Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

13. Keaton

Y esterday’s show surprisingly went off without a hitch, and now we’re in the middle of our second performance with Darius. Sweat drips along my temple, but I’m in the middle of a song and can’t swipe at it right now.

That’s one thing our practices aren’t able to prepare us for. The heat of the lights shining on us, the way the crowd seems to change every little aspect of playing. There’s a certain kind of energy they give off, which is completely different from the shows we did with Tristan.

Raina moves across the stage, her backup dancers right behind her as she performs for the other side of the auditorium. Her ass sways seductively. I really do get the best view of her from my kit. I’m sure the others do too, but I rarely pay attention to what captures their focus when playing.

Glancing at Blake, I find his fingers moving on the strings with his eyes closed, not wanting to let the audience freak him out, although the time he spent inside the dressing room last night with Raina and Nash seems to have helped a lot. He wasn’t nearly as bad tonight.

Nash’s attention is all over the place. He watches his fingers on the fretboard for a moment, then smiles at Raina before staring at the crowd. They dance to the song, screaming out the words along with my girl. She might fear everything the tabloids say about her, but her fans seem to be all about the music. Loyal to a fault.

A pang of devastation rips through me when my gaze lands on the lead guitarist, only to find Tristan isn’t there. It almost makes me hit the drum a fraction too slow. Things changed so much with him when we signed on to the tour. His anger turned him into someone I no longer recognized. I couldn’t fully understand why he was acting the way he was.

And now I fear I’ll never get to ask him why he couldn’t simply talk things out with her. To apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion when I thought he was raping Raina. To fix things so we can be a cohesive group for the first time.

I push my anger and regret into my kit, striking the drums with crisp hits of my sticks and slamming my foot on the pedal for the kick drum until we finish the song and move into the next one.

Tapping out a rhythm has been my way of expressing myself for as long as I can remember. Slow, fast, hard, soft. I’ve used it as a way to speak when the words won’t come out, to at the minimum let those closest to me know what’s going on inside me. But right now, it’s not fucking helping. Probably because I’m forced into what it is I’m playing instead of being able to do it with my soul.

Another bead of sweat drips from my hairline, making a path straight for my eyebrow which will eventually end up in my eye. Hitching my shoulder, I quickly lift my arm to wipe at my forehead, knocking out my in-ear, allowing the full force of the audience and music to hit me like a two by four in the face.

The sound of a riff reaches me, drawing my attention. With all the practice we went through—drilling each and every song into our memory until we could play in our sleep—it’s easy enough to hear the change.

Who does this asshole think he is? Coming in and switching things up like he has the power to rewrite the music. Thank fuck Raina is wearing her in-ears or the unexpected shift in the riff might’ve thrown her off. Perhaps that’s why he thought he could get away with it. Figured she’d never know any different with the pre-mixed music being streamed into her IEMs.

Darius coming in hasn’t seemed natural to me at all. It’s all way too easy having Tristan disappear, then this guy magically showing up. I don’t like it, and I don’t trust him one single bit. Not with the way he looks at my woman or how he’s flirted with her. He’s here for a purpose, I simply haven’t figured out what it is.

Yet.

I’m so focused on watching Darius that I almost miss one of the backup dancer’s feet trip over each other, unable to keep up with the difficult choreography. They crash to the stage, knocking into Raina.

It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion, knowing exactly what’s going to happen before it actually does, but you’re unable to do anything about it. Even if I jump from my seat to try and catch her, I won’t get there in time. The only reason I keep playing is muscle memory.

Her eyes begin to widen in panic, slowly growing bigger as her body tilts to the side, the momentum of her turn already in motion, meaning she has no way to catch her balance. She’s stuck with no way to save herself from falling, making me desperate for a rescue.

With reflexes like a cat, Darius swings his guitar to his back, the strap holding it to his body. The sound of his playing instantly dies out in the process, but he doesn’t have a care in the world. His eyebrows bunch together in concern as he reaches for Raina.

His arms wrap around her, making me grit my teeth. He might be saving her from possibly hurting herself, but it doesn’t mean I like the idea of him touching her.

Her singing drops out, which is way more noticeable than the absence of a lead guitarist. His portion isn’t really important unless he’s playing a solo, it’s swallowed up by the bass and rhythm positions.

We keep playing as Darius guides her into a standing position, his hands moving over her waist in a gentle caress. The concern etched on his face is palpable, and though I begrudge him for intervening when I couldn’t, I can’t deny the relief in seeing her back on her feet.

Raina’s breath comes in sharp, quick gasps as she steadies herself, trying to find her footing again. The audience continues singing in her stead, not really comprehending what’s happening as fast as I am. It’s a harsh reminder of how fragile live performances can be.

Chalk it up to five years of experience, but Raina easily picks up the next verse, her voice once more ringing through the auditorium as her fans finally make sounds of shock at her almost falling.

Instead of resuming his playing, Darius smoothly steps into place with the backup dancers. It’s a number where one of the males partners with Raina in a flirty, almost too sexualized routine. Of course the bastard is just as smooth at dancing as he is playing.

It makes me want to snap one of my sticks in a release of anger.

At first Raina is stiff, visibly tense in her movements, but as he keeps up with her, she loosens, embracing the situation. The way she’s able to quickly adapt to anything thrown at her is impressive, not everyone can do that.

There’s an almost playfulness between them, like Raina is having more fun than she usually does. A smile tugging up her lips as she sings into the earset microphone, allowing her to easily do the more strenuous dancing. I hate to admit that they glide together with a surprising chemistry, their movements telling a story that feels both spontaneous and intimate.

The audience cheers louder than I’ve ever heard before the longer they interact.

Darius’ absence is barely noticeable, yet somehow our energy is off. It’s not hard to figure out what’s to blame. None of us enjoy the idea of his hands on our woman, especially not when it’s in front of the entire world. Videos of them dancing will no doubt go viral.

With the lyrics backing them up, the dynamic between Darius and Raina is almost romantic. It’s like they’re telling a love story with their bodies.

My gaze narrows on the place where his hand flexes on her waist as he walks backward, guiding her in step with him, only for them to do the reverse. Raina’s hair flows behind her in a turn, and Darius dips her like they’ve rehearsed the move a thousand times. His fingers trail from her forehead down her body like a sensual caress until he fists her outfit and rips the top layer away to reveal the costume below it.

The crowd goes fucking wild, cheering and moving like a wave.

It was supposed to be a move that visualizes a partner ripping out your soul—knowing what I do now, I’m sure it’s a song about how Tristan ghosted her—yet when Darius does it it seems like a man ripping off a chrysalis to reveal the butterfly inside.

What started as a potential disaster has turned into one of the most memorable moments of the show. Possibly the entire tour.

Glancing at Nash, I find he’s gritting his teeth, obviously going through the same thoughts I am. We hate the idea of something so unforgettable happening with someone who isn’t one of us. We already have a battle in front of us with Raina dating multiple men. The last thing we need is for her fans to fall in love with him .

As the final notes of the song fade, Raina catches her breath. Her cheeks are rosy, which could be explained by all the added exertion from the dancing, but I fear it’s really from unexpected attraction.

“Wow! I almost ate shit there, didn’t I?” she says to the crowd. “Let’s all give a hand for the quick reflexes of my lead guitarist, Darius!”

You can feel the enthusiasm of the audience, their screams roll over us like waves at the beach. The chant starts slow and builds louder and louder until it’s filling my ears. Darius. Darius. Darius.

I knew this was coming, but it still strikes an unexpected terror. What if she chooses him over us?