“Fine, what-the-fuck-ever,” I blow him off, but he’s right. Memphis is all kinds of twisted up.

I step out of the car and look back at her pissed off face, which pisses me off even more. “Let’s go, None-ya.”

She doesn’t budge.

“Fine, have it your way. Sit your ass there. When Stevie falls, so will you.”

I walk a few steps before I hear gravel crushing behind me. Then I glance over my shoulder to see that she’s coming.

There is a storm cloud over her that is now hanging over me.

I hate storms.

I fucking hate them.

I walk into the dressing room, thankful the dark cloud that is None-ya, otherwise known as Sonya, was swept off by Xavier’s wife Taelyn, another one of our managers.

I head to the bathroom, and when I open the door, a cloud of smoke hits me hard.

“Shit, sorry, man,” River says, fanning away the haze of pot before he steps out into the band’s green room.

I haven’t touched the shit in years. Hate drugs, but is pot really a drug?

My womb, or as some would call a mother, was a fucking meth head. Dad tried to get her to stop, but it didn’t work. From the ripe old age of seven, I was taking care of the bitch while Dad was fixing bikes and muscle cars. He was making a paycheck in our two-car garage so he could someday make enough to add on to it and buy my mother a house. When she lost her job due to her lack of showing up, the burden of the mortgage for the singlewide trailer and five acres it sat on was his alone. Why the fuck he put up with her is beyond me.

I made dinner, usually boxed mac and cheese or Ramon Pride. If it was a good week, Dad would grill steaks outside on a Friday night while tipping back some beers with his friends. During hunting season, it was venison.

Mom didn’t care to eat. All she cared about was her next fix. Dad didn’t have it in him to fight.

When I was twelve, shit got really bad. She caught the place on fire. Mobile homes go up fast, and kids with meth head moms get yanked from their homes. Then dads who look the other way aren’t seen as much.

Ten miles from the charred up remainder of my “home,” there was a family who took in kids. They had horses and shit and treated us all well. Not everyone did the same to them.

“It’s pot, River.” I push past him and shake my head. “Give it to me.”

“Nah, man, you don’t—”

“Is it laced?”

“Fuck no.” He gets all defensive, like the question is ludicrous, when it’s legit for me to ask. He sees the look I’m giving. “I told you all this shit is real now. I will drink and smoke some pot once in a while, but I’m not shooting up. I’m not smoking anything but the real deal, home grown.”

I take Chilz from his hand and hit it hard.

“Motherfucker, old iron lungs has returned.” River smirks like the Cheshire Cat as I hit it again. “It’s the chick, isn’t it? She—”

“She ain’t shit,” I say, trying not to choke.

“Word. Bitches and hoes.” He holds his fist out for a bump, and I give him a lame one.

The door opens and Billy walks in. “I can’t do this,” he grumbles.

“A little late for that.” River laughs.

He sniffs the air. “Are you both—”

“Takes the edge off,” River interrupts.

While Billy looks at River then me then Chilz, I see an inner conflict before he sighs.

River holds up Chilz like he’s a fucking proud papa displaying his first born. “One hit won’t kill ya.”

“What if you get caught?” Billy eyes the room suspiciously. “What if there are cameras?”

“Just don’t do it, man,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re already paranoid.”

“The bathroom.” River points, and Billy snatches Chilz from his hand.

“One fucking hit, Billy. That’s it,” I tell him.

When he shuts the door behind him, I glare at River. “Not one of your brighter ideas, man.”

“He’ll be fine, Finn. Chilz will take care of him.”

The door opens and Memphis walks in, looking between the two of us. “You’re kidding me, right?”

River sighs. “Just took the edge off.”

“Where is it?” he asks.

Billy walks out of the bathroom with Chilz in hand.

“No shit?” Memphis chuckles.

Billy grins. “Just to take the edge off.”

“Aw, fuck, man, give me that.” Memphis takes it from him and skates into the bathroom.

We all just stand there, looking at each other.

“Edge definitely taken off.” I smirk.

Memphis walks out, grinning. “It’s either the beginning or the end. We started this together; we end it together. Let’s fucking go rock them our way.”

“We do it for us,” I say as we stand in a circle.

“In the words of the great Eddie Vedder, ‘It’s a great time to be me.’ ” Memphis puts his fist in.

“Jimmy Page once said, ‘I may not believe in myself, but I believe in what we’re doing.’ ” I put my fist in.

“Kurt Cobain, ‘Nobody dies a virgin; life fucks us all.’ ” River fists in.

“The amazing Billie Holiday once said, ‘The difficult, I will do right now. The impossible will take a while.’ ”

“We have done the impossible. Fuck, Billy learned guitar, River has laid off the heavy shit, and Finn … not sure what to say. Best bass around, and apparently he decided today was the day to put an end to the ‘Just Say No’ campaign, which I need the story behind, fuck-stick.” Memphis shakes his head at me.

“And you’ve got a steel dick.” River laughs his fool head off, talking about the piercing Memphis decided to get.

Memphis smirks. “All right, STD, let’s hit ’em hard”—we bump fists—“light ‘em up”—we blow it up—“and let’s go fucking rock ’em our way!”

We walk out the door and down the corridor, the entire Steel is crew here, including Momma Joe, and we’re all high. I laugh to myself.

Xavier narrows his eyes at us. “You fucking kidding me right now?”

Memphis chuckles. “Ready to rock, man.”

I have to look away so I don’t start laughing and shit, and when I do, I see her. My lip curls automatically, and the chick, None-ya, scowls at me.

I’m pissed she is still here, so I give her the same look she is giving me, then snap my teeth and bark at her.

Memphis loses his shit and starts laughing. Xavier looks at me like I have lost my mind, and hell, maybe I have. Regardless, that little bitch is no good. I can feel it. I can almost see the storm cloud looming above her head, and I want as far away from it as possible. Chicks like that lead to one thing: a fucking storm. The guy I used to be liked to chase the storm. I got sucked into it like it was some magnetic vortex.

Never again.

“She get her fucking shots yet?” I ask X-man.

“You, too?” he gasps, then throws his hands up in the air and walks away, saying, “What a fucking day!”

I glance back, and None-ya is chucking stars at me with her eyes. And when I say stars, I mean the sharp bitches that ninjas throw. She’s no starry-eyed fan girl looking to suck my dick or get in my bed. No, she means to wound.

I look at Memphis, who is making out with his girl. Then I look at River and Billy, both smirking, as the crowd seems to get louder and louder. Nickie D is introducing us and pumping them up. My band mates are eating it up, getting even higher on the applause than they already were.

“Let’s get some.” River pounds my back as I sling my guitar around me.

I feel the daggers in the back of my head, but fuck that. I’m not going to play the game and look over my shoulder at the bitch. I walk, and I walk alone.

I pull my aviators over my eyes before we take the stage in a storm of electric steel.

River beats us in, and then Billy and I play our asses off. I watch them eyeing the crowd, both looking in awe. I don’t even look. It’s me, the band, and the music when I have Black Mamba in my hands. The only time I put on a show for the crowd is when I’m singing. Then I give them a look inside, but not too deep.