Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 42

In a desperate attempt to change the subject, John cleared his throat and muttered, "Uh, so I have some exciting news to share."

"I'm sorry, John, but unless it's that you've convinced Roger to apologize for destroying my favorite vest, I don't want to hear it," Freddie replied bitterly, keeping his cold, hardened stared locked on me as he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at me in anticipation.

I scoffed. "I did not destroy your vest, Fred. A few buttons got pulled off, so what? It's not like that one time you sold my jacket without my permission. And I don't recall you ever apologizing to me for that, so why should I have to apologize for this?"

Freddie huffed in disbelief, dramatically bringing his hand up to his chest and responding, "Because, you bitch, that was my jacket that you sold!"

Brian heaved a frustrated sigh as Freddie and I went off into a heated argument, saying to the man across from him, "Just ignore them, John. You can tell me your exciting news!"

The bassist's cheeks reddened as he picked at the crust of his toast, trying to gain the courage to spit out what he had to say. He didn't get the chance to, though, because before he could speak, Freddie began assaulting me with his breakfast.

"Hey!" I exclaimed angrily, using my arms as a shield as Freddie pelted me with whatever he had on his plate, throwing handful after handful until the plate was wiped cleaned. He grabbed the plate, ready to throw that next, when Brian's hand shot out and wrapped tightly around the singer's wrist, freezing him in place.

"John is trying to tell us something," the guitarist growled through his clenched teeth, his tolerance for our childish antics worn extremely thin, "Would you like it if one of us began throwing our food across the table while you were trying to tell us something?"

"If it was Roger—"

"No, Fred," Brian interrupted him, snatching the plate out of the singer's grasp and setting it as far away from him as he could, "You wouldn't like it. Now sit still, keep your mouth shut, and listen to what John has to say."

I opened my mouth to say something when Brian caught me out of the corner of his eye and stuck an accusatory finger in my direction, rattling off, "Same goes for you," before I could speak up. I slumped back in my seat in defeat and crossed my arms, turning my head to the side. Brian shook his head in disappointment and returned his attention to the bassist, saying in a much kinder tone, "Go on, John, now that everyone's listening..." His wide eyes scanned the table, shifting between Freddie and me to make sure we wouldn't act out again.

John swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Um, well, I...you know how I met up with that person yesterday?"

How could I forget? I wanted to say but refrained from doing so.

"Yes, I do remember that," Brian replied for me, picking up his colder tea and taking a sip from it. I knew it was cold because of the repulsed expression that briefly appeared on his face before he set the tea back down. Of course, he wouldn't say anything about it, opting instead to say, "Who was it again that you met up with? Someone you met at the show?"

"Yeah, erm...it was actually...Tim," he revealed timidly.

"Tim?" I couldn't help but ask, a furious resentment lacing the name as it rolled off my tongue.

"Tim," Brian repeated, his tone more shocked than angry.

John nodded his head, his reddened cheeks deepening in color. "He wanted to tell me how he thought I did a great job at the show...and that he wanted me to..." His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, the words becoming mumbled and indecipherable.

"What was that?" the guitarist asked.

"Yeah, even I couldn't hear that, darling," Freddie chimed in, "And we all know how loud you can be. I mean, just last night—" Brian smacked him harshly on the arm. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"I think you know full well what that was for, Fred," Brian sneered.

The singer rolled his eyes, annoyed he couldn't finish his thought without receiving a worse punishment than a smack on the arm—metaphorically, that is. Brian couldn't bring himself to do anything more; it just wasn't his thing, but there was no denying that we were pushing him to his limits as of late.

We all had been pushed to our limits, and it showed. Each day was worse than the last, and at the rate we were going, we were never going to get the album finished. It wasn't all about the album, though; it was about getting back to the way things were when a deadline wasn't always looming over our heads. It was sad to think about, but I even kind of wanted to go back to school. It wasn't nearly as stressful as this album was, and I didn't see John there every day. Hell, I wouldn't have even met the guy if it wasn't for this.

"So, John, what was it that Tim wanted you to do?" Brian inquired, snapping me out of the daze I'd fallen into and making the bassist blush even harder than he already was.

He once again cleared his throat, tilting his head down and letting out a long sigh.

We all stared at him with wide eyes, leaning in closer as we waited for him to answer the question that was on all our minds.

He met our gazes one by one, his nerves building and his throat closing in.

"Well?" Freddie blurted out.

"What is it?" I tacked on.

John dropped his gaze once more, unable to look at any of us as he finally spit out, "He wants me to play bass for him and his band."