Page 20 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

JOEL

“Key.Key.Keith motherfucking Prentiss!”

Key looks up at me from where he sits on the old couch in the green room, fiddling with his guitar. “You say something?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, dipshit, we’re about to start and you’re daydreaming over here.”

He jumps up. “Sorry. I was—never mind.”

Dave and James are talking to each other as they head out but I hang back. “Are you okay, man?”

Key blinks and shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tries to walk past me but I clasp a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place. “Seriously. The past couple days . . . you’ve been in a funk.”

His eyebrows rise under his wavy mop of brown hair. “A funk?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, a fucking funk. Mopey as shit, wandering around the house like Droopy Dog.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

I hold my arm out straight and give him a hard stare.

“I said I’m fine, Joel. Back off.”

“It’s cool if you’re not, you know. We could do something. Anything. Or you could tell me what’s bothering you.”

He pushes my hand away and rolls his eyes. “What’s bothering me right now is some asshat blocking the way to the stage.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine. But, if you say no to going out for chicken wings after the show tonight, I’m calling 911.”

His mouth drops open in mock-outrage. “I would never turn down chicken wings. If I ever say no to that, your concern is valid and I’ve obviously been body swapped by aliens.” He grins at me, and I think maybe this has all been in my head.

I smile back. “Right. Okay, then.”

We head down the hall, the dark corridors muffling the chanting from the crowd.

“By the way,” he says, “sorry about ditching you with all that laundry. I bet that sucked balls.”

I shrug, a wide grin stretching across my face. “I have no regrets.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “What’s that look?”

“What look?”

“That ‘I just got to stuff my face in the biggest pair of tits’ look.”

“Jesus, Key, you really do have a way with words.”

Nowhestopsme, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to tone down the smile. “No, really. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Hey, fuckheads, you ready or what?” Dave yells, standing next to James, who cracks his knuckles methodically.

“We’re ready,” I say, moving to meet them. Then, to Key, “Listen, I’ll tell you later while we’re stuffing our faces with hot wings.”

He pushes his tongue into his cheek but nods, and a moment later, the four of us are stepping out into the blinding lights to a thunderous crowd. I head for my bass guitar on a stand at the far side of the stage, while Dave settles behind the drums and James slings his guitar over his shoulder. Key is the last to take position and I watch as he adjusts his guitar strap before stepping toward the microphone.

“Oakland!” he shouts. “Are you ready to repent for your Carnal Sins?”

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