Page 112 of Sangre
Epilogue
One month later
The beaches wenton for miles as the mini-bus rolled along the highway. Isla stared out at the blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean, wishing she were in it, floating on her back and looking up at the psychedelic sunset. In the front of the bus, Jac listened to rock tunes as his hands gripped the steering wheel, Benz sat behind him, playing a game and cursing under his breath, Gage lay on the seats, sleeping, and Arsen held onto the back of the seats as he walked toward her.
She pretended not to notice him when he plopped down on the seat across from her.
“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he said softly.
“What do you mean?” She kept her gaze on the white tips of the waves as they caressed the shore.
“You’re not having a good time. You’re not feeling the music. We’ve all noticed it. It’s not really fair to the fans.”
Ouch.Isla inhaled sharply. “You’re right. It’s not fair to the fans. I’ll sort it out.”
“Black Creek expects us to kick ass. You’re not doing your part. Tell me what’s going on with you.”
Sangre’s going on with me. I miss him so much it hurts.“I don’t know. I guess I thought this is what I really wanted, but I don’t think it is.”
“It’s that dude back in Alina, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no. I was having doubts after we came back from our tour last year. That’s why I left for a while. I needed the break to think about what I want as a musician.”
“What’re you guys talking about?” Benz said as he came over.
“We’re just shooting the shit, dude. Go back to your game.”
“Isla doesn’t look like it’s nothing. What the fuck’s up with you?”
“I don’t really like touring.”There. I said it.
Benz jerked his head back and sank into one of the seats. “What the fuck does that mean? That’s what we do. We’re a band that’s now on a label. We fuckin’ record, do shows, andtour.”
“I know. I like the recording and doing shows, but not the constant touring, or the stress, or the scrutiny. I guess I’m not cut out to be a mega rockstar. I just like to write songs, sing, and perform in small places.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Benz glared at her.
“Dude, chill. If this isn’t for her then it’s not,” Arsen said. “It’s better we find out now rather than later.”
Benz’s eyes bulged. “Are you saying you want to quit?” She nodded slowly. “Un-fucking-believable. So where does that leave the band?”
“I’ll stay until you get another singer. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to blow your chances with Black Creek.”
“I appreciate that,” Arsen said as he took out a joint and lit it. “Now that we’re on a label, we shouldn’t have a problem finding a chick who wants to join.”
Benz pounded the seat cushion. “It’s because of that damn biker, isn’t it? Are you really thinking this through? I know you. Music runs through your veins. You’re not going to be able to give it up.”
“You’re right, Benz—music is a part of my life. I can start a band.”
“In that shithole town? If you want to blow your life, go ahead and do it. I’m done with you.” He slid out of the seat and headed back to the front of the bus. He looked over his shoulder. “I give you four months or less, but don’t even think of wanting back in. You’re officially out of Iris Blue as soon as we get back to LA.” He sat down and went back to his game.
“I know I’ve really hurt him,” Isla said softly. “I didn’t mean to.”
“He’ll live. None of us were in tune to the way you were feeling. We kept thinking you’d get used to the life.”
“I tried to, but it’s just not me. I like roots. I love to write songs, and I’m pretty damn good at it. I’ve thought about selling some of the ones I’ve written that aren’t in the style of Iris Blue.”
“And you miss the biker dude.”
