Page 53 of Electric Wounds
Groaning, I pull up the map again. We’re still crawling toward the venue, but at this rate, we’ll definitely be late.
The minutes drag on, agonizingly slow, and we inch forward. My heart pounds in my chest as the pressure mounts. When we finally pull up to the venue—almost an hour late—the doors fly open, and the band rushes out, heading to the dressing room to grab their instruments. Dylan grabs my hand, pulling me along as we sprint toward the entrance.
The next half-hour is a blur. Bags are tossed into corners, instruments are hurriedly tuned, and the band is ushered onto the stage. Despite the chaos, they transform once the lights hit them. The moment they step into the spotlight, it’s like watching magic unfold.
They kill it. Every song, every note, is perfect, reverberating through the packed stadium with more power than I’ve ever heard before. The crowd roars, swept up in the energy, completely forgiving of the late start.
From my spot backstage, I watch in awe. Jax commands the stage, his voice raw and full of emotion, hitting every note with precision. His dark hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, as he belts out the final chorus. It’s like he’s taken all the pent-up angst from the last day and a half, and he pours it into the music. The crowd eats it up.
Behind him, Marcus is a whirlwind on his guitar, his blond hair falling over his blue eyes as his fingers fly over the strings. Dylan hammers away on the drums, his energy never faltering, while Enzo—smirking as always—dominates the bass, playing with a fierce intensity that sends chills through me.
The stadium is electric, the crowd feeding off their energy, chanting and cheering long after the last note fades. Despite the stressful day, they’ve delivered a performance for the ages. I feelpride swell in my chest. They’ve pulled off something incredible, despite the rocky start to the day. The tension that had been so thick earlier was not visible on the stage at all. From the wings, all I can see is a band that rocks together.
Backstage, the mood is still tense, but there’s a hint of relief in the air. The band exchanges high-fives and brief smiles, their adrenaline still running high. Jax is the first to speak, his voice gruff but sincere. "Good job, everyone," he says, glancing at me for a moment before looking away. "We pulled it off."
"Yeah, but we can’t let this happen again," Marcus adds, his tone serious. "We need to be better prepared next time."
Dylan, still trying to lighten the mood, cracks a grin. "Hey, at least we know we work well under pressure, right?" His laugh is half-hearted, but it’s enough to ease the tension just a bit.
Enzo shrugs, his smirk back in place. "Whatever. Just don’t fuck it up again." He says this generally, and no one takes offense.
A sense of relief washes through me. Touring with the band is… fun. Except for the last two days, when the tension was so high, all I wanted to do was escape. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders as the band starts back up with their usual banter.
The harsh lights backstage cast long shadows, and the smell of sweat and adrenaline lingers around the band, clinging to their clothes. But stronger than any of that, a sense of camaraderie threads through the air, reconnecting the band, and reigniting my hope that everything on this tour is going to be okay.
THIRTY-FIVE
COMFORT IN THE CHAOS
Lily
After the whirlwind of the broken-down bus, motel, cab ride, then show, we barely have time to catch our breath before another van arrives to pick us up. The adrenaline from the performance still hums in everyone’s veins, but the exhaustion is creeping in. This van is an upgrade from the last one, and as we pile in, the cool blast of air conditioning feels like heaven after the sweltering heat of our earlier rides.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I settle into my seat. It’s a message from Harris:Bus is still down. You’ll need to stay at a hotel for another night. Make sure the guys are ready for tomorrow’s show. This can’t happen again.
I sigh, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I’m hoping this news won’t put the band back on edge and renew the tension from earlier, but it’s not like I can hide it. Putting my phone away, I glance around at the others, their eyes already on me, waiting for an update.
“What’s the verdict?” Enzo asks, his voice softer than usual.
“Harris says the bus is still broken, so we’re staying in a hotel for another night,” I explain. “And he made it very clear we can’t afford another screw-up.”
Jax nods, his eyes clouded with frustration. “Just what we needed.”
I reach across the seat to Jax, gently cupping his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. “We’ll get through this, Jax. Nothing is wrong. This won’t happen again.”
He stares at me for a moment before sighing and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
I release his face and the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Jax has me worried, but no one else seems to share my concern. Maybe he’s always this moody, and the band is desensitized to it. Spending all day, every day with the band makes it easy to forget that I don’t actually know them very well. The short period of time that we have spent together feels much longer than it actually has been, and the guys are probably able to judge Jax’s behavior better than I can.
The rest drive to the new hotel is mostly quiet. The energy from the show has started to fade, replaced by a heavy weariness. Jax sits in his seat, silently staring out the window. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and he absently tugs at his hoodie, pulling it tighter around himself. Enzo flips through his phone with his usual air of indifference, sharp features set in a scowl. Marcus and Dylan sit across from each other, engaging in light banter, trying to keep things light.
“At least we didn’t completely miss the show,” Marcus says, his blue eyes twinkling as he runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Imagine the headlines.”
Dylan chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, ‘Electric Wounds: More Like Electric No-Shows.’ Not our best look.”
Enzo snorts. “At least no one had a meltdown on stage.”
Jax doesn’t respond at all. His silence weighs heavily, and the banter stops after that.
