Chapter 17
By the time we were in Atlanta, I had already tried doing what Cy had suggested—just hoping against hope that it would pay off. But Zack was even quieter than before, only speaking when spoken to or talking to fans through the mic at our shows.
I blamed myself.
And all the love I’d felt for him before was bubbling up again, this time mixed with guilt.
Guilt for not talking with him, guilt for giving up on him and sleeping around.
I suspected the guys were having sex on occasion with the eager girls wanting to meet them, but I didn’t ask—and, after waking up barely remembering getting it on with that guy after trying coke for the first time, I’d decided to not indulge anymore.
That also meant I was longing for Zack again—my first and only true love. No man had ever held a candle to him and probably never would. And I saw him underneath all his rock star cockiness on stage, behind the frontman image he even displayed around the crew and sometimes us.
I knew who he was inside…and I understood which of his lyrics spoke of real pain.
There was one particular line buried in a song about his father: “you can’t talk to a dad who doesn’t exist.” He’d written that line before his mother had told him who his dad was and where he lived—and now the line meant so much more.
I realized that most of his pain must have stemmed from that—from never knowing his dad to passing up the opportunity to meet him, of wanting to be angry with his mother for keeping his father’s identity from him until it was too late but loving her nonetheless.
How had I missed that? Was it because I didn’t care much about my own father? Of course, I could remember the guy, just snippets, but that was all it took for me to know my mother and I were better off without him. So there was no regret there.
But for Zack—especially a boy who’d probably needed a father figure growing up—that had to be what was killing him. And I couldn’t keep putting off the conversation I’d been planning to have.
We had an off day in Georgia and, after we’d arrived and settled in, Zack had announced that he wanted to check out Underground Atlanta—but I was feeling tired and a little under the weather, so I planned to rest. Besides, sightseeing wouldn’t allow time to talk about how he felt underneath the mask he wore.
Braden said he’d stick around in case I wanted company, and Zack, Cy, and a couple of the roadies headed out to check out the city. I was curled up on my bed reading an ebook—determined to avoid our social media for the time being—when Braden asked, “You wanna watch a movie or something?”
Considering I’d had to read the same paragraph three times due to my distracted mind, I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“I bought some microwave popcorn the last time we went to Walmart. You want some?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Handing me the remote, he said, “Pick something.” Meanwhile, he started rifling through his backpack.
As I started perusing the menu, I said, “It looks like some of these we’d have to pay for.”
“Don’t they have HBO and stuff?”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
As I scrolled the menu more, I found a lot of channels that were showing movies, some already started. For about two seconds, I pondered a horror movie but then decided I didn’t want to be scared—and I bypassed a drama, because I definitely didn’t want to feel shit like that.
But I found a comedy—and that sounded perfect. “Here you go,” Braden said, handing me a bag of popcorn before putting another bag in the microwave. The movie had started a few minutes before I’d flipped to it, but I thought we could figure out what we missed. “This is a good one.”
Soon, the microwave beeped and Braden took out another bag, shaking it before pulling it open at the corners. Then he sat next to me on my bed and we laughed at the movie, munching popcorn and forgetting about our present situation.
And I realized just how good a friend Braden was—not just to me, but to everyone in the band. He rarely said an unkind word—and he was loyal and thoughtful.
And probably as anxious about Zack as I was.
During a commercial break, I said as much. “I’m really worried about Zack.”
“Me too.”
“His drinking has gotten out of control.” Braden nodded but didn’t say anything else—so I continued. “I’m going to talk to him about it when the time is right.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dani.”
“Why not?”
“You know what they say. Talking to him won’t help. He has to realize he has a problem himself. All talking to him would do is make him double down. You know how stubborn Zack is.”
Sure, sometimes… “But I think it depends on the approach, you know? If I come out swinging, yelling at him like Mick, he’ll clam up. But what if I was compassionate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, then how do interventions work?”
His eyes grew wide, an expression I was used to seeing on Braden’s face. “Are you wanting to do that?”
“No—I’m just saying…if they didn’t work, people wouldn’t do them.”
“Well,” he said, setting his bag of popcorn on the nightstand, “if you decide to talk to him, I think you should wait till after the tour.”
I disagreed—but I wasn’t going to argue…and, because the movie was playing again, I just nodded and said, “Thanks.”
But I was more determined than ever to try to save my best friend, despite what his other best friend thought.
My exhaustion caught up to me, and I fell asleep during the last part of the movie. I stirred when the sound stopped abruptly and then I felt Braden pull the loose bedspread from the bottom of the bed over my shoulders before touching my cheek. And he whispered something I couldn’t quite hear.
When I fully woke up later and got ready to meet up with our bandmates, I convinced myself I’d dreamed all that. Because, if I hadn’t, it meant that Braden had deeper feelings for me than I could have ever imagined—and, unfortunately, they weren’t reciprocal.
Not long after that, we had another off day in Orlando, Florida, with a show the next night—and Zack started drinking right after breakfast. Mick’s guards had already abandoned their jobs and, I suspected, were happy to aid Zack in his quest for alcohol.
They’d all grown to love Zack and constantly talked about old rowdy shows they’d worked on.
Zack was going to be just another fun story for them and they didn’t care because they wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces once they started working for the next band.
I couldn’t keep putting off the discussion I wanted to have with Zack—but I didn’t know how to approach him.
We spent the day at the beach, every last one of us, even Schultz, who drove us there.
I tried not to focus on the parking fee—or the shared lunch tab.
Instead, I tried to do what everyone else was, appreciating the warm weather, knowing that, when we returned to Colorado, we wouldn’t be enjoying temperatures like this.
Plus it was harder for Zack to drink in this situation—and, for that, I was grateful.
Still, by mid-afternoon, he just lay on a towel and put on sunglasses, determined to shut everyone out. So I took that opportunity to speak with our other bandmates alone farther down the beach. “I’m going to talk to Zack tonight.”
“Dani, don’t,” Braden said.
Cy asked, “About what?”
“His drinking problem. I’m really worried about him—and it’s getting worse, not better.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Braden said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I know you don’t think so, but I can’t stand by idly while he kills himself with vodka.”
Cy said, “Do you think it’ll work?”
“Yeah, or I wouldn’t do it.”
“What’ll you say?”
“I don’t know yet…but I’m not gonna yell or accuse or make him feel guilty or anything like that.
I just want to tell him how I feel—and let him know that we’re here if he needs a lifeline.
” At that, Braden’s eyes softened, realizing that I wasn’t going to excoriate our friend.
“I think he feels lost and he’s suffering—and maybe if he knows he can talk to us about it…
I don’t know, but I can’t just sit around watching him kill himself. ”
“Yeah.” Cy nodded, looking around to make sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Do you want us there too?”
“No.” That was one area where I agreed with Braden. Confronting Zack would be futile. “I don’t want him to think we’re ganging up on him.”
Again, Braden nodded, letting out a soft sigh.
“But I do need your help.”
“Name it.”
“Would you be okay if we traded rooms tonight?” I asked Cy. “It may take a while to get where we need to before he opens up, but at least we’ll be in a private space.”
Braden asked, “But what if he refuses? You know how he sometimes gets mad and storms off?”
“If he does get angry, I’ll leave—and then I’ll come back to our room and sleep in the chair.”
Braden still looked dubious but, with the full support of Cy, he was on board. Now I just had to put my thoughts in order and find the courage to talk to my friend about a difficult subject. It would likely be the hardest conversation I’d ever had with a man who was usually quite easy to talk to.
But it had to be done and the time was now.
That night after dinner, Cy and I met in the hall with our luggage and swapped keycards.
When I entered the room—which looked almost exactly like the one I’d left—Zack was sitting on his bed, guitar on his lap, a motel glass sitting on the nightstand filled with what I was certain was vodka.
Was he spending his entire per diem on alcohol?
“Hey. What are you doin’ here?”
“Cy and I are trading rooms for the night.”
“Oh. ‘Cause the bed was killing him?”
Clever Cy—trying to give Zack a reason to not immediately go on the defensive. “Yeah, I told him my bed was super stiff.” After putting my stuff in an empty chair, I sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “What are you playing?”