Chapter Twenty-Two #3
Steve looked uncomfortable to be put on the spot. “Yes?” He glanced at Micah apologetically. “I mean, I’m also fine not doing it. But yeah, if it were up to me, I think it sounds fun. Not for a long tour. I don’t want to miss my kid growing up or anything. But yeah. Sounds fun.”
He clamped his mouth shut, as if to stop rambling.
“Frankie?” Ryder prompted. “Not based on anyone else. Just what you want. You said last night you thought it would be a great opportunity.”
“I know what I said last night,” Frankie said dryly.
“I can remember back that far, thank you very much. I thought it could be fun, but suddenly I’m reminded why it might not be.
And John’s right—if one of us is out, then it’s a non-starter.
We can’t do it without Micah. This cruise has been a good send-off. I say we leave it here.”
Ryder turned to John then. “Well?” he said. “And please, for the love of god, don’t just say what you think she wants to hear. Take a stand for once in your life.”
Micah closed her eyes. She obviously knew what John would say—last night, he’d seemed interested in the idea. And no matter what Ryder seemed to believe, she wasn’t trying to take anything away from anybody. She simply couldn’t do it.
“Take a stand?” John said, stepping closer to Ryder.
“All right, I’ll take a stand. I don’t want anything to do with ElectricOh!
. Not a reunion tour, not a festival date, not a single goddamn group photo as long as you’re in the band.
You’re toxic. And if you think you’re a good enough guitarist to make any of this worth it, you’re not. ”
Micah opened her eyes again, staring at John.
She could count the times she’d seen him truly angry on one hand.
The band had had many arguments, all those years ago, but he’d been more the type to hang back and listen to what everyone had to say, then weigh in with some reasonable compromise after everyone else had shouted themselves out.
Now his voice was low but hard, and Frankie and Steve hung back, seeming to understand that this was a fight that had been brewing between the two of them for a while.
Ryder made a scoffing sound. “Says the guy who’s been playing dive bars for the last ten years. That tip jar’s bound to run dry, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money,” John said.
“Let me guess, you only care about the music ,” Ryder said derisively, making it clear what he thought about that. “Bullshit. You’re a hack. Go get your songbook to play nostalgic slow jams at second-rate weddings. And Micah?”
She looked over at him, even though she realized Ryder was talking about her rather than to her.
“Calls herself a musician when she can barely play an instrument,” Ryder continued, his lips twisting. “It’s a joke. She was there for novelty and for some sex appeal, and in the end she couldn’t even deliver that, huh? Funny how that works.”
“That is funny,” John said. “Because it’s no coincidence that the best song we ever wrote was without you.”
John’s retort came fast, but Micah barely had any time to process it because Ryder’s fist quickly followed.
He punched John right in the face, sending John reeling back.
Micah saw red—literally, because there was blood on John’s mouth, but also in that this was the absolute last shit she was going to take from Ryder.
She acted on instinct, without any care as to whether people were watching or if she was putting herself in danger.
And she punched Ryder square in his nose.
It made a sickening crunch, and then Ryder’s hands went up to his face, which was now pouring blood from both his nostrils. She was surprised by the amount of blood, and how quickly it came. She was also surprised by the sounds now coming out of his mouth, more animal than human.
She was shocked by how much her hand hurt, and yet how good it had felt.
“What the fuck?” Ryder said, holding his hand over his nose. He’d stumbled after she punched him, and he’d let himself fall back into the sand, sitting awkwardly splayed out while he assessed the damage. “I’m going to sue you for assault, you bitch.”
“Try it,” John said, “and I’ll sue you for assaulting me first.”
Micah had a sudden, out-of-control urge to laugh. You should’ve seen the other guy , she thought. John didn’t look too bad, at least—he had a split lip, and touched it gingerly only to come away with blood on his fingers. But Ryder looked awful, and she couldn’t say she was too sorry to see it.
“I don’t think you want what could come out if I let it,” Ryder said to her, and she flexed her hand, wondering if it was too soon to punch him again.
“I’m done feeling shame about any of that,” she said.
“But you should be ashamed. I wasted so much fucking time and energy on you, none of which you deserved. You wonder why you’re miserable?
Because you’re miserable to be around. Our relationship was one long pit in my stomach.
You think you’re god’s gift to music but you would be a hell of a lot better served just trying to be a halfway decent person. ”
His eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was going to make another crack, something designed to humiliate her in front of everyone else.
She didn’t particularly care about humiliating him, but she did care about shutting him up, and she knew one thing that would.
She crouched down, her voice low so only he could hear it.
“I faked it every time,” she said. “But I’m done faking anything.”
Looking at Ryder now, she couldn’t believe she’d let him have such a hold over her for so long. Not just their relationship, but for the years afterward when she’d carried so much baggage from it. He was nothing.
She glanced back at John, who was standing tense and ready, like he was waiting to see if Ryder would try anything else.
She had always been her truest self with John, and more than anything she regretted the way that the whole mess with Ryder and the band had warped that.
She wished she could somehow go back in time, travel to when she was sixteen and do it all over again, but this time with different choices.
But she couldn’t, and maybe it was time to make peace with that part.
She stood up, clenching her fist at her side, her knuckles still sore.
She wanted to say something to the whole band—to Frankie, who was looking at her with concern; to Steve, who still looked a little shell-shocked; and most of all to John, who she’d hurt last night for no other reason than she was scared.
But she didn’t know what to say, so instead she just gave them all a grim smile and walked away.