Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

4. Raina

N ash and I jump apart. I take small solace in knowing he moved as much as me, I don’t want him to ever think I’m ashamed of him, or want to hide him, but the media is fucking brutal. I don’t want his life to be as torn apart as mine. Although, I fear it’s inevitable.

“Heard of knocking?” I snap out instinctively before even glancing at the door. When I do, I find it’s Keaton. Relief rushes through me as I wince. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t realize it was you.”

He tilts his head, and I’m able to read his expression as if we’re having a full conversation. Don’t worry about it, Peaches. I wouldn’t have let anyone else open this door with you inside. “Sound check,” he says, then he shuts the door again.

I let out a sigh, knowing I’m fixing to put on the plastic smile once more. The past month was so freeing for me. Really, the past four months. I was slowly able to find my love for music again. Even after what Tristan did, my passion wasn’t crushed for long. But being here… after what they’ve done in only one day… I’m not sure how I’ll keep the spark from getting crushed again.

“I’m guessing Tristan isn’t here if he didn’t come out already, but we should probably check just in case,” I say, running a hand over my hair to make sure it’s still in order.

“Tristan,” Nash immediately calls out. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He moves to the back of the bus where the bunks are, and as he passes, his hand glides along my lower back. His strides are long and in no time he’s sliding the privacy curtains aside, checking all the bunks, then peeking into the bedroom.

It’s not surprising at all when he finishes searching and shakes his head. “He must be in the venue.” At least I hope he is. Would he throw a fit to screw me over? This is all the label would need to tack on more repercussions. What happens when they run out of the tour dates they built in?

“Come on, sweetheart.” Blake holds his hand out for me to take. He draws me close and brushes a kiss over my temple. “You’ve got this. Everything will work out for the best.”

My heart skips a beat as warm fuzzies tingle through me. Why do I feel like he’s the only one I’d believe that line from? Something about Blake’s quiet confidence bolsters my own. He studies every situation with silent precision before assessing it and analyzing it to excessiveness.

“Deep breath,” he whispers. “And say it with me.”

I do as he says, watching him as he inhales with me. He’s still wearing his glasses since he took out his contacts to sleep, and it somehow adds a softness that’s missing when he doesn’t have them on.

Letting out the breath, we both speak at the same time. “Everything will work out.”

A full smile stretches across Blake’s face, making me suddenly breathless. He’s so damn gorgeous, but it sneaks up on you, which I love. “Good girl. Now let’s go find Tristan.” He steps away, and Nash opens the door. The sunlight shines in, making me squint.

It’s go time .

Pushing my sunglasses onto my face, I follow Nash and Blake off the bus. Keaton is waiting for us, and they hang back to give me the lead. The waiting fans grow more excited since I’m in view once more. Their screams fill the air, and I give them the smile they’re wanting. With a wave, I flash them the pucker perfect. Whoever came up with the stupid duck face pose for me was clearly on some heavy drugs. Same with everyone else who approved it. Then again, I was high as a kite so I don’t have room to judge.

My whole brand is so fucked. Sigh .

Security works to keep people off me, but it doesn’t stop the Storm Chasers from reaching around them. Their open hands stretch toward me, hoping to get a simple touch. I’m not really sure what they get out of it. Bragging rights?

They aren’t the only ones here. Reporters yell questions while holding out recorders, trying to get a sound bite out of me. After all this time, I’ve learned to not listen to what they ask. It’s never flattering, almost always a lie, and typically worms its way into my mind where it festers. It’s inevitable that one catches my attention, though.

“Raina! Do you care to comment on the headlines circulating?” one woman shouts. It’s probably the lack of information that makes me pick it out of all the other questions being thrown at me. What headlines?

I don’t say anything, because why would I? If I ask her to specify, it will only lead to trapping me into giving them some kind of reaction once they tell me. Which is exactly what they’re looking for.

We make it inside with minimal fans getting around security to touch me, but phantom hands still glide along my skin. It makes me feel slimy and dirty. I probably shouldn’t feel that way. I should appreciate the fact that I still have so many people who still show up and pay to see my shows. Somehow, despite all the things I’ve gone through, I’ve only gained popularity when it seems like my label is doing its best to bury me.

Keaton’s long legs close the distance, and before I know it, he’s behind me. His hands glide up and down my arms, chasing away the crawling sensation on my skin. I smile to myself as we continue down the hall. “Thanks, big guy.”

He drops his touch before we encounter anyone. Even though it’s for the best, I miss it instantly. As we get closer to the greenroom, I find a roadie rushing by. “Hey,” I call, reaching a hand out to help get their attention. They pause, staring at me with wide eyes before darting to each of the men behind me. “Have you seen Tristan?”

I frown when they shake their head and continue on without saying a word. “There you are,” a fed up voice barks out. Turning, I find the same sound check guy from yesterday glaring at me with squinted eyes. “All you performers are the same, thinking everyone else’s lives revolve around you.”

My mouth drops open, but I have nothing to say. We can’t be more than a couple minutes late, and it’s not like it was done on purpose. To be blamed for the fault of others isn’t fair, but at the same time, my excuses mean nothing.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Someone’s hand lands on my arm to cut me off, but I wave them away. Sure, the guy was rude, but it doesn’t change that his time is valuable too, and some stars are real assholes to work with.

The sound check guy gives me a double take, probably questioning if he heard me correctly. It’s almost as if I broke him for a moment. He stands there staring, his eyelids blinking slowly. Then he seems to snap out of it, but his attitude has changed. “If you could get on the stage so we can get started.”

I turn to the others. “You guys get out there, and I’ll try to find Tristan. I’m not needed for vocals until last, anyway. Hopefully, I’ll have found him by then and be out there before you even need us.”

“Are you sure? I can help,” Blake offers. He’d come third in the lineup followed by Tris, but I don’t want to cause any other problems with the sound guy. Not when he’s changed his tune.

“It’s fine. I got this.” I smile at him and resist the urge to reach out and move a lock of hair that fell over the rim of his glasses. “Really, I do. Go.”

Blake stares at me for a beat longer before he moves to the stage. I turn and beeline for our dressing room. With how things have been, I suppose I should be thankful they even gave me one, but then again, it’s probably because it’s written into my contract. Not everything was overlooked. Just enough for me to be royally screwed.

Opening the door, it only takes me a split second to realize it’s empty. I close it again with a growl.

Where the fuck is he?

I dig in my bag for my phone and yank it out when my fingers close around it. On my screen, I find texts in our group chat from the guys sent at various times since we arrived, all asking where he is.

My lip stings as I bite it, wishing I had the forethought to ask if they have access to checking his location. I squeeze the phone in my grip when I don’t find an answer from fucking Tristan.

He wanted this life so badly, yet he’s nowhere to be found.

I know he doesn’t want to screw me over more than he wants to perform for the world. Our music is famous across the globe, the lengths we could reach if we teamed up would be out of this world.

Not to mention how he completely turned around. For a short time he was my best friend again, the sweet, caring Tristan who stole my heart.

Please don’t let that have all been a lie. I can’t handle it if it was .

A snicker catches my attention, and I find a crew member leaning against the wall, looking from their phone to me and then back again. It doesn’t take a large leap to assume they’re laughing at me. Movement along the hall leads me to someone else who’s staring at me. Suddenly, it feels as if the weight of the world is glaring at me.

Five seconds is all it takes for me to have my phone unlocked and a search engine running my name for the latest headlines. The one on top is currently trending.

“Rumors say Raina is already dating a member of her band. But who is it?”

Sorry, ladies! If you’re crushing on any Desert Nights band members, you might be out of luck. An insider reports that Raina is dating a sexy new musician who just joined her band. The four men are all single according to their profiles, and they haven’t been seen with anyone since they sequestered themselves away for a month long crash course learning Raina’s songs.

I stop reading, having seen enough. It could’ve been anyone, but my money is on Alyssa. She gave me a strange look yesterday after barging into my dressing room. She ensured every eye we come across will be trained on us, searching for any clues of who I might be dating.

Fucking bitch.

With a deep breath, I gird my loins and find my ovaries, then don my armor of a bitchy pop princess personality. I don’t like giving off the energy everyone expects out of me, but sometimes it’s the only way to gain their respect. And right now it’s exactly what’s needed if I’m going to show my face in the greenroom.

Holding my head high, I stride into the room and kick a guitar case out of my path. Why musicians leave them strewn everywhere in the greenroom is beyond me. I’ve always requested order from my band—probably something the last one complained about me—although I like to think everyone who has to work around the chaos appreciates it.

At the sound of the case moving across the floor, someone shouts “Hey!” and jumps from their seat. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Don’t leave your shit where people are trying to walk and it won’t get kicked,” I snap back. I don’t recognize them, which means it must be someone playing for Carmen. He sits back down as I narrow my gaze on him and scowl. Nobody wants the full force of a pissed off star pointed in their direction. Especially when you don’t have fame or power to back you up.

“No need to be a bitch.” The voice sends razor blade-sharp claws along my rib cage, threatening to cut me into ribbons. Nick leans forward and wipes a thumb over his lips as Carmen leans into him with a giggle. He’s nearly twice her age, and she’s a minor. Fucking disgusting.

The rest of the Napalm Delights members sit in various places spread out over three couches, including who I can only assume are Carmen’s players. There’s also a few of my backup dancers, but they aren’t paying any attention, too focused on their phones to give a shit about the drama around them.

Curtis spreads his legs further apart—going way beyond man spreading—and taps his thigh. “Come take a seat, slut. I know it’s what you’re here for. Let’s skip the bullshit.”

“I’m not in the mood to catch whatever STD you’ve got cooking in your pants.” I give him my middle finger while staring at the cuticles of my other hand. If only I had a stick of gum to really sell the vibe I’m going for. “Where’s Tristan?”

Nick takes a sip of his beer and slowly blinks at me. “What makes you think we’d know?”

Truth be told, I didn’t. Not until now. But I learned a long time ago you don’t ask them for anything, you demand it. Posing the question the way I did leads them to believe I already know something, and they fell into my trap.

“Yeah,” Russ adds, knocking back a pill. Probably in a ploy to tempt me into asking for one. “We haven’t seen him since last night.”

A loud laugh falls from Curtis’ lips. “He sure knows how to have a good time. We tag teamed a groupie at the party last night. He wasn’t afraid to come near this.” My face scrunches in disgust as he grabs his crotch.

“Your boy sure knows how to party, Raina. Too bad you weren’t there. We could have shown him all the tricks we taught you,” Brad says, then tilts his head back and laughs like he told a good joke.

“Sorry, junkie. We left before he did. Can’t tell you where he is.” Nick turns to Carmen and boops her nose, saying something to her that I can’t hear.

Son of a bitch. Where is he?

Worry turns in my stomach. Would Tris feel so pushed out by his friends that he’d spend time around drugs like he would be forced to do at the party? He made a big deal about it when he found out Nash and I did a little Molly.

Short of searching every room of the venue myself, I’m running out of options for finding him. As a last ditch effort, I head for the stage where Nash is going through his sound check. There’s still time for Tristan to get here before he starts to royally piss people off. Bridges will start to burn if he isn’t careful.

Walking up behind one of the security guys, I kneel on the stage. “Excuse me,” I call, getting his attention. He glances over his shoulder, and when he sees me, he turns around. I can only hope his team can help me find Tristan. I’m not sure what I’ll do if they can’t…