18. Here For Good – Dakota
18
HERE FOR GOOD
DAKOTA
T he bass line slips away from me again, my fingers fumbling over the strings. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that seems to have settled over my brain.
"Dakota, man, where are you right now?" Brad's voice cuts through the haze, concern and frustration coloring his words.
I look up to see the rest of Chaos Fuel staring at me. Brad, our lead singer, has his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in question. Stefan, our guitarist, is frowning, his fingers still poised over his instrument. And Emmett, usually lost in his own world behind the drums, is actually paying attention for once.
"Sorry, guys," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "I'm just... distracted."
"No shit," Emmett chuckles. "You've been off all week. What gives?"
I hesitate, unsure how much to share. These guys are my brothers in all but blood, but talking about Lauren feels private.
Stefan, ever the perceptive one, narrows his eyes. "You've been disappearing a lot lately. Is there something going on we should know about?"
I hesitate, unsure how much to share. "I've been spending some time with Lauren," I admit finally.
"Lauren?" Brad repeats, his brow furrowing for a moment before his eyes light up with recognition. "Wait, you mean Lauren from Sunny's? The waitress?"
"Yeah, that's her," I nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness at having it out in the open.
"Oh man, I know her," Emmett chimes in. "She always remembers my crazy coffee order. Nice girl."
Stefan leans back, a knowing smirk on his face. "I thought I noticed some sparks flying between you two last time we were there. So, you've been 'spending time' with her, huh?"
I feel heat creep up my neck. "We've been hanging out, yeah. Getting to know each other."
"Must be some pretty intense 'hanging out' to have you this distracted," Emmett quips, twirling a drumstick between his fingers.
Brad's expression turns serious. "Dakota, you know we're leaving for tour soon, right? Opening for Incendiary Ink’s farewell tour for three months? Ring any bells?"
The reminder hits me like a slap to the face.
"I know," I say quietly. "Trust me, I know."
Stefan sets his guitar down, his expression serious. "Look, man, we're happy for you. Really. But we need you focused. This tour... it's huge for us. It could be our big break."
"I know that too," I say, a hint of defensiveness creeping into my voice. "I'm not going to let you guys down."
"We know you won't," Emmett chimes in. "But maybe... maybe you should take a step back from this Lauren situation. At least until after the tour."
His words make sense. They're practical, logical. But the thought of stepping back from Lauren, of not seeing where this could go... it feels wrong on a level I can't quite explain.
"I can't do that," I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice.
The guys exchange another look, this one filled with concern and a hint of exasperation.
"Alright," Brad finally says. "But Dakota, you've got to find a way to balance this. We need you here, present, giving it your all. Can you do that?"
I nod, determination settling over me. "Yeah, I can do that. I promise."
"Good," Stefan says. "Now, let's take it from the top. And this time, try to remember you're holding a bass, not daydreaming about your waitress, alright?"
I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. As we launch into the song again, I force myself to focus, to push thoughts of Lauren to the back of my mind.
But even as my fingers find their rhythm on the strings, I know this is just the beginning. Balancing my growing feelings for Lauren with the demands of the band and the tour ahead... it's going to be one hell of a challenge.
Since I started seeing Lauren, I haven’t had the urge to drink or use, and I can only pray that continues once I’m on the road. I’m going to need to find strength I don’t know that I have to get through it. I’ve seen Lauren every single day since we met, and I worry that any amount of distance may be too much for me to handle. I might slip up. I might give in to my demons in a moment of weakness. The temptations on the road are huge and constant. Nearly unavoidable. I’m not sure I have the fortitude to be the man I want so desperately to be.
But as I look around at my bandmates, my brothers, I know I'm not alone. And somehow, someway, I'll find a way to make it all work.
I have to.
The setting sun paints the sky in hues of orange and pink as I pull up to Lauren's house after practice. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine from a nearby bush, mingling with the acrid smell of exhaust from Shannon's idling Honda. Its trunk gapes open, stuffed with boxes and suitcases - a visual reminder of the changes ahead.
My stomach churns with a mix of emotions: sympathy for Lauren's loss, guilt about my own impending departure, and an overwhelming desire to fix everything. But I know I can't. Not really.
I find them in the driveway, Lauren and Shannon engaged in a complicated dance of fitting boxes into the cramped backseat. Roman sits on the porch step, his small shoulders slumped, looking lost in a way no three-year-old should.
"Hey," I call out softly, gravel crunching under my feet as I approach.
Lauren turns, a sad smile flickering across her face. "Dakota, hey. I didn't expect you tonight."
I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out to her. "Thought you might need an extra pair of hands. Or, you know, just some moral support."
Shannon emerges from the car, wiping sweat from her brow. "Well, well. If it isn't the rockstar," she says, her usual teasing tone tinged with something harder - worry, maybe, or skepticism.
"Need any help?" I offer, gesturing to the remaining boxes.
"We've got it," Shannon says, her eyes flicking between Lauren and me. "But it's good you're here for Lauren. She'll need support."
The emphasis she puts on "support" isn't lost on me. It's a reminder, a warning perhaps, of the responsibility I'm taking on.
I nod, moving to stand beside Lauren. She leans into me slightly, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.
"You okay?" I murmur low enough that only she can hear.
She nods, but I can feel the tension thrumming through her body. "I will be," she whispers back.
As Shannon loads the last box, I crouch down next to Roman. "Hey, buddy," I say softly. "Tough day, huh?"
He nods, his big brown eyes welling with tears. Without thinking, I open my arms, and he launches himself into them. As I hold him, I'm struck by how right it feels, and how terrifying that rightness is. Soon, I'll be leaving, too. What right do I have to offer comfort I can't sustain?
Shannon's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Well, I guess this is it."
What follows is a flurry of tearful goodbyes. I stand back, an observer to this family's pain, acutely aware of my outsider status even as I long to be a part of it.
As Shannon prepares to leave, she pulls me aside. "Dakota," she says, her voice low and intense. "I know you care about them. But this isn't a game. Lauren and Roman... they can't afford to get hurt. You understand?"
I meet her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. "I do. I promise, I'm not taking this lightly."
She searches my face for a moment, then nods. "Good. Take care of them, okay? They're special."
As Shannon's car disappears into the distance, Lauren's hand finds mine, squeezing tightly. Roman clings to her legs, sniffling quietly. The three of us stand there, a tableau of grief and uncertainty.
"You've got this," I tell Lauren softly, even as doubt gnaws at me. "And I'm here, whatever you need."
She nods, leaning her head against my shoulder. But as the streetlights flicker on around us, I can't shake the feeling that I'm making promises I might not be able to keep. In a short time, I'll be gone, too, chasing my dreams on stage while Lauren faces her new reality alone.
The guilt is overwhelming, but so is the certainty that I can't walk away from this - from her, from them.