DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 13: Drummer Boys Steal

Bodie

The Vicodin I took isn't touching the pain in my hand while I beat the snares during sound check.

Or maybe the verbal and physical assault I took from Arabella when I arrived killed my high.

The girl has a decent punch, I'll give her that. Not anything like Mac's, but powerful enough to sting. Adam pulled her off me, or I might have ended up with a busted lip, which would have been annoying.

I have to admit, Adam has a way with her. As much as she exasperates the hell out of him, he has no idea that she really looks up to him. He treats her better than the rest of us—even me. He never loses his temper with her.

Adam is going to make a great fucking dad.

Sweat pours from my face as I pound the skins and watch Mac, bouncing to my beat on her keys. I examine her belly, perfectly visible in a tight t-shirt and yoga pants. She's about six months now, with a high, round bulge. She looks real cute, but I don't feel happy, staring at her.

I think about Marley, pregnant like that in prison.

Prison in not a place where you want to be vulnerable in any way. I don't imagine it's all that different in a women's prison. A baby in her belly probably made her a target for all kinds of attention in there. Jesus, what the fuck did she go through, trying to protect herself and an unborn child?

Maybe my unborn child?

Am I the one that put her through that?

Am I the one that left her to raise a child alone, just like my own mother struggled to raise me?

Did I create the very situation I swore I would never cause to happen?

Pain shoots up my forearm and I drop my drumstick. The song falls apart as I throw my other one in frustration.

"Motherfuck!" I yell, hurling over a cymbal stand.

The cymbal crash dies away to a silent stage.

"Take...ten," Trace says mildly to Andy at the soundboard. Andy rises, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

The whole band circles around my kit.

"Talk to me, brother," Trace says. "If you can't play..."

"I'm fine," I grin. "Mac's belly is scaring the shit out of me, that's all."

She laughs and comes to sit on my lap, drawing my good hand on her belly. "Liar, you are completely in love with my daughter already."

I smile, rubbing the kid. She's right, that was a weak lie. I'm pretty well known for being good with babies.

While she has me distracted, she snatches my other hand and pulls the drummers glove and the bandage off with one tug.

"Fuck, Bodie." She forces my hand up for the others to inspect.

"Looks worse than it feels," I protest, but the truth is, it's red and swollen. My fingers are about twice their normal size and the skin on my palm is painfully tight.

"Off the kit, now," Trace barks. He swings around to the roadies roaming sidestage. "Somebody call Chili and tell her to get ready to pull another double."

"Naw, man. Let's finish sound check and I'll ice it down."

"I think you need a doctor, man. What if it's infected?" Leed muses. "Or shit, what if you have tetanus from that damn dog?" Leed's eyes goes round with horror. His hands go to his jaw, imagining what it would feel like to have it lock up in pain from the disease.