10. Chase
“Alright, I’m out,” Zak said after she finished putting her guitar away.
“Try not to get fired again,” Dallas told her.
“Try not to drink yourself into a coma.” She grabbed her keys off the counter. “And Chase—”
Was she telling him goodbye? That would be a first.
“—try not to bore everyone to death, alright?”
Right. Never mind.
“I’ll do my best.” He cursed himself for his inability to come up with anything better to say, thanks to the prematurely prepared, “Hope you have a great Fourth of July, too,” that had been on the tip of his tongue.
The door shut behind her, leaving Chase alone with Zak’s friends, who, in all honesty, he was worried about boring to death.
He hadn’t known Edge well in high school, but he had listened to Lydia bitch about how the guy was threatening her valedictorian distinction, which at least meant he had enough scholarly knowledge to run a conversation. And he barely knew Alex or Dallas at all, but either one of them could squeeze a laugh out of a brick.
“So,” Edge said, joining Chase on the couch. “How are you liking it around here?”
“As in, the band?”
“Of course, the band. The apartment sucks.” Edge laughed.
Chase refused to verbally agree with that one, lest the walls absorb his response and play it back to Zak later that night—giving her yet another reason to think he was a snob. “You guys are great,” Chase said. “Seriously talented. All of you.”
“I mean, thanks.” Edge kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “But I wasn’t really asking if we were good. I was asking if you are having a good time. You know, whenever Zak’s not busy yelling at you.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I am.” Good didn’t seem like the right word. Chase was having a stressful time, but there were shining moments. Having somewhere to be when he got out of bed in the morning. Spending his day immersed in music. Keeping his mind busy. “The yelling is fine anyway. I’m kind of used to that, from my last job.”
“I bet. Both my brothers played soccer. Not professionally or anything, but you would have thought it was, the way some people got. Coaches. Parents.” Edge chuckled to himself. “It was fun for me, though. Watching someone yell at them.”
Dallas joined them, grabbing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey off the ground, pouring himself a glass, and then holding the bottle up to Chase. “Want one?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Nice to not be the only sober one, for once,” Edge said.
“What do you want?” Dallas asked. “A gold star?”
“Hey, I’m staying sober, too,” Alex cut in. “At least, till I get some pizza in this belly.” He sat on the ottoman facing everyone, fanning out a selection of takeout menus. “Got a favorite place, new guy?”
“On this side of town? Probably not, right?” Edge made it sound like more of a guess than a dig, like Zak would have, but he was still right.
“Whatever you guys think is best. I’m not picky,” Chase said. “And I’ll pay.”
“We fucked up starting a band with each other,” said Dallas. “We should have recruited a rich dude.”
“If I knew a rich dude back then, do you think I would have wasted my time with you guys?” Alex joked, throwing Chase a menu. “Thanks for all the food, though. Kind of. You’re getting me fat.”
“Don’t mention it,” Chase said.
No, really. Don’t.
He wished buying dinner could be as anonymous and disconnected as making a donation, but that defeated the entire purpose. This wasn’t some charitable cause he was supporting. It was a genuine attempt at making friends for the first time in years—the antithesis of anonymous and disconnected.
If anything, Chase was their charity case.
“I hope you know we appreciate it, though,” Edge said. “It’s a big deal that you’re even here in the first place. You’re already doing a lot.”
“Just making up for doing a whole lot of nothing lately.” Chase got up to use the phone. “Call it thank-you pizza. I appreciate you inviting me tonight.”
I know how hard it must be for all of you. It’s hard for me, too, he left unspoken.
“Well, we’re going to be stuck together for a while if we end up with that recording contract. This isn’t really the kind of job where you can ignore your coworkers,” Edge said. “Even for Zak. I’m sure she’ll come around eventually, but between us, all the free stuff probably isn’t helping you win her over. The only thing stronger than her mouth is her pride.”
“What kind of pizza would win her over?” Chase asked as he dialed the number on the front of the pamphlet.
“Jalape?o and sausage. But not the jalape?os from the shop. The ones she keeps in the fridge.”
It was just a pizza, but Chase envied the ease of that knowledge. He wondered about all the other little things Edge surely knew about Zak after over a decade of friendship. He wondered if he would ever know anyone like that, and tried not to wonder if he would ever know her, specifically, like that.
He phoned the shop, ordered delivery as the guys called out requests, and hung up. Returning to the couch and to a situation where he didn’t know how to start the next conversation.
Apparently, Dallas did. “Alright, enough of the kumbaya gratitude shit. Chase—there are some very important things we all need to know about you if you’re going to be in this band.”
Chase prepared himself to tell them the elevator-pitch version of his life story. How he moved here, how he got started in hockey, and how it all ended in him losing his leg.
But instead, Dallas tipped his whiskey glass to Chase and said, “Rapid-fire. Let’s hear it. Favorite band?”
“There’s too many to—”
“Not the lame answer every musician gives during interviews. Your real answer,” Dallas insisted.
Chase forced himself to stop thinking. “Aerosmith.”
“Least favorite rock band?”
“The Doors, maybe?”
“Worst genre?”
“Country.”
Dallas smirked.
Did that mean it was a good answer or a bad answer? Dallas had a Southern accent…
Scratch that. No good answers, no bad answers. Only genuine ones.
“What’s most important?” Edge chimed in. “Melody, lyrics, or beat?”
“Lyrics.”
“Spoken like a true singer,” Alex said. Which made Chase feel like a true singer for about point-five seconds before he remembered his voice crack earlier during today’s practice. “Best movie soundtrack?”
“Beetlejuice.”
“That’s a good one,” Edge agreed.
“Yeah.” Dallas took another slow drink of whiskey. “Link’s favorite, too.”
Shit.
Grief was an entity in this place.
Everything around them had been touched by Link. Every room had heard the sound of his voice. Every person looking back at Chase had been shaped by this man he would never meet. A man Chase would never be. Not in musical ability, and certainly not in his presence in these people’s lives.
“I’m sorry,” Chase told them.
“For what?” Dallas tilted his head. “Liking a movie?”
“For bringing up bad memories.”
It took Edge a moment’s pause before he said, “Sometimes you have to drag out the bad memories to make room for better ones.”
It sounded like something Chase’s rehabilitation counselor would have told him—or maybe did tell him. He hadn’t always been the clearest minded during those sessions.
“A lot of times, it’s a package deal.” Alex swallowed. “The bad and the good.”
Chase wanted them to be right. He wanted to drag out the bad and replace it with good.
He wanted his conversation with Zak at Spilled Beans to color over the memory of the last time he was recruited.
Wanted Saint of Spades’ lyrics to play in his head instead of transcripts from sports news segments and trite “Get Well” card quotes.
Wanted tonight to absolve his guilt over ditching the few friends he had made on the Kodiaks by canceling his cell phone service and cutting the wires to his landline.
On the last one, now was his chance to bring about the good.
“All these questions,” Chase said, glancing around the group. “Do I get to hear all of your answers?”
“All in due time, rookie.” Dallas smiled. “All in due time.”