Chapter 38 Tyler [The Past]
It’d been six hours since I’d gotten the call.
And although the official press release had come out thirty minutes ago, I still couldn’t believe it was happening.
The adrenaline had me jittery, and the idea of stepping into Chance Hollowell’s shoes was intimidating.
I knew all his solos. I could imitate every chord he ever played, but merely thinking about being the guy on a poster next to his bandmates had my gut twisting with dread.
I’d spent the entire afternoon with my head a mess, going back and forth between giddy excitement and terrified doubt. By the time evening rolled around, I knew I needed a drink. Or twenty.
My buddies and I packed the bar we’d been frequenting on Sunset.
This was one of those places that was camouflaged on the outside—gray walls and a tiny neon sign above the door.
A couple of security guards stood at the entrance.
The inside was very different. Celebs of all sorts came in and out through the rear.
Drinks were expensive and stiff, and the music was loud enough to blow the place to pieces.
In the few years I’d lived in LA, I’d met a lot of people. That’s what happened when you tried to hustle like I did. Friends were everywhere, screaming my name and throwing shots.
My phone lit up with congratulations.
It was like I’d been living a ghost life until now. After years of playing random gigs, drifting from one small band to another, the audition for The Deviant was a kick to the chest. The chance of a lifetime.
Their music defined an era. I knew how big they were, how huge Chance had been. Replacing him would be stepping into rock history. If I pulled it off, if I didn’t screw it up, it would mean I’d finally made it.
"You did it, man!" Someone handed me another shot. I couldn’t see who it was over the crowd, but I downed it anyway. I was still hoarse from the first round.
"That’s some serious shit!" I said.
"It’s happening, dude. You’re here."
"Finally!" Another drink.
I gulped it down. I didn’t even know what it was.
They were right. It was happening. After years of struggle and waiting and grinding, it was really happening.
I felt like I had just learned to play my first song. I felt like I was floating.
The bar kept getting more crowded. The neon signs hummed so hard, I thought they’d short out. I leaned against a pool table, watching the insane mix of bodies and sweat and noise, and wondered if this was the moment I’d been waiting for my entire life.
Eventually, the world became a twirling haze. I wanted it to slow down so I could catch my breath. I didn’t think it would.
By the time midnight rolled around, I was starting to feel tired.
I shoved my way through the masses, breathless and drunk.
"Hey, Brady!" A hand landed on my shoulder, spinning me around.
It was Curtis, a buddy I used to play with before he got hooked on bad gigs and bad drugs. He had a huge grin on his face, as if I’d given him something he couldn’t even imagine. "Congrats, dude. Seriously. This is huge."
"Thanks," I said, slapping his hand. He smelled like tequila and two-day-old desperation, but he was happy for me. I could see that in his eyes, in the way he looked at me, in the way everyone did tonight.
"Don’t forget the little guys when you’re out there on the road with the big dogs, huh?"
"Nonsense. We all come from the same place."
"Let me buy you a drink," he offered.
We hit the bar again. The bartender handed me a shot, and I downed it. There was no way to catch up to this moment. It was leaving me in the dust.
My head spun faster, and my vision blacked out from time to time. I lost track of time, of people, of my own voice as I shouted and sang along with the familiar tune that was roaring through the crammed space.
And then the high became the low. I just stood there, happy and content one minute, and the next, I was spiraling. Surrounded by people but alone. And all of the madness in the bar seemed pointless because she wasn’t here with me.
"Gotta take a piss. Be right back," I said, more to myself than anyone else. I needed a second to think, to breathe, to figure out how I got here and what I wanted. Because now that I’d achieved the dream, I felt like something was still missing.
Curtis didn’t even look up.
I pushed through the crowd, unsteady and unsure, and slipped into the restroom. I entered the only stall and shut the door. My hand was a shaking mess as I fumbled with my phone and scrolled through the contacts.
When I found the one I’d been looking for, I stared at it for a while.
I stared at it so long, I thought I’d lose my nerve. My mind was a tornado of tequila and nostalgia.
I thought of her, of all the times I didn’t reach out to explain why I left. Of all the times I didn’t have the guts. I’d been embarrassed, I realized, that I was still a nobody after so much time in this city while she’d already graduated from culinary school and was making waves.
Tonight was different.
I’d finally gotten the best gig an unknown guitarist could find in LA.
Several months ago, my mother had given me this number, saying it was Naomi’s cellphone, asking me to call her.
I pushed the button, pressed the phone to my ear.
It took four rings for Naomi to pick up.
"Hey, Nomes," I rasped out, sounding like a complete asshole.
Silence.
My heart was a reckless drumbeat in my chest.
"Ty?" she finally choked out.
"Surprise, surprise." I was leaning against the stall, trying to stay upright, trying to keep it together. "It's me." The words were as shaky as the phone in my hand. I heard Curtis shouting out in the hallway.
"Are you drunk?" she asked.
"A little. Yes." I bit my lip to hold in the hiccup.
"Do you know what time it is?"
Hearing her voice was a punch to the gut, a reminder that I wasn’t as empty as I’d thought. "Late," I mumbled.
"Ty? Are you— Is this—" Naomi’s words were thick and sleep-dazed, the kind of sound I thought I’d forgotten, thought I’d buried in the mess of everything else. I wasn’t prepared for it, for how it would hit me.
"I got a gig."
The silence stretched so long, I thought the call had dropped. I didn’t know if it would matter to her. I wanted it to. I wanted her to care. But she seemed withdrawn.
"What gig?"
"The big one," I said. I clamped a hand over my other ear to hear her better. "The kind I always wanted."
She didn’t speak for a few heartbeats again. It killed me, every second of it. Every second of the doubt. "And you thought you’d tell me?"
"I thought you’d wanna know." I closed my eyes, tight. I wanted it all to stop spinning.
"I’m— I’m not sure what to say, Ty. Congrats, I guess."
"You don’t have to say anything," I mumbled. "Just wanted to tell you." I wanted her to be the first to hear it, the first to know that I was on my way back to her. "I’m good enough for you now."
Curtis’s fist pounded on the door of my stall.
"Yo, Brady! You in there makin’ out with your phone?"
I ignored him. "Wanted you to know that I’m one step closer."
"To what?"
"To getting what I want so I can return to you, so I can give you the things you deserve."
"You left me."
"It’s not forever, Nomes."
"I don’t believe you anymore."
"You’ll see." I paused and pressed the phone harder against my ear, as if I were afraid of losing it, of losing her. "I wish you were here."
"Ty?"
"Yeah."
"You do what you need to do."
The line went dead.
I stood there, staring at the phone as if it might bring her back. As if it might fix the past.
"Brady! Dude! What the hell!" Curtis called.
Dumb motherfucker.
He pounded on the door again, laughing loud enough to wake the whole damn city.
I didn’t react. My heart was thrashing in my chest. The rejection stung.
I suddenly wanted it all to go away, wanted to stop feeling so damn much.
I wanted to be dead on the inside, and for the next ten years I would be.
I would remove her from my mind and leave just one thing that would matter—my music.