Chapter 19 #2
Between the adrenaline, that feeling of risk, and the noise and smells of the bus, I went over the edge fast, with Zack following shortly after.
For the first time in a long time—or, more likely, for the first time ever—I felt completely alive, as if I had tapped into the energy of the universe…
as if Zack and I were one being instead of two, as if our music had become part of who we were together.
What I felt for Zack was more than lust. Regardless of the fact that we’d just behaved like a couple of deprived beasts, there was far more to it than that.
We had history and we had our music—we’d bonded with our bandmates, our fans, had bared our souls on stage—and we had our years-long friendship and finally, all those factors had culminated inevitably into this moment.
We lay in each other’s arms, still breathing hard, the sweat cooling enough that I knew I’d be feeling the cold temperature down to my bones before long. In my ear, Zack breathed, “I think we’ve officially christened the bus.”
Unable to help myself, I burst out laughing—but, inside, I could feel the weight of what we’d just done…and I got another reminder when the crew slammed yet another case into the back of the bus that we’d almost been caught.
As much as I loved uniting with Zack…I thought maybe I didn’t want to do it here again. Time, of course, would tell.
It wasn’t long before the days all began blurring into one another.
This leg of the tour was much less relaxed than the first one.
We’d perform and then immediately get on the road to the next venue, arriving in time for soundcheck or doing publicity.
We grabbed showers when we could at gas stations, mostly slept on the bus, and lived on fast food.
Hotels were few and far between.
And it wasn’t long before I felt utterly exhausted. But I knew if I dared breathe a word of that to Mick, he’d warn me to be careful what I wished for. I’d wanted to maximize profits and cut costs—and this was probably as lean as it could get.
Zack and I found time for sex when we could…but even that was mostly out of the question. Less than a week in and we were already feeling the toll.
Overall, that didn’t stop the partying when we could, and we got to know the road crew better.
And we had reason to. After all, we were playing big shows and lots more of them.
But I was keeping an eye on Zack. Even after our emotional bare-all talk and beginning an intimate relationship, his drinking seemed to escalate rather than decrease.
But I told myself he was just celebrating.
At least he wasn’t drinking alone anymore, and he’d never shown up drunk before a show since the time in Chicago.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a drink or two before a show.
In fact, the four of us were hanging in Zack’s dressing room right before our call to go onstage in Portland, Oregon—and he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, taking a long, slow swig. “You guys want a bite before we hit the stage?”
Instead, Cy said, “Man, where do you keep getting this stuff?”
My question exactly—and yet I’d been holding back asking. But it wasn’t like we had a lot of time to run to the liquor store. Zack just smirked and said, “I have my ways.”
I took that to mean he was paying off one of the roadies, something I had long suspected. “If they get caught buying stuff for someone who’s a minor—”
“And how would anyone ever know if I’m not with this supposed buyer?”
Mick banged on the door. “It’s time.”
Zack slipped the bottle in his bag and we headed toward the stage.
I thought some of making up an excuse, like I needed to go to the bathroom or I forgot my lip balm—something super lame—so I could take that bottle and hide it when he wasn’t around to see it, but I knew it was futile.
It would be like bailing water out of a boat before plugging the hole.
And maybe during a tour wasn’t the best time to help our friend combat his drinking problem. Logically, I knew drinking was probably partly a coping mechanism for stress, and it had just gotten out of control. Once we had some downtime, the three of us could have a heart-to-heart with him.
Because, clearly, I hadn’t helped him at all. Still, I appreciated being able to be a comfort to him, and I hoped maybe that helped in a way I couldn’t quite understand.
Once we got onstage, we transformed into Once Upon a Riot, the hot new hard rock band on the rise—and the crowd was energetic and appreciative.
At the end of the third song, “No Way Out,” Zack typically hit a high note at the end—but this time, there was no high note.
Instead, his voice cracked and the note came out raw and gritty.
The audience loved it—but Braden, Cy, and I knew better. It wasn’t supposed to sound like that.
And then, as the night wore on, Zack wasn’t sustaining a lot of notes like he ordinarily would. Instead, he was cutting them short, almost like he was out of breath. By the last song of the set, he was growling a lot of lines he would ordinarily sing.
The audience ate it up.
Once we were backstage again, I asked, “Zack, are you feeling all right?”
“Never better.”
Cy asked, “You sure, buddy?”
“Yeah, why?”
Even Braden joined in, making me grateful that we all cared enough to show Zack our concern. “You seemed to have some problems with your voice tonight.”
I said, “So I wondered if maybe you’re coming down with a cold.” As exhausted as we were all feeling, it wouldn’t have surprised me—and it made me wonder how he’d do a show in a day or two if he was coughing all the time or had a constantly runny nose.
“No, I feel fine. My voice is just tired, I guess.”
“Bullshit,” Braden said. “I’m calling bullshit, dude. We played shows three or four nights in Denver every fucking week and this never happened.”
I’d never seen Zack’s eyes grow so scary looking. His pupils grew so wide, I could barely see the green in them. “What the hell are you accusing me of?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just telling you to pull your head out of your ass. You’re killing your voice because you won’t stop drinking.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Bullshit.”
Mick appeared a second later. “Am I gonna have to put gloves on you two? Knock this shit off. Get your asses in your dressing rooms if you feel the need to fight.”
His intervention, however, ended the argument—and Braden went to his dressing room, Zack to his.
And what nailed our suspicions was later that night. Before we left, Zack pulled out the bottle again. Grabbing a towel, he started coughing into it. Then he said, “Maybe I am getting sick.” His voice was raspy, as if he’d been swallowing bits of glass—and then he followed it up with another swig.
I was certain Braden was right—and I thought I could see in Zack’s eyes that he did too…but it wasn’t nearly enough to make him quit.
By mid tour, I knew drinking was the problem with his voice. He never did come down with a cold, and two nights later, I said, “Maybe save drinking till after the show.”
“It helps me perform, Dani.”
“But I think it’s trashing your voice. Please…
just try tonight. For me.” I distracted him with a quick hand job, successfully taking his mind off the bottle.
And that night he sang like an opera star with stamina and power, hitting every note like he was supposed to.
Although I never mentioned it, I hoped he would make the connection.
Unfortunately, when we saw the social media comments about our Portland show and the next few after it, it was obvious that the fans loved his “rock and roll grit,” and I knew that would give him another argument if we tried pressing the no-drinking-before-the-show suggestion again.
Two days later, we had a day off—and a stay in a hotel—in Boise, Idaho.
Most of the roadies were going to check out some kind of prison museum that afternoon and invited all of us to go with them, but Zack said he needed to sleep, so I stayed behind.
Cy and Braden went along, wanting to do something “normal.” I wound up reading an ebook while sitting in a chair next to the window, looking at the snow-capped mountains in the distance.
They reminded me of the Front Range back in Denver.
And I was hit with a quick jolt of homesickness.
We’d been so busy, we hadn’t had time to think of much more than the day-to-day of tour life—but with a few hours of alone time, it was hard to keep my brain from going there.
And I didn’t get much reading done because my mind kept distracting me—because not only was I homesick, but I was worried about Zack.
Finally, I turned the television on low and watched a couple of movies before drifting off on the bed next to him. Later, when I awoke, Zack was at the small table in our room.
Drinking.
I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
“Hey.”
“Hey, babe,” he said, his voice cracking much like it had been for the past week.
“How long have you been up?” Getting up off the bed, I walked over to the table, sitting in the other chair.
“Not long.”
And yet here he was having a drink first thing. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. “Can we talk?” I asked softly, touching his knee.
“About what?”
“About…your voice. I’m afraid—”
Instead of answering me, he gently touched my cheek, pulling my lips close to his. For a short moment, I thought he was going to let it all out, because I could see it in his eyes, a hesitation, a second of weakness and that vulnerability he’d shown me not long ago.
But then he flashed a wicked grin and kissed me hard. Jesus…already I was growing to hate the taste of whiskey and vodka—but I couldn’t resist the way Zack’s tongue explored my mouth, as if we’d never been together before. And I couldn’t deny my body’s response to his aggression.
Soon, he deepened the kiss, making me feel desperate and needy, and when he stood, he pulled me up with him.
We began tearing off each other’s clothes but, like so many times before, never got them completely removed.
He needed me, maybe had been thinking about me before I’d awakened, and I wondered if it was approaching a topic of vulnerability that had led him to crave a closeness with me.
We landed on the bed and he entered me, not saying a word—but his eyes were intense, as if he were driving demons out of his head. Take me, I thought. I can handle your pain…we can get through this together. And I wondered if he could feel my silent message.
He kissed me again with such intensity, such force that I nearly lost my breath—and it wasn’t long before an orgasm overpowered my brain, causing me to moan and dig my nails into the t-shirt on his back. Shortly after, he climaxed as well, and he collapsed on the bed next to me.
After a few minutes as our bodies cooled and we caught our breath, I rolled over on my side, placing my hand on his chest. “Hey…you know you can tell me anything, right?”
His answer was a mere smirk as he opened his eyes.
“I see you, Zack—and you don’t have to hide from me. I love you no matter what.”
Instead of answering, he got up off the bed, zipping up his jeans and walking back to the table.
And then he took another drink—but at least it was a sip instead of a chug.
I was certain then that Zack struggled talking about how he felt…
and I was grateful that at least we had a physical connection.
Maybe through our bodies I could help him figure out how to heal.
I held onto that hope.