OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

thirty-four.

NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1990, PORTLAND, OR

        THE DRIVE TO Portland on that New Year's Eve had turned out to be far more entertaining than Reagan had first imagined it to be. But, she knew it was because that Chris had tagged along with her for Nirvana's show at the Satyricon that night and chosen to ride in Nirvana's van with the rest of the band.

Reagan hadn't been too worried about integrating Chris into the portion of her life concerning Dave, Kurt and Krist. Naturally, she'd been right that her best friend would hit it off with the three guys and the rest of their helpful roadie crew. Her slick jokes and knowledge of all things music kept everyone's attention locked on her as they crossed state lines into Oregon.

Originally, Reagan had planned to attend Nirvana's New Year's Eve show alone, knowing Shelli would keep her company in the audience. Yet, the nagging reminder that she'd neglected to introduce Chris to Dave, even after weeks of dating him, had entered her mind. So she'd asked Chris to come to the show, to which Chris had enthusiastically said yes. Not only had she been anticipating meeting Dave, but she would have never turned down a concert at the Satyricon.

Reagan listened and occasionally jumped into the exchange going on in the van as she sat with Dave's arm around her shoulder in the farthest back seat. Lawlessly, a glass bottle of whiskey was being transferred around the van. Dave was the current holder of the amber-filled bottle, swigging it against his lips and throwing goofy smiles Reagan's way.

"I have an idea!" Chris crowed. She turned around and slung herself halfway over her seat in order to stare at Dave and Reagan. "I have to talk it over with Kurt, but how about we kick Krist and Dave out of the band and you and I take their places, Reags?"

"I object!" Krist protested loudly from the driver's seat, glancing up at the group in his rearview mirror. Kurt sat up front beside him, a cup in his hand as he swirled its contents around. The last time Reagan had checked, he'd been making himself a whiskey and Coke, trying to pour without spilling as the van went over bumps in the road.

"I'm okay with it," Dave said with a genial look on his face. "I've always wanted to know what it would be like to be a groupie, anyways."

"We are not groupies," Chris scowled, snatching the bottle of whiskey from Dave's hand. "I could outplay you guys any day and so could your girlfriend."

"I know she can," Dave said, looking into Reagan's eyes purposefully. Reagan smiled and patted his knee.

"At least he knows what he's talking about," she said.

"If you guys kick the boys out, then Kurt has to go too. I'll try to sing for us," Shelli added. She was seated next to Chris and she too turned to look at Reagan and Dave, grinning.

"It's my band. You can't kick me out," Kurt said from the front. He tilted his cup back and gulped, keeping his eyes laser-focused on the road ahead.

"There are traitors among us," Krist warned playfully, peering at his wife while wielding the van into a left turn.

The group arrived at the Satyricon and piled out in the dingy back alleyway of the club. Chris produced a pack of cigarettes and dished them out to Shelli and Reagan as the three of them stepped aside and allowed the Nirvana crew to unload the van. Reagan balanced her cigarette between her fingers, sucking hard on each of her inhales as she trained her eyes where Dave stood.

She watched him pull miscellaneous equipment from the back of the van with ease, passing them helpfully over to roadies who carried them inside the venue. It was embarrassing to admit, but she liked watching him in that moment. There was something attractive about the way he moved, making small talk and laughing as he lifted item after item in his arms. She would have never guessed from his gangly frame that he could be strong, but then again, he showcased his undeniable tenacity behind the drum kit.