Bandom One-shots book 3

Tangled Up In Love And Rage (Van Roth)

The roar of the crowd had barely died down as I stomped into the dressing room, my heart pounding not just from the high of the show, but from something far more frustrating: David.

We'd just wrapped up another killer set—a night of guitars screaming and drums thundering, our fans losing their minds—but all I could focus on was the way David had been playing the audience the whole damn night. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Hell, I was used to him being the showman, the spotlight hog. But tonight? Tonight was different.

Every time he moved, he was showing off. Smiling. Winking. Throwing kisses. Acting like he was the only one on stage. His eyes never left the girls in the front row, as if he was only performing for them.

I'm not stupid—I know the game he plays. But for the past hour, he'd pushed it too far. And the worst part? He didn't give a damn about how it made me feel.

I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing through the small room. David was sitting in front of the mirror, wiping off his makeup with a towel, still wearing that goddamn grin that made me want to either punch him or kiss him—sometimes both.

He didn't even turn to look at me. "What's up, Ed?  You look like you're ready to blow a gasket." His tone was casual, like he hadn't just spent the last hour flirting with every girl in the front row.

"What's up? Don't act like you don't know what the hell I'm talking about!" I snapped, my voice tight with anger. "You were flaunting yourself out there tonight like you were auditioning for some stupid movie, David. Again."

His eyes flickered up to meet mine in the mirror. He knew exactly what I meant, but he wasn't going to make this easy. "Oh, come on, Ed. Don't be so jealous. It's part of the show. You know that."

"Part of the show?" I repeated, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Is that what you call it? Flirting with every girl in the front row, making eyes at them like I'm not even standing next to you? You couldn't even keep your hands to yourself, David." I paced across the room, trying to rein in my frustration, but it was boiling over now. "I'm not some goddamn sidekick. I'm not just here to make you look good."

David's smirk faltered for a second, but then it was back, like a mask he threw up in place of anything real. "You know I'm not like that. You're taking this way too seriously. You know I love you, right? You always know that."

The words stung more than I wanted to admit. He said it like it was a magic fix-all, a little sprinkle of "I love you" that was supposed to make everything else disappear. But it didn't. It never did.

"Love me?" I spat, finally turning to face him. "Is that how you show it, David? By throwing yourself at every girl who looks your way? By making it seem like I'm the one who's lucky to be here?"

David finally stood up, slowly, as if he were savoring every movement. He walked over to me, looking down at me with those dark, mischievous eyes that could either make me want to kiss him or punch him in the face. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill, Eddie. I'm just having fun. The fans love it, we love it. It's a show. That's all it is."

I could feel my chest tightening, my temper rising with every word that came out of his mouth. "It's not just a show, David! It's us! It's supposed to be about us. We're a fucking team." My hands balled into fists at my sides, frustration flooding my veins. "You make it seem like I'm just another guy you're tolerating."

David's expression shifted then, his eyes narrowing in a way I'd seen too many times before—like he was trying to decide whether to fight or walk away. His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something to calm me down. But instead, he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest.