Chapter 24
By the end of August, we were wrapping up the second leg of the tour. As we’d gotten closer and closer to the end, I was questioning my decision to leave more and more. But all it took was seeing Zack drunk or hungover for me to find my resolve once again.
The ride home felt surreal. I clung to Braden, managing to keep my eyes dry, and reminded myself of Roxy’s promise to hook me up with other bands when I was ready.
I hadn’t told Braden my plan of continuing to play yet, because I didn’t know what he’d think.
I’d bring it up when something actually happened.
Not once did I make eye contact with Zack—but, when they dropped the four of us off, Mick hugged me tightly. “I’m gonna miss you, kiddo.”
“I’ll miss you too, Daddy Mick.”
With that, he shook his head—and, if I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes looked a little watery. “Get outta here. But send me a text once in a while.”
“I will.”
In a weird formal way, Cy shook my hand—but he didn’t say a word. Probably so he appeared to be in solidarity with Zack, if I had to guess. Zack and I didn’t speak to or look at each other.
Braden held my hand as we got in his mom’s car.
The band had an entire month off from touring, but Zack, Cy, and Braden—along with Mick—would head to L.A.
for auditions the following week. They’d wound up having over one hundred applicants for my old job, but Mick and Zack had weeded the list down to the twenty most promising candidates.
As Braden’s mom drove off—with Braden in the passenger seat and me in the back next to our luggage—I couldn’t help but look at Zack.
He looked…lost for lack of a better word.
As if he didn’t know where to go next or what to do.
His mother had jumped out of her SUV to tackle-hug her son, but as he, Cy, and his mom put everything in the back, Zack’s expression looked vacant.
Until he looked at me.
Had he seen my eyes on him? Immediately, I shifted my focus so I was looking out the front of the car instead of through my window, hoping I hadn’t been caught.
But what did it matter? Although this was my goodbye to the band, I would surely see Zack on occasion—because Braden still in the band and our impending wedding meant Zack would be in our lives.
So, when he sent me a text two days later, I was surprised. Can we talk? was all it said.
Why? What was the fucking point? What else did we have to say to each other?
And, as usual, I couldn’t resist Zack…not even when I was angry at and disappointed with him. That didn’t mean I had to be warm or nice, though.
About?
Not five seconds later, he replied, The band.
No way. I had to let this damned door close and I couldn’t do it if we simply rehashed the arguments we’d already had. There’s nothing more to say.
That’s not true.
I let out a soft sigh, glad I was at home in my room and not with Braden at the moment.
We were spending evenings with each other but days at home—so he could sleep late and I could do my laundry…
and figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
I was looking at jobs on Indeed and checking out classes at the community college and feeling dismayed.
Finally, I texted Zack back. Whatever you have to say you can text to me.
No. Can I come over or take you out for coffee?
I remembered the last time we’d had a meetup like that—it had been at the diner on Main Street…
and the meeting had actually been halfway positive, with Zack sharing new music.
But I also recalled him being an ass about Braden and me—and I didn’t want to go there.
Not anymore. I was tired of Zack treating my heart like I was a toy mouse and he was a cat. I’d been hurt enough.
Only if this isn’t about Braden and me. If it’s really about the band, fine.
I waited…and waited. Uh-huh. I’d been right. Fucking asshole.
Heading to the laundry room, I folded the clothes that had been in the dryer, deciding that I’d put all but one pair of jeans and two t-shirts in a box, because the rest of the clothes there were what I considered touring costumes.
After throwing the other load from the washer into the dryer, I picked up the stack and headed to my room.
Halfway there, I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket, notifying me that I’d received a text message.
Braden was probably awake and wanting to make plans for later in the day.
After I got to my room, I set the clothes on top of my dresser before pulling out my phone to see two messages—from Zack. Can I come over? followed by Are you at your house?
I was—and I was alone. School in Nopal had just started up and my mom had been working longer-than-usual hours, so I’d been home all day by myself. Did I dare meet with Zack alone?
I debated for several minutes before texting him back.
I assured myself that I was strong—and I was.
Anymore, I simply felt anger and frustration with Zack.
Knowing this, I could hold my own, because his old charms simply wouldn’t work with me anymore.
Yeah. You can come over—but I’m hanging out with Braden tonight.
Okay. Be there soon.
And I waited. I found a box in the overheated garage and shook it out in case it held any dust while making sure no spiders had taken up residence.
Then I packed up my concert clothes and left the box on my dresser, because there were a few other items in the dryer that would need to be added to it before I tucked it away in my closet.
I’d also decided that, with the royalties I’d earned, I would need to shop for clothes.
I needed a few regular things to wear—and more professional items, whether I wound up applying for work or attending classes.
Braden shot me a text when he got up and said it was going to be spaghetti night at the Mitchell household that evening, followed by card games.
We’re going to teach you progressive rummy tonight, he promised.
He’d been telling me for a while that it was a family favorite but we’d never had the chance to play.
So I sent him a teasing text back. It’s about time!
You’ve had mom’s spaghetti before. He followed it up with a winking emoji.
I sent him a laughing emoji and then texted ILY.
When I got his standard reply, LY2, I heard the knock at the front door.
Zack.
I let out a long breath and made my way through the house, pausing again to inhale deeply before opening the door.
Jesus. I hadn’t expected him to look like he did. I’d been prepared to see good ol’ Rock Star Zack in full regalia, complete with sunglasses and swagger.
Instead, the man walking through the door was broken.
It was a testament to how much I’d tried to ignore him during the last few weeks on the road.
Even though I’d had that long glance at him when we’d driven away from the bus, I hadn’t noticed just how much weight he’d lost again…
or how pale his face looked. His cheeks appeared almost hollow, his eyes dull, the circles underneath a dark gray.
The t-shirt he wore hung on his frame loosely—not snug or displaying healthy muscles as it had before we’d started the tour to support our third album.
He looked like shit—haunted and beaten down.
Don’t give in, Dani.
It was Zack at his worst that often brought out my nurturing side—and that made me vulnerable to whatever hold he might still have on me.
So I had to remain resolute. There was no Zack and me, no us, no way we could ever be a couple.
I knew this logically…and felt gratitude that my heart was trying hard to catch up with my brain.
As he walked in, I hoped my face didn’t give away how shocked I was at his appearance—because I shouldn’t have been. I’d seen him at his worst before—and, deep down, I did love him as a friend and wanted him to be okay. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Uh…do you have any coffee made?”
“No—but I don’t mind making some. I could use a cup.”
So we headed to the kitchen. While I filled up the carafe with water, I asked, “So what do you need to talk about? You said the band?” I turned my head so I could watch his face and his expression seemed sincere.
“Yeah.”
“What about? I’m officially no longer with the band.” Did he want my opinion about their direction or if they should hire another female drummer? I had no idea but I would have been lying to myself if I’d said I wasn’t curious.
“You. Can I talk you into staying?”
As I poured the water in the coffee pot, I gritted my teeth. We’d already had this discussion. There was really no point in rehashing it. “No. I told you I can’t do this anymore.”
“That’s not what you said.” I could feel myself growing angry again, my usual emotion around this man of late, so I just focused on putting a paper filter in the basket before scooping fresh coffee grounds into it.
Zack’s voice cut through all my thoughts.
“You said you’d leave the band if I didn’t go to rehab. ”
“Yeah.” So? I flipped the button on the coffee maker and then pulled two mugs out of the cabinet, trying to prolong not having to face him.
“I—we—can’t afford to lose you.”
You should have thought about that before. God, I wanted to lash out and rip into him, but I just couldn’t. He looked too sad, too—fragile. “You’ll find someone else. Remember, all you need is a trained monkey.”
“I’m sorry I said that. I was…under the influence and, uh, being an asshole because…
it’s hard hearing the truth. You are a damn good drummer, Dani—and, as a band, we’re cohesive as fuck.
We work well together on stage, and we manage to improvise and read each other.
A new drummer couldn’t do that—at least, not without putting in the kind of time you have.
It’d take a couple of tours and an album or two to become that competent. ”
The words in my head repeated themselves: You should have thought about that before. But…had he actually apologized?