1st Chance Read Free

winced as I allowed it to hit my bloodstream. The room was brightly lit, it stung my eyes more than the stage spot had, and was badly painted an off white. A large mirror framed with those tacky but compulsory bulbs sat above a counter that housed my towel, aftershave and bourbon and I briefly met my own eyes in the reflection. All I saw were sadness and grief, and I took another gulp from the bottle as I looked away. A loud knock on the door made me jump slightly. Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers though my hair and opened it.
     
    The security guard stood before me, his frame bulky and solid.
     
    “The girl is waiting in the main room, Nate,” he said, expressionless.
     
    “Great. Thanks.” I waited for him to turn around and leave but he just hovered. Knowing exactly what the answer would be, I asked the question anyway.
     
    “Anything else?”
     
    For the first time, the meaty bulk of a man smiled, almost shy.
     
    “It’s just. . .well. . .I’m sorry to do this. . .but my daughter is a huge fan of your band. When I told her I was working at a Chance gig tonight she was beside herself.” He trailed off, chuckling softly. “I just wondered if you’d mind signing this for her? She’d be thrilled.”
     
    He held out our latest album and tapped himself for a pen. I almost laughed – everybody wants an autograph but no one ever has a damn pen with them. Of course, I took the album and located a pen amongst my stuff in the corner of the room with a patient smile. I loved this part of being famous, really—the constant affirmation and adoration—I needed it to feel whole, especially now.
     
    As the security guard left me, Mikey’s silhouette appeared down the dim corridor.
     
    “Hey. There’s a smoking hot girl down there waiting for you. . .” He trailed off as he clocked the bottle dangling from my hand. “Are you okay, Nate? You’ve been hitting that stuff pretty hard this tour. Don’t want you burning out on us.”
     
    I toyed with the idea of spilling my head to Mikey. He’d been great to me when I’d split with Becky—all the guys had been. But here, a year on, I knew he’d just tell me to get a grip. Enough time had passed, I should have moved on by now. Instead, I chuckled dismissively and hit him on the arm.
     
    “We’re rock-stars Mikey.” I waggled the bottle in front of him. “Just livin’ the dream.” Choosing to ignore the concern on his face, I shut the door to my dressing room and walked the narrow corridor to a large, buzzing space full of chattering bodies, flight cases and wires.
     
    The atmosphere intensified as I walked in. The crew were all unfazed by me, of course, but occasionally they’d invite friends and family. They’d all be cool, but I had to do the usual posing for photos and signing of shirts before I could locate my chosen distraction for the evening.
     
    She stood nervously in the corner and I adopted a swagger I did not feel as I approached her.
     
    “Hey. I’m Nate.” I held out my hand to her and quickly did a scan of her face. Definitely in her twenties, I noticed with relief. As she clasped my palm in hers, I pulled her forward to kiss her cheek. She immediately dissolved.
     
    “Oh my God, I’m so stoked to meet you. Like, your music has changed my life. I love you guys,” she gushed. “I’m Alice, by the way.”
     
    “Well that’s nice to hear Alice, thank you.” I leaned provocatively against the wall and was about to invite her to my hotel when something stopped me. Before and after Becky, this was a common post-gig activity for me, and most of the guys in the band. At first it was fun, and after the break-up, necessary—anything to take my mind off the hurt. But today? I just didn’t want to. I didn’t have energy to give to a complete stranger. I didn’t feel worthy of the constant worship or willingness to please. Instead, I signed some merchandise for her, posed for a couple of photos she snapped on her cell, and