Chapter 6
Afew days later, the band met in that old back bedroom at Zack’s house where we’d first gelled as a band. Zack even had snacks on a tiny table—cold but non-alcoholic beverages in a cooler, a bowl of pretzels and one of potato chips.
Maybe this was a good start.
But the same old chairs were back there and an old drum kit. I wasn’t about to confess that the one I’d had on the road was still sitting in the shed at my house. I hadn’t had the stomach to look at it—but now that we’d have new songs to practice, I had something to look forward to.
I actually wanted to play the drums again.
It hadn’t even been two weeks, but I could have gone on the road once more if needed. Our time apart and back at home had really helped ground me.
Of course, Braden sitting right next to me hadn’t hurt.
Even now, though, we didn’t hold hands or touch each other, and I wondered if we could move past that. After all, it wasn’t like Zack didn’t know about us. Still, we were in a professional setting here and didn’t need to distract anyone from what the meeting was about.
After Zack offered us drinks and snacks, he sat in a chair across from the three of us. “I’ve written fifteen songs, but I think the label wants us to keep no more than twelve.”
Cy said, “Maybe the others could be for an album later on.”
“Or bonus tracks for a special edition,” Braden said.
“Would we still play them on tour?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Zack swiped at his phone and said, “I haven’t given them all titles yet, but most of them have lyrics already—and there are three I want to keep for sure.”
“Well, let’s hear ‘em,” Braden said, his enthusiasm evident in the pitch of his voice.
“Okay.” Zack rolled his chair to the computer in the corner and, after a few clicks of the mouse, we were listening to the opening I’d heard just days ago at the diner: a somewhat mournful harmonica easing into a section where a guitar played one note and then another.
After a few bars, a washboard added some rhythm.
A soft tune played for a bit, and I noticed Zack mouthing words, but not loud enough for me to hear.
My stomach knotted, because even though he’d assured me at the diner that we’d still “sound like Riot,” this was way different.
It was slow, soft, and mournful, and I imagined all those thousands of enthusiastic fans who’d filled all those huge rooms on tour throwing tomatoes at the stage.
This was not Riot—not by a long shot.
But then the tune slowly built up steam until there were full instruments, loud and heavy.
That was Riot—and maybe the slow intro was okay.
About a third of the way in, Zack paused. “What do you think so far?”
I said, “You had me worried for a sec—but this is really good.”
Braden nodded and Cy said, “I love the slide. Would you be playing that part or me?”
“Up to you, my man. But I paused here because I only have a few starts on the solo and wondered if we could work together to finish it out.”
“Hell, yeah.” Cy didn’t start waving pom-poms or anything, but it was clear that he really loved that idea.
It was so not Zack. Maybe this was growth…maturity. Not feeling like he had to do it all himself—I wasn’t going to take that as weakness but as strength.
We spent the better part of an hour listening to all the songs—some complete and others needing filled in here and there. Afterward, Zack said, “So first things first—I need you guys to tell me which songs to cut.”
I already had an opinion. “I think maybe it was the third one—where there was some piano at the beginning.” I wasn’t even going to address all the new instruments he’d decided to add to our sound, but it felt like he was trying to prove something…
like “Hey, I’m a real musician, even though I never had any formal training. ”
But that wasn’t why I didn’t like it.
“It’s too slow and sad sounding. I vote for that one.”
Zack shook his head. “That’s one of the keepers.”
“Why?”
“It’s a power ballad, Dani.”
“Do bands even do them anymore?”
Zack started laughing. “Don’t you ever listen to Pop Evil?”
I shook my head, feeling like an idiot. Back when Zack and I had torn through every single hard rock band’s catalog through YouTube and Spotify, Zack had often given me music history lessons—and power ballads had been a big thing in eighties’ rock.
I’d been hearing and enjoying plenty of power ballads in newer music but hadn’t realized it. “Okay, got it.”
“They’re a great way to appeal to other audience members.”
“Yeah,” Cy said. “All our male fans who drag their girlfriends along? The women might prefer that sound.”
“Jesus. Here we go again,” I said, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Why can’t a woman like hard rock regardless of who she’s dating?”
“That’s not—”
“Knock it off,” Zack said, reclaiming his spot as our leader. “We’re not gonna rehash any of that shit right now. It stays.”
“Then I got nothin’,” I said, and, in an effort to avoid sounding like a petulant child, I added, “I like all the songs at first listen.”
“Yeah, me too,” Braden said.
“Same,” said Cy. “Do you have any ideas of which ones you want to axe?”
“No—that’s why I was asking you guys.”
“Here’s an idea.” Cy got up and pulled a Diet Pepsi out of the cooler. “Why don’t we work on all of them. Maybe some of them we’ll decide later don’t work.”
“And if they don’t?” Braden asked.
“Then we make the label choose,” Zack said. “We could let them listen to demos of the other songs and ask them to choose however many they wanted to fill out the album.”
Remembering seeing Zack mouthing words on a couple, I asked, “Do you have words for all of them?”
The grin that spread on his face was classic Zack, reminding me of how excited he used to get about talking all things music. “Yeah.”
“Well, we can’t cut any that way then.”
“I really liked the song that was in the middle of them all,” I said. “It had a super bluesy feel with a long, mournful solo.”
Cy laughed. “You could say that about most of them.”
“Yeah, but the one I’m thinking of was complete—and the end faded out instead of ending clearly.”
“I think that was ‘Freezing’.” Zack was already clicking and the song started again.
Just one guitar note and I knew that was it: a mournful tune, played slowly, evoking all kinds of emotions in me. Through his music, Zack communicated to me on a deeper level, and I could feel all his suffering just through that song. I was afraid that, when I heard the lyrics, I’d start to cry.
Damn it. I still loved him. I loved him to the depths of my soul. How could I ever stop?
Cy asked, “Is that a synthesizer?”
“Yeah. Cool, huh?”
I had no arguments. “I vote for this one to be one of the ones we keep no matter what.”
Zack grinned. “Okay.”
“If we’re voting on keepers, then I vote for the second-to-last song,” Cy said. I wasn’t surprised. That song was so good—and was probably the one out of the fifteen that sounded most like our first album.
Braden echoed that sentiment. “Yeah, I agree.”
“Okay, so we have a core five. You guys wanna start practicing those?”
“I’d like to get familiar with all of them,” I said.
“I can send you guys all these recordings so you can get a feel for them—and then when should we start practicing? Bray, Cy, how long you need to practice by yourself?”
“I got nothin’ better to do,” Cy said. “I only need a few days.”
“I thought you were seein’ Teegan.”
Oh. Cy was dating someone from high school—if I wasn’t mistaken, because I only knew one Teegan, and she’d been in a grade higher than ours. But I was pretty sure she’d gone to college.
“One date. That was it. And you managed to write all this shit with the same concerns.”
Zack ignored him, focusing on Braden. “What about you?”
“Yeah. A few days. You know I’m gonna mess shit up the first couple times we play it together no matter what. That’s how I get good at it—playing with you guys.”
“Dani?”
“I think I need to spend my time learning the washboard. The rest of it shouldn’t be too hard.
” And, of course, I planned to add my own spin to the basic tracks Zack had laid down.
There wasn’t anything special about the drums he’d played in the fifteen songs he shared and I was certain that, once I grew to know and love them, I’d be able to add my own flair.
And I would fight to record them that way.
Nodding, Zack stood and walked over to the drum kit—but he simply picked up an almost brand-new washboard that had been leaning against the wall that I hadn’t even noticed. As he handed me a thimble, he said, “I can show you how to play it to get that sound.”
“Can I mess around with it first?” The less time I spent with Zack, the better, because hearing all his music had simply rekindled the fire inside that burned for him.
“Yeah, sure. Just let me know if you need me to show you anything.”
As my mouth went dry, I nodded again.
After more discussion about the tracks, the entire band was re-energized. Following our grueling time on the road, this was exactly what we’d needed to get us to refocus on our dreams. Zack must have known that.
So when I got in Braden’s car, I was excited to talk more about it—until I saw his face. But his words gave nothing away. “Did you want me to take you home or—”
“I thought I was spending the night at your place.”
“Yeah. Just checking.”
Oh, God. What was going on? “Is everything okay? Do you hate the new songs?”
“No, I think they’re great.” As Braden pulled onto the street, he sighed softly. Keeping his eye on the road, he asked, “Do you still love him?”
Shit. He’d asked me this before—and the only reason why I could think he was asking again had to be because of something that had happened at Zack’s.
Had it been the way Zack and I had instantly rebounded when we talked about music?
Or had my eyes changed as Zack’s music had infused every pore, every vein?
Was my undying love for that man that obvious?
But it didn’t matter. Zack had already proven himself unworthy of any emotions I had for him. I could continue to love and care about him as a friend, respect and adore him as an artist, but I couldn’t allow him in my heart. No more.
Before answering Braden, I conjured up all those bad emotions—the time after time after time when Zack had hurt me, whether by callous obliviousness or by overt rejection.
Zack’s actions spoke far louder than his words and, when I concentrated on those toxic feelings, I could convince myself that we were through forever.
“No. He’s a hell of a musician and he’ll always be my friend…but I’m with you now, Braden. And I want to make us work.”
At the stop sign, Braden turned his head to look at me, a gentle smile plastered on his face. As if to emphasize my words, I reached over and touched his hand on the steering wheel. “Me too, Dani,” he said, driving the car toward his house where I knew he’d hold me close all night long.
Braden was my future, and I needed to cling to him until I could force Zack out of my heart for good.