chapter 32

Rex

The past couple of shows have been better since telling the band about what happened in Ocotillo Valley. Not incredible, but much better than passable.

We are in the homestretch of our set. Two more songs, then we're out and back on for an encore. I might be feeling inspired enough to do two songs tonight. After all, this is Madison Square Garden where all the greats have played, from Zeppelin to Fleetwood Mac. I'm not here to fuck around.

I'm here to fuck it up.

We're in the middle of one of our ballbusters, "Thought You'd Start to Care", which has one of our jam sections and, boy, are we flying tonight. My fingers are flying across the neck of my guitar and I'm sweating like hell, hair dripping, t-shirt sticking to my back.

I lift my eyes to check on Holden. He's on his feet at the keyboard, totally lost in the sauce. I smile to myself.

Swinging around, using my guitar to propel me, I check on Blaise, giving him a quick nod. He can feel it, I know. He's got a solo on him, ready