Chapter 7
Afew days later on Friday, I was practicing beats along with the recordings Zack had sent me.
Unlike what the rest of our band did, now that I was super comfortable in my role, I felt like I didn’t have to memorize anything…
that when I heard the music—whether live, recorded, or just in my head—my hands and feet knew what to do.
And the more I listened to the songs, the more I loved them.
Unfortunately, as I became more familiar with the songs, the more my mind wandered. At first, I marveled at how much emotion bled through Zack’s music, even when I didn’t know the lyrics that went with them, and I wondered if that was why he’d decided to infuse our brand of metal with blues.
It worked—and I knew most of our fans would love it.
Later on, my mind did more wandering, but it shifted to Braden.
I knew he was the right guy for me without a doubt, but his family left a lot to be desired.
After spending multiple evenings and mornings at his place, it hadn’t taken long for me to realize that Braden and his sisters all took after their mother, a quiet, meek soul.
His dad seemed nice enough most of the time, but when he got angry, he took it all out on their mother.
It was all verbal abuse but abuse nonetheless, telling her she was worthless, questioning how she’d managed to stay alive all these years without killing herself.
So many times, I wondered why she stayed…and that always made me wonder why I’d stayed with Zack so long. Did Braden’s mother love his father so much that she overlooked his worst qualities?
Taking a break, I got up and stretched my neck, moving around the room and I picked up my phone to send a text to Braden. Miss you.
I went to the kitchen to refill my glass of water, my brain focused on Braden. We’d agreed to spend the weekend apart so he could work on the songs. He was such an important part of our band, adding depth and rhythm to Zack and Cy’s screaming guitars, and I knew Braden strived for perfection.
When I got back to my room, I checked my phone, expecting something from Braden.
What I got was from Zack. Hey, can I come over?
Jesus. Why? It was like he just couldn’t let me be happy.
But something deep inside compelled me to be nice. What’s up?
My grandpa died yesterday. As I absorbed the shock of that revelation—I’d just seen him days ago—Zack sent another text. I need someone to talk to.
I texted back: Yeah, of course. Would you rather I come over there?
No, I need to get out of here. My mom’s family and friends are too much right now.
I didn’t think I could continue focusing on the drums, but I was wrong. I found it to be soothing—and it was much better than pacing the floor, waiting for his arrival.
Not fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door that quickly turned to pounding. Why didn’t he use the doorbell like normal people? But, of course, I reminded myself, he wasn’t thinking.
I ran to the front door, pulling it open quickly.
God, he looked like hell—but it wasn’t from drinking, even though I saw the bottle of vodka in his hand. He’d clearly been crying, and his eyes were puffy and red, his expression distraught like I’d never seen him before.
And he just pulled me into a suffocating embrace, clinging to me as if I were a piece of driftwood and he was being pulled under by the current. I held him close, sensing the profound sadness inside him.
Finally, I was able to get him into the house and we sat on the couch in the living room. Softly, I asked, “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
But he already had the lid off the vodka, pouring the clear liquid down his throat. “I was such a dick to him, Dani.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time I saw my grandpa. I was a Grade A asshole.”
I thought back to the birthday barbecue and hoped my words would be some comfort. “After you left that night, he and your mom were talking about how stubborn you were—but it sounded loving. He loved you.”
With closed eyes, Zack shook his head slightly.
“No, I’m not talking about that. Two days ago, Gramps asked me to come over for coffee and an omelet like we used to do—and he started lecturing me about drinking.
I told him I had it under control and he said, ‘Spoken like a true alcoholic.’ I lost my shit and said some pretty mean things. ”
Oh. I’d been on the receiving end of Drunk Rock Star Zack’s cruel words.
Still, as much as it had stung, I also knew where it was coming from—and had I been his grandfather, I might have viewed it even more differently.
“Yeah, but your grandpa loved you unconditionally. I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean the things you said. ”
“But I did. I—” He grabbed his face, covering the onslaught of tears erupting from his eyes, the sobs from his mouth, and I wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
It wasn’t long before I was crying along with him, knowing that my own grandparents wouldn’t last forever and understanding how alone Zack must have felt.
Although he stopped crying shortly after, he still held me, possibly wanting to regain control.
I needed a few tissues and I was sure he did too, so I unwound myself from his arms and said, “Be right back.” My mom used to keep a box of tissues in the living room, but there weren’t any to be seen, so I went to the hallway closet where she often kept extras.
While I got one and pulled off the paperboard over the plastic opening, I wondered something I should have asked myself earlier: why had Zack reached out to me and not to Braden, his oldest friend?
I knew some guys wouldn’t have been able to deal with Zack’s display of emotion, but I knew Braden likely could have.
Then again, Zack had damaged that relationship as well. Maybe Braden wasn’t as forgiving as I—even though I didn’t feel that way at all.
By the time I returned, Zack was taking another swig of the vodka, trying to wash down his sorrows.
After taking out a tissue, I set the box next to his bottle on the coffee table.
As I dabbed at my eyes and nose, I felt a little relief that at least the bottle was almost full, meaning he probably hadn’t driven drunk.
My voice as gentle as could be, I said, “That could make it worse.”
“It won’t.” After taking another swig, he looked at me.
“It makes everything quieter. Like…you know all the sounds of summer? Birds, cicadas, crickets, frogs, the occasional airplane overhead, semis driving down the highway, kids playing. But when the snow starts falling, everything gets quiet. There’s still sound, but it’s muted somehow.
” Picking up his bottle, he tilted the bottom toward me slightly. “That’s what this does for my mind.”
“I get that, but—”
“So it’s still there. I can hear it. I can feel it—but I can deal with it. When it’s summer in my brain, I can’t handle all the noise. I don’t know how…and the older I get, the louder the noise grows.”
Oh, shit. Did Zack have undiagnosed mental problems that none of us had noticed? That sure sounded similar to something I’d learned about in psychology. So I would apply what little I remembered.
“But do you think maybe the drinking makes it worse long-term—because you’re not dealing with everything?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head gently. When he looked at me again, he said, “Maybe. But it’s too fuckin’ loud right now and I can’t handle it. If you want me to go—”
“No. God, no. I just…hate to see you doing this to yourself, Zack. We’re all worried about you.”
“I know. And deep down I know you guys are right.” He rubbed the broken plastic seal near the top of the bottle with his thumb, keeping his focus there. In support, I stayed silent but put my arm over his back. “Do you know if they help with that shit in rehab?”
“What? Like—”
“Like making all the fucking noise in my head quiet down. I feel like I wouldn’t want to drink if my head was quiet.”
“Maybe.” But I didn’t really know. “I don’t think they would be worth your time if they didn’t do something like that, something helping you figure out how to avoid going right back.”
He took another drink. “I’ll make you a promise, Dani.” Finally, he looked up at me. “I’ll figure out how to kick this shit—with or without rehab—but I can’t do it right now. We’ve gotta focus on getting the next album recorded—”
“That can wait.”
“No, it can’t. We’re all so goddamned deep in debt with the label and, if we don’t strike while the iron’s hot, we’ll be has-beens before we know it. I don’t want Riot to be a one-hit wonder.”
I wasn’t about to correct him. Our second and third singles had done fairly well, taking us out of the “one-hit” realm, but I knew what he meant…and I also knew he was right.
And he wasn’t done talking. “So let’s get this album done and all that shit—and maybe I can do rehab before we go back on tour.”
“That’s not a bad idea. But I also know that nobody in the band—and probably not even the label—would care if you had to take time off to mourn…or to heal.” I felt hope just knowing he was considering it.
“Yeah, but right now I need this shit,” he said, taking another long swig. “And I wouldn’t mind if you joined me.”
When he handed me the bottle, I took it—and, even though part of me felt like I was encouraging him, I took a sip. “Tell me about your grandpa. I hardly knew him, but I really liked him.”
“He was a good guy,” Zack said and proceeded to tell me story after story about his childhood, including tales about his grandmother.
Up until first grade, he and his mother had lived with his grandparents.
He remembered his mother attending the community college in Dalton and then getting a job at the correctional facility about the time he started school.
He had funny and sad stories about extended family—and I just listened and asked questions.
After a while, I realized I was getting buzzed. “Do you want some water?”
“Maybe.” Before I got up, Zack took my hands in his. “I…I’m not good at saying thank you, but I want to try. Thanks for helping me get through this.”
“What about your mom? Doesn’t she need you?”
“No. Our fuckin’ house is packed full with relatives I haven’t seen since I was a kid—and I couldn’t take being there. A couple of my cousins were acting like nothing happened. I had to get out of there.”
I frowned. I knew everyone mourned differently, but I also understood Zack, and I got how that seeming incongruity would get to him. So I nodded. “You’ll always be my best friend, Zack. Nothing will change that.”
Although I’d said it, part of me knew that wasn’t entirely true. Just days ago, I’d been trying to push him completely out of my head for my own sake. Wasn’t I just as important?
His eyes welled with tears again, but he let go of my hands, cupping my cheeks and pulling me into a kiss that I didn’t resist. My entire body caught on fire, reminded of how every cell, every pore, every vein loved this man, regardless of all we’d been through.
But I placed my hands on his chest, gently pushing him back.
This was nothing more than the alcohol fueling our emotions.
At this moment, I had no doubt that Zack thought he loved me, but he’d proven time and time again that he didn’t—and if I fell victim to his promises again, it would be all my fault. “I can’t do this, Zack.”
“Do what?”
My brows furrowed and I tilted my head, pulling back a little as his hands fell to my shoulders. “Us. I am and will always be your friend, but we can’t do this.”
After a few seconds, he reached for the bottle. Goddammit. “You and Braden are pretty serious?”
This was a crossroads, and no matter what answer I gave to Zack, there would be consequences.
If I told him the truth—that no, Braden and I weren’t serious—Zack might think he could pursue me all over again, and I couldn’t do that.
I had to give up the hope that we would ever work.
As I looked back over our history, I knew it was true.
Even when he’d only been an occasional drinker in high school, he’d chosen Ava over me and more than once had let me know I was his friend only.
Those glimpses that had given me hope must have been nothing more than my imagination.
But I didn’t want to have that conversation with him—because even though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable and I felt like he was being open and honest, he was also intoxicated. I had no way of knowing if he’d even remember our conversation later.
And what I said now was also something I needed to do for me, even if it wasn’t entirely true. So I said, “Yeah, we are.”
If Zack remembered anything from today, I hoped that first he knew I was a good friend…and, second, that my love was no longer up for grabs.
And, if I were smart, I would believe the lie too. Unlike Zack, Braden had earned it.