Page 54 of Down Beat
“Kind of hard to miss.”
“Yeah.” Both of us hang in amicable silence before he adds, “I didn’t know with your last message if you knew or not.”
“Knew what? That you behaved like a cliché rock star?”
“One way of putting it.”
I’m sorely tempted to smack the video icon now, just so I can see his face. My gut tells me it’s much the same as he looked after he belted out “Descent of My Mind” last night.
“Are you decent?” I ask the question before my nerves get the better of me.
He scoffs. “Sure. Why?”
I tap the icon. The image takes a second to pixelate and become clear. “Because you don’t sound like you’re okay.”
He drops his head so all I can see is his wild hair and jaw as his shoulders rise with his sigh. “You were the one with the issue, Tabby-cat, not me.”
“I call bullshit.”
His face lifts at my whispered words. Our eyes connect, and no words seem relevant. It’s all there, laid out in his pained, tired gaze: he’s not okay.
“Are they giving you a hard time about it?”
He nods. The movement draws my focus to his surroundings.
“Are you in bleachers?”
“Supposed to be doing sound check.” He spins the phone to give me panoramic views of where they’ll play tonight.
“Why aren’t you, then?”
“I’m sulking.” He returns the phone to his face and grins.
Any frustrations I had at the guy melt away. That, right there, was a genuine smile. I’d put my seven hundred on it.
“Tell me what happened. From the horse’s mouth.”
His gaze flicks past the phone, yet he holds it steady as he shrugs. “I derailed.”
“Have you always had an issue with alcohol?”
“Apparently.” He laughs before setting those intense grays back on me. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Who the hell am I going to tell?” I roll my eyes.
He shrugs again. “Anybody who’ll pay you enough.”
“Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Rey smiles again, only this time it’s a lazy quirk of his lips. “I’m cracking the shits with them because our label boss told me I have to do rehab after the tour if I want to keep my career.”
I should be sympathizing with him, but, “Cracking the shits?” I laugh. “That doesn’t sound very American of you.”
He chuckles. “Like it? I looked up Australian slang.”
“I’d love it, except I’m from New Zealand, remember?”
He pulls his lips back in a grimace. “Shit. Sorry.”