unREASONable by Arya Matthews
Sneak Peek
CJ
A good song sets the crowd on fire.
As long as the band members have what it takes.
Judging by this lit audience, my band has what it takes. Project Viper has been number one on nearly every alternative rock chart for close to two years now, although the ratings are not why I pick up a guitar and surrender my life to the hysterical audiences hungry for music and my body. It’s the bite of the strings, the pressure of the in-ear monitor, and the oppressive heat of the venue air, swirling with fog and throbbing with lights. Sometimes, when the colored beams hit me just right, I think, “That’s not green. That’s E flat on the A string, sixth fret.” It’s also the posters in the hands of the girls on the very front row. They may be behind chest-high metal dividers and surveyed by former military-turned-private security hulks, but that doesn’t stop the sweet darlings from waving their confessions with all their might. My favorite? Marry Me, CJ. Such innocent devotion. It fills my heart with the kind of sadness for their desperate youth that keeps me writing songs.
Hanging out at the edge of the stage, behind the bright orange grip tape, I’m suspended in the best place in the world. Really, this is the feeling I wait for at every show. It doesn’t just last throughout the two to three hours we’re on stage. I have to chase it, a surfer with the wave, but I always catch it. The stadium ahead of me chants the lyrics from our last song of the set, All Your Broken Promises, while Marshall’s relentless but smooth baritone and Graham’s drumbeats pour over me from the massive speakers in the back. The bass line caresses my skin, the familiar temptress, drawing my eyes to Alexandra, our new Thunder Master. This festival is her first show with us. She’s on fire, same as me, same as every one of the rest of my bandmates. She’ll never be the same again.
The thought slaps a huge grin onto my face. I’ve wanted Alexandra to taste this buzz since the day she started with us. It’s worse than any drug. It’s better, too. I need her to love this so she’ll stay.
As soon as Marshall offers to share the mic with her during the last chorus, I know she’s hooked. Alexandra may have a soft spot for Marshall, but eyes closed, hands on that bright red axe of hers, she’s done for. I see the real monster possessing her heart. Not my best friend. She’s head over heels with our element—the stage.
Shane, our rhythm guitarist, and I saunter toward the center of the stage from different sides as the song comes to a close, and sandwich our bassist and singer. The last two measures are perfect to wrap the set, four quarter-length chords and a long, crackling A. We use no pyrotechnics tonight, but the effect on the mood is the same—hands in the air, whistles, cheers, and chants for more. I would’ve happily played more songs, but we’re on a strict schedule with other bands waiting their turn. A lot of them already hate us for our popularity.
“Well, that was awesome,” I say, holding a button on my earpiece to limit the output to my team only.
Alexandra whirls around to face me, long, black hair sailing through the air. Her chest heaves with exhilarated breaths, but there’s no way her elation can match mine. I’ve been Project Viper’s bassist for six years before she arrived. And it’s not that I hated it—
“That totally didn’t blow!” Zach jumps on my back from behind, clamping his long arms around me.
I let my guitar hang on its strap and grab his legs under his knees. He wants a piggyback ride? Fine. The fans will love it, and this isn’t the first time I carried him off the stage like this. Still, that doesn’t stop me from yelling, “You want to break my back? A little warning or something.”
“That would ruin all the fun.” Zach jumps off me as soon as we’re backstage. “Matryoshka! You did it!” He swoops Alexandra into a suffocating hug.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the towel our stylist has already stuffed in my hands. Cheers and sobs cling to my back, the best price I could ever ask for. These waves of approval and demand used to be what I wanted the most. The crowds, the attention, the awards—proof I’m not as worthless as everyone set me out to be. Then I learned that music is the air I need to breathe.
I always suspected that, so when my path crossed with that of the other guys, I knew we were meant to be a band. Everyone had a spark, a special something in their bones, that magical touch that made Project Viper a no-brainer. Marshall’s got one heck of a voice and overabundant charisma. Graham’s gifted with the steadiest hands made to hold drumsticks. Zach’s one of those Asian whiz-kids with piano embedded into his DNA, and Shane… Shane’s got rhythm, a hatred for being left behind, and the most mulish kind of perseverance the rest of us wish we had. He also absolutely refused to be the bassist when we were divvying up the band roles. That’s how I ended up with the bass, not with the only thing in my life I can truly call my girlfriend—the guitar. I had to choose between being picky and having a band with my favorite people, so I chose the band. Plus, we still needed a bassist.
We high five everyone we can.
“Six Vipers? It works.” Marshall drapes his towel over his neck.
“You didn’t think it would,” I say to him.
“Yes, yes. Go ahead. Rub it in. I’m the pessimist and the unbeliever. But you already knew that, so—” His voice catches as he glances at Alexandra, who seems to be in a bit of a trance, still watching the stage, catching her breath. The shock splashed all over her face, I remember it. Our first full arena left me flapping in disbelief, fish-out-of-water style, as well.
As the chaos simmers down, we get dinner and watch the other bands from one of the VIP balcony booths.
“You crazy son of a bass.” Shane drops in a chair next to me, a heap of salad nearly toppling off his aluminum bowl. “You pulled it off. We pulled it off.” He glances over his shoulder at Alexandra.
“I know.” I stick a spoonful or cilantro rice into my mouth and wait for the relief that comes after accomplishing something long-coming and arduous.
All I feel is exhaustion. It’s the nerves. We were all too wound up prior to this gig, and now there’s nothing but the lingering did-we-really-do-it kind of tension.
Alexandra makes her way to a seat in the row ahead of me. “Fiona’s fending off everyone who wants to talk to me for a couple of minutes.” She drops into a padded blue chair, exhales, and stares at the ceiling. “This isn’t real.”
Both Shane and I chuckle.
“Soak it in,” I say.
Her gaze settles on me, calm and…dark. A worry that I was wrong about Alexandra falling in love with show business places its sticky claw on my shoulder.
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unBreakable, vol. 2 of Reluctant Heartbreakers & Sweet Troublemakers, will be available 15 October 2021. Click/tap HERE if you'd like to pre-order it.