It started like any other show night.
After soundcheck, the band trickled into the catering tent behind the arena, filling their plates with grilled chicken, pasta, and some half-hearted salad that no one really touched. They joked, laughed, and even took a few pictures together. If anyone noticed Mick blowing his nose more than usual, or Christine rubbing her temples between bites, they didn't mention it.
But the next night, things began to unravel.
Mick was the first to feel it—just a bit of stuffiness, a clogged sensation behind his eyes. "Sinuses," he muttered to no one in particular, rolling his shoulders as if it would shake the fog out of his head. He powered through the gig, keeping to his corner, quiet.
Then came Christine. By the third song, she could feel the dull throb behind her eyes like a slow drumbeat. Still, she smiled through the harmonies, playing with the precision of a pro. But she was sweating more than usual, and she wasn't dancing as much.
Backstage after the show, she slumped into a folding chair and exhaled slowly.
"Headache?" Sharon asked, leaning beside her.
Christine nodded. "Since before soundcheck."
"Me too," Sharon said, grimacing. "Do you have anything?"
Christine sighed. "Jenn might."
They set off down the hall to find her assistant. Jenn looked up from her phone when they approached. "You both look like you've been hit by a truck."
"Headaches," Sharon said.
Jenn nodded and rummaged through her bag. "Here. Acetaminophen, take two. And drink water, for god's sake."
As they returned to the green room, the situation was worsening.
John was blowing his nose noisily and groaning about the dry air. Mick sat beside him with a blanket draped over his lap, sipping hot tea like it was medicine. Stevie leaned against the wall, pale, quiet, a look of discomfort on her face. Lindsey was walking through, backstage careful not to step on stray cables, when he noticed a small movement near one of the garbage cans tucked into a corner.
Lori was hunched over it, one hand pressed against her forehead, the other gripping the rim for support. Her hair was damp at the temples, and she looked pale and fragile.
"Lori?" Lindsey said softly, his voice calm but urgent enough to catch her attention.
She groaned and barely lifted her head. "Ugh... God, I feel awful," she rasped.
Lindsey stepped closer, one arm gently supporting her back. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay," he said, keeping his tone steady and reassuring. "Just lean on me for a second."
She shivered, weakly pressing herself against him. Lindsey adjusted his arm, letting her rest a bit of weight on him, and rubbed gentle circles along her back. "Cold?" he asked quietly.
Lori nodded, her lips pale. "Yeah... caught something... didn't think it would hit me like this right now."
Without hesitation, Lindsey peeled off his own jacket and draped it carefully around her shoulders, tucking it snugly so it could trap some warmth. "Here," he said softly. "This'll help a little. Keep you warmer while we get you somewhere comfortable."
"No... don't want you to—" Lori began, but he cut her off with a gentle shake of his head.
"Don't worry about me. You just focus on feeling better," he said, his voice steady, reassuring. "We'll get you back to the lounge, get you some water, maybe a blanket, and you can just sit. No pressure, just quiet for a minute."
