Chapter 21
We had Thanksgiving off and spent it in Cleveland, Ohio.
Mick had made a reservation for the entire group at the same time he was booking all our hotels, making me impressed with his foresight, and all of us had an afternoon meal together, with turkey, mashed potatoes, and other holiday fixings.
And, aside from the fact that I wasn’t able to be with my family, it was the best possible Thanksgiving I could have had.
I talked with my mom and grandparents for over an hour afterward and, that night, the four of us in the band microwaved frozen meals we’d picked up the night before and played cards, sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor.
I could tell from my friends that the road was getting to them too.
Cy had dark circles under his eyes and Braden seemed pale.
Again, I had the feeling that I’d gotten exactly what I’d wished for—a lean tour without many wasted days—and wondered if Name of My Killer always had shows like this, wondering if we could get some tips from them about how to handle the pressure.
Of course, they had a nicer bus than ours. They had bunks in theirs, so they were probably sleeping better than we were.
As Cy dealt the cards for our second hand, Zack got up and pulled a bottle of vodka out of his backpack. “Anyone want some?”
Inspired, I thought maybe this would be my chance to show him exactly what we were seeing, maybe give him a different perspective. “Yeah.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he grinned and picked up two of the wrapped plastic cups next to the tiny coffee maker. “Anyone else?”
Cy and Braden shook their heads—but Braden looked straight at me as if to ask, What the hell are you thinking?
I hoped my expression told him, I know what I’m doing. But I really didn’t. This had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. After sitting on the floor next to me, Zack poured a half cup for himself and half an inch for me. “No. I want as much as you’re having.”
Grinning, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head, but then he unscrewed the lid and did as I asked. I wasn’t really a fan of vodka, but I hoped he would get the message. When he handed me the cup and picked his up, he tapped it against mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I said, unable to resist smiling back. Inside, I was a jumble of emotions, but I hoped maybe bonding with him in this, the stupidest of ways, would help me understand more what he was going through—or, at the very least, show him our side.
As I took a sip of the vodka, I watched Zack—and he downed it in one gulp.
Which meant I had to do that as well. Down the hatch.
As I shuddered from the taste, a trail of heat burned down the center of my chest. I could’ve used that punch before I’d broken down and bought a coat after freezing my ass off in Minneapolis. Zack raised his eyebrows again but looked at Cy. “What’s trump?”
“We’re playing Hearts, so hearts.”
“Sorry. Just forgot.” Or had he had more to drink earlier in the day when we hadn’t been watching? In my own heart, I knew it to be true.
But Cy’s patience seemed to be thin, reminding me of how he’d been when I’d first met him. “Who has the two of clubs?”
Glancing at my cards, I noticed that it was me. “Sorry.” I took it out of my hand and laid it on the floor. Meanwhile, Zack started pouring himself another drink.
In case he’d already forgotten about me, I picked up my cup and held it out, laying my arm over his thigh. “You sure?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fill ‘er up.”
Seeing Cy and Braden exchange a glance pissed me off, but I wasn’t going to acknowledge it. Having a fight with them would only undermine what I was trying to do here. And I downed it when Zack did.
It wasn’t long before I was feeling the effects, even with a full belly of food.
But it worked. Zack stopped drinking. Was it because he didn’t want his alcohol gone too quickly? Or was he worried about my foolishness?
Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember much of anything else after another round of cards—but I woke up around five in the morning with a dry mouth and the need to pee. I got out of bed, still fully clothed but without my sneakers, and my head pounded like someone was taking a jackhammer to it.
Did Zack have to deal with this feeling all the time?
Holding my head, I went to the bathroom. After peeing, I washed my hands and then cupped them, sipping water to quench my thirst. As I headed back to bed, I felt a wave of nausea and ran back to the bathroom, barely making it in time to get to the toilet.
When I crawled back into bed, Zack draped an arm over my waist. “You okay?”
“Never better.”
Honestly, though, it took me several hours to go back to sleep, because my mouth was uncomfortably dry—and every time I’d try to quench my thirst, I’d wind up puking.
I finally laid in the other bed so I wouldn’t wreck Zack’s sleep too.
It was then, as I lay alone watching the edges of the curtain turn light, giving away that day was breaking, that I questioned what I’d done.
Zack hadn’t learned anything watching me imitate his behavior—but it was a stupid move on my part.
I felt ill, almost like I had food poisoning.
Then I guessed in a way I did. My body was rejecting what I’d consumed the day before.
Later that morning, I finally managed to fall asleep again and, after what felt like nothing more than a few minutes, Zack was rubbing my shoulder, saying my name to wake me up.
When I opened my eyes, it felt like I was only a few feet away from the sun—not because of heat but because of the intensity of the sun’s rays. My first instinct was to cover the top of my face by draping my arm over it. “Hey, babe. It’s time to check out.”
“Just give me a minute.”
“Don’t forget we have that interview.”
Squeezing my eyes shut even more, I tried to concentrate.
Zack’s words made sense, but I was having to search hard in my brain for the information.
And then I remembered—a reporter from the online hard rock and metal magazine Ferocity was going to be interviewing us over Zoom, and Mick had talked the hotel manager into letting us use their tiny business center and not allowing anyone else in for fifteen to twenty minutes for an extra fifty bucks.
We could have done it for free, but this way they would put a note on the door that other guests couldn’t use it till we were done.
Still, I wasn’t ready. “I’ll be there soon.”
His voice sounded unsure. “Okay…”
I had the best of intentions—but after the door to the hallway clicked closed, I drifted back to sleep. It wasn’t until my cell phone started screaming at me that I finally sat up.
Ugh. Another wave of nausea washed over me but, far worse, my head was pounding. Great idea last night, Dani.
The call was from Mick, but I was going to get in the first words. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right there.”
“I’m checking you out of your room now, so hurry up and get the hell out of there and then meet us in the business center on the first floor.”
I let out a slow breath and then headed to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. My hand was shaking as I glanced at my phone—several text messages from each of the guys and the time was after eleven.
Jesus. I’d really fucked this up.
What time had Zack left the room? It had only felt like a few minutes had passed, but he had probably met the guys for breakfast before checking out.
After taking a big gulp of water, I jumped in the shower—and I almost threw up again, but I forced it down. I was going to have to take small sips from here on out. I didn’t bother washing my hair, but after I’d soaped and rinsed my body, I got out and toweled off, looking at the time again.
What time was the interview? I couldn’t remember but I didn’t have time to pull up the itinerary, so I focused first on getting dressed.
Then I put on minimal makeup and packed up what little I had taken out of my bag, grateful for the fact that we’d learned to tour light.
Of course, that meant that we did laundry every few days, but right now I was glad.
As I left the room, I vowed to never drink like that again.
By the time I found the business center, the interview had already started.
All the guys were hovered around the older desktop computer at the end of the room—Mick sat in the swivel chair as if he’d rather be anywhere else.
But then I noticed that he was holding a small webcam above his head pointed at the guys while looking at the computer monitor to make sure they were all captured on screen.
After dropping my bag and placing it on the floor near the guys’, I tiptoed to the other end of the room. Mick mouthed, You’re late.
All I could respond was Sorry.
And, boy, was I.
But it wasn’t until Braden shifted his gaze from the webcam to me that I felt ashamed. His eyes communicated a clear message: I expected this from Zack, not from you. What were you thinking?
Maybe it was my imagination, but I was filled with shame and embarrassment—not just at my impulsive behavior the night before but at fucking up so royally that morning. I had let them all down, and here I’d been hoping I’d be a role model for younger women. I was nothing of the sort.
All because I loved this man too much and was finding it hard to find myself inside that big ball of emotion.
Zack was talking to the person on the other end of Zoom when I got close.
Unlike the way I felt, he seemed composed, together, and completely lucid.
It was hard to believe he’d had as much as I had the night before—except I knew better.
And I was sure he’d continued after putting me to bed.
He could function this way and clearly I could not.
“Literally anything can inspire me. Like when I wrote ‘Where I Belong.’ I conceived the idea when I was at my job washing dishes. There came a time when I wondered if the point we’d gotten to was as good as it would get and I began coming up with lyrics in my head about how bad the job sucked, how it felt like no matter how hard me and my friends worked, we were barely getting the bills paid, about how the life I’d envisioned for myself was quickly flushing itself down the toilet. ”
The woman on the other side said, “I suspect this is coming with a big but, because I know some of your lyrics have touched on those elements, but I don’t remember an entire song about them.”
“Exactly. Right after that, we had a show at a place called After Hours. It wasn’t our usual type of venue, but the crowd enjoyed us.
And it was at that show that I realized I belonged onstage.
When I was up there—no matter how shitty a day I’d had, like if my boss had chewed my ass or I’d fought with one of these guys or we got an overdue notice for the electric or some shit—when I got on stage, that all just melted away, like none of it existed.
When I got up there, I felt completely alive. ”
“It really is where you belong.”
“Yep—and I hope the lyrics convey that. The audience—they’re part of our family. They’re part of why it’s such a…an almost religious experience.”
“Thanks for that, Zack. Did I happen to see your drummer show up?”
“Yeah.” Turning the webcam in Mick’s hand, Zack focused it on me. “This is Dani Mankin.”
“Hi, Dani. Real quick, can you tell me what inspired you to be a drummer in a business that’s not always known for embracing women?”
The real answer would probably make me sound like a weak female—but this was the first time I’d ever been asked.
I found that strange. But I wasn’t on my game, and I knew any answer I gave would probably be lame—so I decided to just be honest. And, rather than look at the monitor, I looked at the webcam so she could see my face, even though I knew I looked like warmed-over shit.
“This wasn’t my dream—it was Zack’s. And he brought the four of us together.
He had a vision and wanted his friends to be part of it, and it was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. I wanted to…”
I paused there. After all my railing over the past year about the denigration of women in society but especially in the world of hard rock and heavy metal, if I told this reporter that I’d wanted nothing more than to be with Zack and that my love for him had been my first reason to join, I’d look like a passive, weak female.
I hadn’t chosen my destiny. I’d let it be chosen for me.
And while that was partly true, when I’d come back to the band after considering leaving for good, deciding that drumming and music were important to me regardless of Zack, I’d taken my fate by the reins.
I’d continued to pursue our shared goal intentionally then.
So I told her the truth from that perspective.
“I wanted to be part of this amazing band. These guys…they’re my best friends.
” Again, I wasn’t going to say anything about my relationship with Zack.
It was still too new and tenuous. “They’re my best friends, and creating music with them has been fulfilling in a way I can’t describe. ”
“Thanks for that. So…I need to go. Any parting thoughts?”
I let the guys take that for me, especially since I still felt a little in the dark, not knowing what they’d already discussed.
And I hadn’t caught the woman’s name, but I saw her face, and she was about our age—barely twenty, if that, with dark brown hair and high cheekbones, but already she had a knack for getting information.
Her voice was soothing but, I found out later, her knowledge of music was unsurpassed by most, and we would most certainly be interviewed by her again.
No one said anything else after we piled out of the business center…but I could feel it. Maybe I hadn’t come to a soundcheck drunk like Zack had our first time in Chicago and maybe it was just an interview, but I’d let my band down.
And it was all due to something I wouldn’t have ever confessed in an interview: it was because I was hopelessly in love with my self-destructive best friend, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with it.