Madelynne Ellis - Come Undone

‘You need to get back on stage.’

Not bloody likely. Xane gave a swift shake of his head.

Several of the roadies formed up around him like a squad of Marines. As if marching him back onto the stage was going to achieve anything.

‘Seriously, I’m done.’

‘Xane.’

‘Really, Graham.’

Would it have hurt any of them to ask him if he was OK? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t figured out the basics of what was going on. But no, all they were concerned about was what was best for them and their wallets.

Graham raised his hand. ‘OK, let’s talk.’

He didn’t fucking want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted out. If any of them actually wanted to know what had caused this rift then they could yap amongst themselves and figure it out. That’s if the platinum band next to the ruddy enormous diamond on Elspeth’s finger didn’t clue them in.

He wasn’t the one responsible for this. He was just the shmuck who’d been taken for granted and then unceremoniously dumped by someone he’d loved and trusted.

It was probably a good thing there were no windows backstage, because he felt like punching glass.

‘Xane, I’m sorry,’ Steve mumbled at him as Xane shouldered his way towards the greenroom. He wasn’t sticking around for a debate, and he sure as hell wasn’t singing, even if they dragged him back on stage trussed up like a Christmas turkey.

Right now, he couldn’t sing. He was too fucking choked with anger.

Steve tailed him as far as the water fountain. ‘You know it wasn’t our intention to hurt you. It doesn’t have to change things between us. It can still be like before, if you want.’

If he wanted. Nice of Steve to think of him at last. Except, of course, it was bollocks. No way could things be the same. Marriage changed things irrevocably. It involved commitment. It imposed limits. It stank of exclusivity. And Steve and Elspeth were hitched.

‘We’re for ever, man.’ Steve lifted his hand as though he intended them to brush knuckles. Instead, Xane snapped the chain he wore around his neck and dumped the contents into the callused hands of his drummer.

‘Not any more. I don’t want to see either of you again.’

Steve’s brow furrowed. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Weren’t you listening?’ God, it hurt his throat to speak. ‘The band’s done.’

Steve stroked his hand over his chin and his devilish goatee. ‘I didn’t think you actually meant it.’

‘We’re done.’ Xane repeated to emphasise the point.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. ‘What would you have us do, Xane? I love her. You know I do. Was I supposed to turn her down?’

Xane’s eyes narrowed. The sting in his nose had become almost intolerable. It made him physically ill to look at this man who had been his closest friend for years. ‘Did you think for a second how I’d feel?’

Steve stretched out his arm, but Xane stepped back out of reach to avoid the contact, leaving his former friend shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry it’s happened this way. I really am. It’s not how I wanted it. I thought we were good, Xane. I thought you understood. I hope when you’ve calmed down we can –’

‘Fuck off!’ Xane snarled, tightening his fists. ‘Seriously, just eff off, before I give in to what I’d like to do and wring your bloody neck.’

Not only was Ginny’s plan the source of everything stupid, it was moronic too. Missing the show on the vague off-chance that they might meet the band sucked big time. Dani wanted to be in with the crowd, singing along with Xane’s growling vocals as Spook Mortenson went batshit on guitar. That guy could work magic on a fretboard. His textures, the way he injected primal desire into the heavy choruses from their Beyond the Lich Gate album, set vibrations running through her nerves as though it were her he was playing.

‘Can’t we just hit their hotel bar, post show?’ she whined.

They’d managed to slip into the backstage area, although bits of it looked more like a coffee shop, thanks to the leather tub chairs and cute round tables. But there’d not been so much as a sniff of testosterone, unless you counted the odd besuited member of the venue staff.

‘Know where they’re staying, do you?’ Ginny asked, planting a hand firmly on her hip.

Dani sighed at her toes. ‘Actually, I heard it was the Whyteleaf.’ The landmark family-run hotel had recently undergone an extensive refurbishment, having been purchased by a global conglomerate. What’s more, their PR man had clearly decided that having a rock band, even an extreme metal group, constituted a major scoop for business. Black Halo’s image had been splashed across all their recent advertising.

Ginny vetoed the possibility with a slash of her hand. ‘Everyone will be there. We’ll not get close.’

They didn’t seem to be getting very close anyway. ‘Ginny, are you even sure this is the right place? These rooms look like offices.’

‘What do you expect a dressing room to look like?’

‘I don’t know, stars on the doors?’ She’d never been backstage anywhere before, unless you counted performing in the school nativity play. She’d assumed it’d be full of bustling activity, whereas their current surroundings were too quiet. Only the odd vibration through the floor hinted that there was a band on the premises.

They turned yet another corner and into a broad corridor, down which there were at least a dozen doors. ‘Like these, you mean?’ Ginny crowed.

There weren’t actually stars on the doors, but there were card slots. Godwatch, Dying Pain … Ginny read them out, her voice growing louder, until she shrieked, ‘Black Halo. Yes!’ She punched the air. ‘Dani, we’re in.’

Ginny barged straight into the room. Dani followed on the balls of her feet, expecting to be challenged. Inside, dressing tables lit with hundreds of bulbs lined one wall of a roughly boot-shaped room. They’d entered at the leg end, a tight space dominated by rails full of leather coats. Where the room widened, twin squashy sofas sat either side of a coffee table littered with beer cans and half-empty bottles of spring water. A purple electric guitar lay in the centre of one sofa, and a huge display of lilies on its counterpart. The smell of flowers permeated the room, almost but not quite masking the waxy odour of white foundation, hairspray and half a dozen different deodorants.

‘Seriously, they make them all squish into one room?’ Dani had anticipated a dressing room each. Surely by the time you hit Black Halo’s level of success you were guaranteed a little privacy? ‘So, now what?’

Ginny moved the lilies onto the table alongside someone’s laptop and a stack of chocolate. Then she stretched out on that sofa. ‘We chill, silly.’

Dani flicked a glance at the clock on her phone. She had no intention of lounging around in the dressing room with Ginny for the next hour, missing all the thrill of the show. She’d bought a ticket so that she could chant along with the rest of the crowd, not to camp out in a glorified closet. ‘I’m going to go watch,’ she insisted.

‘Suit yourself.’ Ginny rolled her eyes upwards, then crossed her arms and snuggled against the leather. ‘Suppose you’d better take this, then, just so that you can get back in. And don’t lose it. I need to frame that baby later.’

Dani caught the laminated pass and slipped the lanyard around her neck, still half hoping Ginny would come with her. When it became apparent she wouldn’t, Dani headed for the door.

‘Hey, Saint,’ Ginny called. Dani turned to see her helping herself to a bar of chocolate. ‘Are you actually going to come back or shall I see you at the hotel?’