Page 84 of Shame Me
And I was trying to grab Zack’s hand but he was having none of it. “Back the fuck off, Dani.”
That stung…but okay. I did back off, folding my arms across my chest.
“What makes you think you’re such an adult, Zack?” Braden demanded.
“For starters, I mind my own goddamned business.”
Shrugging Cy off, Braden pushed Zack in the chest again, this time causing Zack to lose his step, but he didn’t fall—and Braden followed it up with words. “You think you’re all grown up because you drink all day and party all night? You think fucking a groupie every night makes you a man?”
Before I could fully digest what I’d heard, the blood started draining from my face.Had I heard that correctly?And it was as if time had slowed. My brain started processing the veracity of Braden’s accusation. There was the time back in Boston during the second leg of the tour…that blonde who’d been giving Zack a blowjob.
And afterward, in Washington, D.C., when he’d told me he was sorry…that he knew he had problems and was using drugs and alcohol to numb them. He’d acted like he was helpless—not just about his addiction but even sex, like the girl had forced herself on him.
But then my brain started calculating if it could really be true…because, deep down, I knew it was. Zack’s promise to mehad been a lie…reminding me of the time when another kid spilled the beans, revealing to me that my mom was Santa Claus.
This wasn’t just a falsehood; it was also a betrayal. Everything I’d believed had been torn away in an instant, the scales falling from my eyes.
And it was the same tonight as all the times I should have figured it out hit me like a freight train.
How many times had Zack disappeared, nowhere to be found, and I’d just assumed he was off somewhere drinking? There were so many instances where a roadie—two specifically who really liked Zack—had gone out of their way to tell me where they’d supposedly last seen Zack, but Zack had never been where they’d said.
Who else had been in on the deception?
Braden had obviously known. Had Cy? Mick? The rest of the crew? What about the other bands we were touring with?
Worst of all…I’d refused to listen to own instincts, instead finding excuse after excuse for this man I’d grown to love in the most dysfunctional of ways.
Jesus fucking Christ. I was such a fool…and Zack had played me for one this entire time.
I knew I’d be angry at some point—but first I had to work through the shock and hurt.
And I had a show to play.
Braden and Zack were still fighting, almost coming to blows, when it was time for us to go on. Mick appeared out of nowhere and split them up as if they were nothing more than toys, telling them to get their shit together. “If you want to fight after the show, I’ll gladly referee—but, for now, you owe this crowd a show.”
As we walked onstage, Cy asked me, “You okay?”
A knee-jerk reaction, I said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I could feel Braden and Zack staring at me as we walked into view of the crowd, but I kept my eyes down. My cheeks were blazing red and I hoped the audience couldn’t tell. I could also feel a well of tears that wanted to overflow—but now was not the time.
First, I had a lot of anger to pound out on the drums.
My worst night on the planet wound up being our best show to date—and the crowd never had any idea that Once Upon a Riot was fractured…probably beyond repair.
When our set was over,the tears were still far away—and I was grateful for that. Quickly, I waved at the crowd and then made my way backstage. I didn’t want to face any of my band members right now.
And fucking Ashen Retribution—they lined the hallway next to their road crew and all their equipment, waiting for their turn onstage. I understood the roadies being there, but the band should have been in the green room or their dressing rooms. Of course, Bleak Viper had probably made them feel like they couldn’t use the green room either.
Still, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with these assholes—so I kept my eyes on the doors at the end of the hall as I made my way past all those guys.
But their drummer dared to say something to me. “What’s the matter? Shitty show?”
“Shut the fuck up, dickweed. You only wish you had a show as good.”
Lame…but my brain and heart weren’t in it—and I was lashing out.
“Oh, she must be on her period.”
