Page 101 of Layla

Layla

We have a few shows scheduled in LA before we get another short break prior to the start of the European leg of our tour. I’m looking forward to getting back on stage. All of this free time might have been nice at one point, but right now all it does is give me lots of opportunities to think about John and remember how sad I am.

I’m tired of being sad.

As ever, the best place to work out the maelstrom of emotions coursing through me is behind my drum kit. Dee had known what she was doing when she first introduced me to the instrument. When I’m upset, there’s nothing better than pounding on something really hard and making a lot of noise.

The first LA show is electric. The city is our home base, so a lot of our friends have come out to support us. Our fans in the area are also amped up, proud of their returning hometown heroes. Or at least that’s what I like to think as I look out over the screaming crowd, all of them singing along with Haylee as she wails her guts out in front of the microphone.

I needed this,I think, feeling some of the tension drift out of me. Needed to remember how much I love playing. How it makes me feel alive and whole and invincible. As tired as I am of being sad, I’m even more tired of being afraid. I hadn’t realized until this moment just how much strain the tour had put on me. Always looking over my shoulder, second-guessing the people I came into contact with, filled with suspicion and doubt every minute of the day.

Of course, back then I had John to help me banish those feelings and fears. Now I just have my drum kit and thousands of screaming fans.

As we file off the stage after the encore, a few of the roadies pause on their way to tear down the set to clap for us. Cliff gives me a high five as we pass. “Kick ass show, Layla.”

I blow him a kiss then laugh when Dylan rolls his eyes. I blow him a kiss too, just to be an ass.

“Not bad,” Louis says, meeting us in the hallway.

“That’s high praise, coming from you,” Lance says drily.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Your dressing room is already full,” he says. “Apparently lots of people want to party with Intrigue in LA.”

“Fuck yeah, they do!” Dylan says, holding up his hand for a high five. Louis rolls his eyes again, but he complies, slapping Dylan’s hand.

“Have some fun but don’t overdo it. We have to be at the radio station by eight tomorrow. Interview with KROQ.”

Louis wasn’t kidding about the full dressing room. We can barely get through the door. But a huge cheer goes up at the sight of us, which is pretty damn cool, especially considering there are a lot of established musicians in here. I can already make out several of the Ransome brothers and a few other big-name performers I’ve never even met.

“Never stops being trippy, does it?” Lance whispers in my ear, and I grin back at him. He catches sight of Willa across the room and makes a beeline for her without another word. The happy look on her face when she greets him sends a little shot of pain through me.

You’re not going to think about John tonight,I tell myself firmly.

“Layla!” Haylee calls over the noise, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get you a beer, girl!”

On our way to the makeshift bar in the corner, we’re stopped by a dozen people, including Lennon, who wraps Haylee up in a big hug and whispers something in her ear that makes her blush. To my relief, she doesn’t disappear with him, instead linking her arm with mine as soon as he releases her. “My girl and I need some refreshments,” she shouts.

Because Lennon is one of the most genuinely nice people I know, he pulls me into a hug too. “You rocked hard, tonight, Layla. Seriously, you need to teach Reed how to do that bounce flip trick in the second set—he always drops his sticks.”

I’m sure he’s just being flattering, but the idea ofmeteaching Reed Ransome anything about drums makes me so giddy I have to laugh. “Go get your drinks,” Lennon says to us. “I’ll catch you in a bit.”

We grab our beers then stand at the edge of the room for a minute, watching the crowd. “This is some party,” Haylee says.

I flip my hair behind my shoulder. “Well, duh. We totally deserve it. We kick ass.”

Haylee laughs, squeezing my hand briefly. “There’s my Layla,” she says. “I was missing you.”

I make a face. “Have I been that mopey?”

She just grins. “A little, but we understand.”

“Well, I guess we know how to cheer me up if any other guy ever breaks my heart—just put me in front of a few thousand fans for a couple hours, screaming about how awesome I am.”

“You are easy to please,” she says sarcastically, and we both crack up.

“Go see your guy,” I tell her, when I notice her gaze shifting to the group where Lennon is standing with his younger brother Daltrey, and Daltrey’s wife, Daisy.

“Come with,” she suggests. “You haven’t seen Daisy in a while.”