Behind the Lyrics by Melissa Riddell
Chapter 33
Angela Morales
“Look what I managed to snag.” Terri waved two tickets in front of my nose.
“Are those what I think they are?” I tried not to squeal. It had been two days since Viktor called. During the show and afterward, the phone lines blew up with everything from advice to forgive him, ditch his ass, to Are you crazy, woman? He’s Viktor Farrow, the God of Nu Rock.
So, in other words, he ruined the entire hour and I spent most of it trying not to give out any more information than necessary.
“Yep. Hand delivered this morning.” She sashayed across the studio and swept an arm to the ceiling. “Someone up there loves us because they’re not just general passes—they’re freaking VIP tickets, girl. We’re gonna get our pics taken with the Macabre Maniacs, rub elbows, then have priority pit placement in the front row.” Her eyes shone with eagerness, and she reminded me of a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve.
Hell, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve. “Holy shit. This is awesome. When’s the concert?”
“Tomorrow. It’s coinciding with some kind of impromptu announcement or something.” She slapped one next to my hand, along with a hundred-dollar bill. “So, get something nice to wear because we’re going to have fun and do a live stream.”
I held out my palm with the bill. “I can’t take this—”
“Yes, you can. It’s for the business expense of getting dolled up for the camera.” She headed to the door. “Plus, it’s the first part of your raise.”
“I’m a DJ, Terri, not a video jockey.” Just the thought of being filmed twisted me in knots. I’d be a stuttering mess. Talking on the radio didn’t bother me because it was just my voice—not my face. But appearing on camera? No thanks. All I’d be able to think about would be how many people were staring at me, if I had a booger hanging out of my nose, or a thousand other things. “Please?”
A long laugh sounded. “Girl, you’re gonna be fine. We’ll take turns if that’ll make you feel better.”
Frowning, I rubbed the Benjamin. “I guess.” I did need some new shoes and jeans. Whatever was left over, I could use for Marky’s fancy wet food and maybe even squeeze in a few extra bucks to a credit card payment.
“That’s the spirit.” She twiddled her fingers in goodbye. “I’m heading out. See you tomorrow night.”
My phone buzzed with an unknown call. “Nope, you’re not tricking me into answering. You’ll get your money as soon as I get this”—I waved the money in the air—“in the bank.” A voicemail notification dinged, and I ignored it, focusing on tomorrow’s program, and shifting the schedule to accommodate the live stream.
Those frantic butterfly wings beat in my stomach, and my chest tightened. I reached for my purse then froze. I’m becoming too dependent on the medicine. Wasn’t this how addiction started? I didn’t want to become like Jeff, using alcohol to cover his unhappiness, or Viktor, relying on drugs and alcohol to hide his pain and guilt. The pills should be a bridge enabling me to walk to the other side of that panic that lurked from deep water, not a motorboat I could ride all the way over with no effort.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I stood and walked to the window, enjoying the twilight dusk of purple dancing in the sky next to the blazing orange and reds of the sunset. My shoulders relaxed, and I smiled. At least the concert would take my mind off Viktor for a little while.
I replayed his words, as I’d done a thousand times the past two days. He didn’t sound like a liar, and he’d seemed adamant about remaining clean—even before his tour. And he’s right—he’s not Jeff. It’s unfair for me to compare him to my ex-husband. Maybe I could give Viktor the chance he begged for. After all, why would he go to such desperate measures to prove he wasn’t with that woman?
I looked to the new vehicle in the parking lot. It was prettier than Rusty, but still, I missed my old truck. I’d bought that thing with every penny I’d scraped and scrounged after divorcing Jeff. In a way, that pickup served as a badge of honor and a symbol of my freedom.
I shook my head and followed the sleek curve of the black SUV’s body. “No, I can’t keep it. It’s just a loan until I can buy something new.” I crossed my arms over my chest and watched a lone hawk land on the top of a Saguaro.
Irritation with Viktor’s actions warred with some other emotion, though, and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. Wonder? He didn’t buy the car as an apology but because he worried about my safety, if I could believe what he said. No, not quite wonder, something deeper, something that caressed my heart, something that warmed my blood and made me feel secure and important.
Before my parents had died when I was a teenager, they’d always made sure I had what I needed for school, and I’d loved them fiercely for it.
Love. That felt…right. Could that be it? I’d loved before and look where it had gotten me. Broken, divorced, and alone. But I’d recovered from its scars, hadn’t I?
I turned toward my workstation, my stare landing on the round, white lid of the pill bottle poking from the top of my purse.
Maybe I’m still recovering, but I’m stronger than I ever was. Perhaps that was what mattered the most, not the actual endgame, but the sacrifices and trials of the journey.
Sort of like Viktor’s journey, huh? my inner voice piped up. Seems you two are more similar than you think.
With a mental smack upside my head, I stuffed her away, not ready to hear words of wisdom. My favorite band would be in town the next day, and I had something fun to look forward to for a change.
I sat down and slid on my headset, humming along with “Black Velvet” by Alannah Myles. Damn, our station played a great mix of new and old rock. I loved my job, even if the pay sucked and the clients were devils.