Chapter 19
Convincing the label to let us record in Zack’s studio turned out to be easy. They liked the idea of not having to front so much money for our next album.
The studio would be ready by January and we hoped to be ready to record shortly after that.
In the meantime, we hashed out new songs in Zack’s living room, sometimes to the sound of saws and loud guys talking and laughing, hammering, using nail guns, and other unexpected jarring noises—but, once a week, we’d take a peek at the studio to see the progress being made.
So we started practicing at night to make it easier. Once it was dark, the construction guys left for the day, making it more conducive for our work.
And Zack really did live up to his promise—no idea that the rest of us suggested was too out there to not try. And, as a real team, we slowly came up with twelve solid songs that, by December, were almost ready to record. We just had to keep practicing them by that point.
One night a week before Christmas, I was sleeping next to Braden…
but my dream was not about the boyfriend holding me.
Instead, I dreamed of Zack. It wasn’t erotic or even close to fantasy.
Instead, we were sitting at the small park in Nopal two blocks from my house.
We were on the grass just laughing and joking and Zack said something that I couldn’t remember when I woke up—but it was something of a confession…
an admission of how he’d let me down, how he knew he’d torn my heart apart.
And the rawness of the acknowledgement, the pain in his eyes made my heart go out to him.
I leaned over, rubbing his shin—actually rubbing the jeans over his shin.
And when he looked me in the eyes, I knew he loved me.
And then I woke up.
It was the strangest sensation. All the love I’d ever felt for Zack had risen to the surface again, and it consumed me as if no time had passed. And here I was in Braden’s arms.
The loving feeling quickly turned to anger.
I’d pined for Zack for years but the amount of time we’d actually been together had been mere months.
I’d already been with Braden well over a year, closing in on two.
How was it that Zack still consumed my subconscious?
Was it because I felt that there was unfinished business?
Did I think there was even a possibility that we could ever work?
I grew even angrier with myself. It was almost as if I were trying to sabotage a good thing. Braden was the sweetest man I’d ever known and I knew without a doubt that he would do anything for me.
Obviously, my subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo.
I had to put an end to that stupidity once and for all. So, even though it was early, I picked up my phone off the nightstand and typed a quick text to Zack. Hey, can we talk soon?
Braden kissed my shoulder. “You’re up early.”
“Just had a weird dream.”
“Nightmare?”
In a way…maybe. “No. Just weird.”
“I could take your mind off that.”
And he did.
When Zack agreed to meet, he invited me over to his place.
And it was as if he’d read my mind. He took me to check out how the studio was coming along—so we wouldn’t be in earshot of Cy while at the same time not sneaking around.
That wasn’t why I’d wanted to talk to him anyway.
I’d ostensibly told Zack I just wanted to chat, and I planned to ask him how he was feeling…
how his recovery had gone and how we could help him as his bandmates.
But I really wanted to gauge my visceral reaction. Could I honestly tell myself I was over him—and, if not, what the hell could I do to make that happen? It wasn’t like I could avoid him for the rest of our lives.
“Need anything to drink?” he asked, greeting me at the door.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Besides, it was cold out. I didn’t know at the time that the heating and A/C had already been installed in the studio.
I followed him along the stone pathway that led from the front porch to the door on what used to be the garage. There were no longer two big bay doors; that part had become an as-yet unfinished wall. But I hadn’t seen inside the studio for almost a week and was eager to see it.
It didn’t look much different from when I’d been in there before.
There was various construction equipment and a couple of ladders in the space.
It felt a little cramped but I knew, when it was done, that the vibe would be totally different.
There was a smaller room at the back of the space with half a wall, so I assumed the top would be glass, because that was going to be the control booth.
Just imagining the four of us in this space when it was done got me excited to start the recording process.
It was never as fun as it sounded, but being home and having a space that felt like ours would help immensely.
“They’ll be installing the floors next week.”
“You don’t like the warehouse feel that concrete gives the place?” I joked.
“I promise you’ll like it.”
His voice had an edge to it…reminding me of intimate times together.
But that was more than likely my imagination, especially considering my motives for being there.
So, with an overly upbeat tone, I said, “I can’t wait.
” And then I took off my coat, draping it over a sawhorse.
“I didn’t expect it to be warm in here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That part’s all done.” And, with that, he stripped off his coat as well, resting it next to mine.
Even though he was wearing a long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt, I could tell he’d gained weight.
Unlike scrawny, strung-out Zack, this version was muscular, toned, and taut.
Clearly, he gave a shit about himself nowadays.
That doesn’t mean you get to fall for him all over again, Dani.
My heart picked up its pace a bit, as if I were playing the drums for one of our newer songs—but I fought to keep my voice steady. “How are you doing, Zack?”
“Great.” He pulled over a white bucket with a lid, holding out his hand, gesturing for me to sit—but I didn’t.
“I mean…I’d be lying to you if I told you it’s been a picnic, but every day I’m getting better.
The more space I put between me and the overdose, the better I feel.
It’s just a day-by-day thing, you know?”
I didn’t. Not by a long shot. But I could imagine it a bit. “I’m really glad to hear that. We were worried about you.”
“Thanks for sticking by me.” In a romance novel, by this point, Zack would be approaching me, making the breath catch in my throat, causing my mouth to start watering in anticipation. But he didn’t—and that was as good a sign as any that we were most definitely through.
“Well, yeah—we’re your friends, Zack. What kind of friends would we be if we abandoned you in the hour when you needed us most?”
Leaning back against a wall, he crossed his arms and stared at the toe of his boots. “That might be true, but I couldn’t really blame you if you had. I did a lot of shitty things to you guys.”
To me. It was unspoken, but I could feel it in the air.
Still…I’d forgiven him, so I wasn’t about to dredge it up.
“What was rehab like?”
Blowing out a breath, he made eye contact with me again. “Jesus. Which part?”
“There were parts?”
“Yeah. The first part fucking sucked. I had to detox…and it was, uh…I think painful might be an exaggeration, but it was hard. They gave me stuff to help but the bottom line is I’m an addict. I’m an alcoholic, and I had to dry out. There’s no rehabilitation until you get clean.”
I had known about that but hadn’t processed how difficult it would be. “Oh, God. I guess I didn’t even think about that.”
“Don’t feel bad. You’ve never been addicted, so why would you?”
Because I purportedly gave a shit about him—and yet I hadn’t properly put myself in his shoes. “But what about after that?”
“You know? At first, I was kind of resentful…and I felt like everyone there was kinda condescending and stuff. But after a while I realized they really did want to help all of us. They tried to give us tools to cope with shit, you know, and we tried dealing with, uh, trauma.”
Jesus—what could I even say that might not minimize what he’d been through? “Sounds comprehensive.”
“Well, as much as it could be. They encouraged us to stay in counseling once we got out.”
Did I dare ask? Before I could give it much thought, I did. “So?”
“I’m still looking for the right person. But I’ve kind of gotten over my writer’s block and the shit I’m writing now… It’s not for fans. I mean, some of it could be, but most of it is just for me to get that shit off my chest and out of my head.”
Finally, I sat on the bucket, even though a few feet away, Zack still felt like he was towering over me. “That sounds like a great plan.”
“I think it is.” With a sigh, Zack stood and walked around the space as if thinking of how to write down more of what was inside. “How are you doing? Uh…you and Braden?”
“We’re good.” I wasn’t about to tell him the whole truth—that Braden knew how to treat me right, the way I felt like I should have been, because Zack hadn’t been able to live up to even my most basic expectations.
Yes, it was because he’d been under the influence, but I couldn’t excuse the behavior.
Still, I wasn’t going to rub his nose in it. My simple answer was best.
“Good,” Zack said, still exploring the unfinished studio as if inspecting it. “I wouldn’t want to have to kick the shit out of him.”
I forced a laugh, hoping he’d said it to provide a bit of levity. “No need.”
“How would that work anyway?” he said, pausing close to me but still leaving plenty of space between us. “Beating up one best friend for hurting the other.”
I just shook my head. There wasn’t much to say, and this line of questioning felt uncomfortable.
Especially knowing that many of my own feelings were unresolved.