CHAPTER SIX
VERONICA

We’re barely out of the intro to the second song when two idiots, who are just a few rows back start fighting. “Great,” the guy next to me huffs out. He turns around and shoves his way through the crowd, headed straight for the troublemakers. Something tells me he will not help neutralize the situation. Oh, well. Not my problem. I try to ignore the drama and chaos going on behind me and just focus on the music. I’ve heard this song a million times on the radio, but it just hits differently in person.

Travis Miller is owning that drum set. His movements are firm, but delicate at the same time. It’s impressive. He’s controlling the entire band from a podium elevated just slightly above the stage. His brothers do a great job of working the crowd, but Travis is still the one holding my attention.

I can’t explain why, but I can’t look away.

The fight behind me has apparently morphed into a screaming match, which I can hear even over the sounds of the music flowing through the arena’s PA system right now. I’d much rather keep focusing on the show in front of me—especially Travis Miller—but I turn to see what the commotion is. One of the douchebags who has been trying to start a fight since before Amaryllis ever hit a chord lands his fist smack into the middle of another guy’s jaw, which sends him stumbling backwards into the sea of people lined up behind him.

Those same people are the ones lined up in front of me. Most of them are still watching the show and have no idea there’s a ripple in the crowd headed straight for them. When the shockwave hits them, most recover pretty quickly, which lets me regain my balance just as the same idiot lands right in the middle of a guy with neck muscles the size of a small vehicle.

He doesn’t look happy with the drama unfolding around him, either.

Neck-muscle-dude’s fist connects with the guy who started the fight. They both charge and wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders, gripping each other’s arms in a wrestling style take-down move. The big dude wins. He slams the other guy flat on his back. The people closest to the fight are finally realizing something is happening just behind them and are starting to freak out, which sends another wave in the sea of bodies pushing forward.

They’re just trying to get away from the fight. If they don’t stop, they’ll crush all of us up here against the fence. I push back right along with everyone else in the front row of the pit. If we don’t stop the wave, we’ll end up getting pushed right into the fencing that keeps the crowd away from the stage. I don’t know about you, but a metal post in my spine isn’t how I wanted to spend my Thursday night. “Push harder!” the girls next to me are yelling to the guys on either side of us. Grunts and groans come from all sides as we dig our feet in and push as hard as we can. I’m losing ground and my feet are slipping. I’m not strong enough… My body slams into the metal fencing, knocking the breath out of my lungs. The pressure of the crowd pushing into my chest is too much, and I can’t catch my breath.

“Hey!” I hear a voice from the stage yelling as the music stops. I’m able to see Travis Miller from the corner of my eye, standing with his sticks still in his hand, pointing out at the crowd. “You!” he yells into the crowd. The jackass who started it looks up first and points at himself. “Yes you, jackass.” Travis motions toward him so all focus turns to the dude who needs to be yanked from the crowd. Their bassist finally realizes something is going on and mutes his last note.

“What’s going on?” he asks into his microphone while looking out into the crowd.

I fight to keep my eyes open, but they’re still closing. I can’t breathe. The people who are pushing their backs into my chest are pushing even harder now, to make room for the security team to yank the guys out of the crowd. “These two want to start shit when we’re only a couple songs into the show. Get them out of here, Devon.” Griffin’s voice comes through the microphone as cheers erupt from the audience. They must have them now. I can no longer see, since all the bodies are pushing in together to make space for them to lead them out.

Maybe they’ll step back soon… I hope.

“Yep, that’s them.” Travis nods his head from behind his drum set and giving their security guard a thumbs up. “Get them out.”

“That’s not how we have fun around here,” Nash Miller adds from his microphone on the opposite side of the stage from where I’m still fighting for small breaths when there’s even a slight break in the force being pushed into me. “This is a rock-and-roll show, not a fight club. If you start shit, Devon and his crew will finish it for you. Keep it light and keep it fun, people.”

“Get off the fucking fence! There are people back here.” Griffin growls, taking the mic, again. “Protect each other out there.”

The crowd finally starts pulling back. I take a deep breath and let it fill my lungs as I feel myself finally separating from the fence—but it’s too little too late. My vision blurs and a swirl of light takes over as my legs go limp and I drop to the ground.

Everything goes black.

---

I’m not sure how long I was out, but when I’m able to open my eyes, there’s a crowd of people hovering over me staring and one in particular looks as if she’s pulling her hand back from poking me. “What kind of person pokes a woman lying on the dirt floor of an outside arena?” Sheesh.

“Medic!” a voice is yelling from the stage behind me. As the fog coating my brain clears, I realize it’s the drummer for Amaryllis screaming his ass off.

“Who’s hurt? Who needs a medic?” I ask, looking around, still lying flat on my back in the front of the pit.

“Front row. Get a medic over here, now!” he yells again, almost as if he’s answering my question directly.

Oh. Right. I fainted in the middle of the concert.

A man with bright blue eyes like I’ve never seen before appears, standing over me. He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt labeled Amaryllis Security in bold lettering and the name stitched across the neckline, says Devon.

“You’re the one he was hollering for from the stage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he snickers and kneels beside me as I try to push myself up into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I say hesitantly, since I can’t actually feel anything at the moment. “Is my entire body supposed to be numb?” My lips are dry, and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asks while reaching out and supporting my weight as I try to stand.

I nod and try to stand on my own, but I can’t. Not without his help. “My legs are still a little wobbly, but I think I can walk if we go slow.”

“No problem. We’ll go at your pace.” He smiles and tightens his grip on my arm, supporting more of my weight. “There’ll be a medic to check you out as soon as we get back there. They’re probably on their way right now.”

I nod and let him lead me around the fencing and through a gate that’s being held open by another man in a bright yellow Security t-shirt.

“Thanks, Jax,” Devon says with a slight nod as he helps me stumble my way through the opening.

The backstage area is bustling with people running in all directions. It feels like a tightly controlled chaos. That could also be the swirling lights floating in my vision right now. There’s a woman with bright purple hair sitting behind a row of screens on the opposite side of the backstage area. Devon leads me through the rest of the maze of temporary fencing and gates while waving to get her attention. She looks up and nods, motioning for us to make our way over to her. He’s saying something, but my ears are still ringing. All I hear is a muffled sound that reminds me of the cartoons I used to watch where no one could understand the adults when they were speaking. Just a bunch of “Womp, womp, woppity, womp.” 

A voice comes over the PA system and it clears the fog between my ears. “Can someone tell us if she is, okay?” From what I know about the band, it sounds like the voice is coming from Griffin, their lead singer. I can’t be certain, though. A man dressed in a paramedic’s uniform rushes up to us, just as we’re almost to the booth where I could sit down and attempt to regain my balance.

“Is this the fan who was trampled?” he asks Devon while reaching around me from the opposite side to help hold me up.

“Yes,” Devon responds.

I nod. Ow! My hand instinctively shoots up and wraps around the back of my neck to try to relieve some of the pain.

“Are you okay?” The medic asks.

I stammer before finding the words to answer his question. “It’s just pounding in the back of my head.”

“Is that the only place it hurts?”

I cringe. “Other than the stabbing pain shooting down my neck?”

My escort motions toward the pit on the other side of the stage. “She was up against the fence when those idiots started the fight. They smashed her and a bunch of other people into the fence. Travis saw what was happening and stopped the music to break up the fight then Griffin told them all to get back. That’s when she dropped.”

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound as confident as possible.

The paramedic motions for me to sit in the chair beside the woman who motioned us over. “Can I take a quick look, just to be sure? You might have injuries you are unaware of.”

I think if it seriously hurt me, I would know it; but with everyone’s eyes boring a hole through me, I decide to just go with it. “Okay, sure.”

He pulls out his gloves and after snapping them loudly into place, retrieves a penlight from his bag. “Okay, just follow the light for me.”

“Oh, wow. That’s bright.” Ugh! I go along with it, so this can all be over before my humiliation reaches new heights. A chance to talk to the crew was my only real chance at finding out what the real story is here, but no one is going to want to talk to the weird girl who is so far out of her element she got trampled by the real fans and concussed. “I’m really okay.”

He nods and puts the cold metal of the stethoscope to my back, which makes me sit up straight from the sensation. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me.”

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in. “I really don’t think this is necessary—”

“Is she okay?” another voice calls out from the steps just behind me. Travis Miller is just exciting the stage and looking at me with wide eyes when I turn around. “It’s you,” he says just barely loud enough for me to hear it.

My heart flutters in my chest—at first. What girl wouldn’t be just a little swoony with a rockstar worrying about her and checking up on her well-being? Does he actually recognize me, though? I definitely felt a spark when his hand brushed against mine when he reached for my keychain in the Amaryllis Studios parking lot, but that’s typical rockstar stuff, right? I take a deep breath and remind myself this is a business, and he is probably more concerned that there would be a lawsuit if I weren’t okay.

I force myself out of my cycling thoughts and try to paint on a smile that says, I’m just fine.

The wide-eyed looks of concern they’re all giving me make me think I might’ve failed at the Play it cool part of my plan. There’s a small mirror hung over the screen in front of me. I assume it’s there so whoever sits here can monitor who is coming and going behind them. They must be taller than me, because I have to crane my neck to see in the mirror.

Whoa! I’m absolutely horrified at what’s staring back at me. Not to mention the fact that a hot as hell rockstar drummer is staring back at me through the same mirror, which also means he got a full view of me in all my sweaty gross glory. Damn it. Apparently, at some point tonight mascara had been running down my cheeks, but no one bothered to tell me, and it stained my skin. It kind of reminds me of my high school goth days. It would’ve been a great vibe back then. My teeth are also stained red from my lipstick, which probably happened when I passed out before their security guard pulled me out and over the fence. “Holy shiz.” I sigh, shaking my head.

“I didn’t think anyone, but Travis said that anymore,” The woman with purple hair says, leaning over me and opening a drawer in her workstation, which I’m still blocking her from. She pulls out a pack of makeup wipes and hands them to me. “It took me a while to find makeup that can hold up to this shit too.”

“Thanks.” I pull out one of the wipes and use it to attack the black smeared tracks on my face. The light reflects off my press badge in the mirror, reminding me that it’s still slung around my neck. After the way Adair and Travis reacted to the press earlier, it might not be in my best interests to leave this thing visible if I want to get anything I can actually send back to my editor. I stuff my badge into the gaps between two buttons of my shirt. There, that should keep it out of sight and out of mind.

“Do you need anything else?” she asks, leaning over so only I can hear her. Everyone has been so nice and doting since I’ve been back here. It’s a far cry from what I expected out of the rock-and-roll scene. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I expected anything else. They’re just people too.

People with an awesome job, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still just like you or me on the inside.

Realizing she asked me a question I still haven’t responded to, because I got caught up in my own thoughts, I chuckle and say, “I’m up for some recommendations on better makeup.” I laugh a little louder to lighten the mood, and quickly realize that it hurts way more than it should. My hand clenches at my side, which makes the paramedic jump into action again. He pokes and prods around, looking up to measure my response each time, until he finds the button he is looking for.

“Ouch!” I screech.

“You need to go to the emergency room for some x-rays,” he says.

I shake my head and go back to wiping the grossness off my face. “I’ve always been sensitive there.”

“In your spleen?” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm.” I try to sound as unconcerned as possible. “I’ll go get it checked as soon as I get back home.”

He shakes his head and reaches out. “If there is damage to your spleen, it could rupture before then. Let’s get you to the hospital, so they can check it out. Can you have someone pick you up after they’re done running tests?”

I shake my head. “I’m not from here. I don’t know anyone—”

“We can send a driver to pick her up,” Travis Miller suggests, “It’s the least we could do, since it happened during our set,” he adds, walking closer to where I’m sitting stopping just behind my chair. He’s close enough that all I can see in the mirror is the chest portion of his bright green t-shirt until he leans down with his mouth so close to my ear it sends a chill down my spine. “Psst,” he whispers. “You don’t have to hide the press badge.”

Busted. How am I going to get out of this one? I’ve been in a lot of tough situations, especially when I was in my last job. This isn’t anything I can’t handle… “I’m with a local paper. They asked me to cover the event because it’s the first major boost to our local economy since the lockdowns hit at the beginning of last year. They’re hoping the positive write up will help encourage more acts to consider coming back sooner rather than later,” I say, cringing internally at my own lie.

His eyes study me through the mirror. If the attitude they had toward my peers earlier, is any indication of how he feels about someone in my line of work—Jenkins excluded because that guy had it coming—then he’s probably trying to decide if I’m worth continuing this conversation with or not. “What’s your name?” he finally asks.

“Veronica Lopez.” That part isn’t a lie, even if none of my work is published under that name. It might be a little misleading, but not a lie…

He shakes his head like he’s searching his memory for something. “I’ve never heard your name before, but I’ve seen you.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“Why not?” he asks with what looks like genuine interest in his eyes.

I shrug and purse my lips together. “I haven’t published much under my name. It would be nice to have a larger catalog of published work, but for now I’m content just writing.” It’s a half-truth but doesn’t feel as gross as a complete lie.

“Even if it never makes it past the local paper?”

I can’t answer that, because as much as I wish I didn’t care what the subject of my work was, I can’t say I don’t miss writing about topics that could change the world if enough people took notice.

“Excuse me, Mister Miller.” The paramedic slips between him and the back of my seat with a gurney, reaching around to support my arm as I stand. “We need to get her checked out before any more time passes.”

Saved by the EMT. “I can walk.” Two steps forward and my knee gives out, sending me stumbling forward. I regain my balance and wobble to a standstill before turning around to find several pairs of concerned eyes staring back at me.

“No, ma’am. I can’t let you walk,” he says, guiding me to sit on the wheeled stretcher.

“My legs are just a little tired from all the jumping. That’s all.”

They smile and nod out of polite courtesy, which I’m grateful for. I’m ready to throw in the towel on this entire assignment. I’ve never had as many embarrassing moments in my life as I’ve had in the last twenty minutes, but I comply letting them wheel me out of the backstage area feeling complete and total humiliation in the process.

Could this assignment get any worse?