for Noah’s benefit, because it’s clear he also enjoys parties a little too much.

Noah gives a slight salute as affirmation he’s heard what I said.

“I’m not fucking kidding,” I impress on him.

Aiden sits down across from us. “I’m not going to pretend that partying isn’t a whole culture for this tour, but Leo’s right. No more. Our focus is performing and writing, and we have to set that example for Mia.”

“Because she’s twenty-two?” Noah asks with a bite to his voice.

Aiden growls deep in his throat—a warning. “Because we all know what happens when musicians get fried and burn out on drinking and partying, and I refuse to let that happen toour omega.”

“Performing and writing,” I echo. “And being everything she needs us to be. That’s it.”

Noah relents, but I’ve decided by now I’m still keeping an eye on them both. “Fine—no, you’re right, I mean. But okay. God knows I don’t need more ‘bad behavior’ bullshit on my record.”

“Exactly,” Aiden says. “Get some sleep, both of you. Tomorrow’s going to be a day.”

I lay back in my bunk and close my eyes. It better be a good fucking day.

My phone dings with a reply from my doctor:I think you need to reconsider if this tour is a good idea for your health.

Fuck me.

My heart sinks right to the ground. I’ve lost enough fucking time. Backing down now would be more than I can handle, even if this tour might be more than mybodycan handle. But fuck it—I need this tour. I need this band and this pack.

I delete the message from my doctor and pray that by morning, the nerve pain is gone.

ChapterSeventeen

MIA

My head ispoundingwhen consciousness calls. Although it’s more of a summons than a call, and it blares through my fatigue with bright sunlight and a competing need to drink water and vomit.

I groan and inhale deeply. I fucked up. This much I know. But at this point, I’m not sure how badly.

My eyelids flutter open. They’re the only part of me I’m willing to move right now. Whatever I’m laying on feels unfamiliar enough that I need to know where I ended up after drinking so much. The last thing I really remember is doing shots with… the lead singer of some pop punk band I can’t remember the name of now.

I’m in our tour bus, and Leo is sitting across from me on his bottom bunk, phone in hand, not realizing I’m awake just yet. The smell of bacon and pancakes hits me then and sends my stomach churning.

Oh god.I sit up—bad idea—and stumble past Leo to the bathroom. I’m vaguely aware of Noah at the small table and Aiden at the kitchenette cooking. Luckily, I make it to the toilet in time and heave.

Fuck me.When it’s over, I clean up and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. Yesterday’s makeup, runny and worn, judges me far harder than my own disappointed glare. I wash my face quickly and prepare for whatever further judgment awaits me on the other side of this door. We’re one day into Knotty Tour and I’ve already accomplished everything I was toldnotto do.

Maybe Mom and Dad are right. Maybe this isn’t the life to live.

I open the bathroom door slowly. In the time I’ve been in there the rest of my pack has seated themselves at the small table beside Noah with only one place left open for me. Coffee, orange juice, pancakes, and bacon have been placed at each setting.

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