Chapter 20
Just a couple days later, we happened to have another day off in Billings, Montana.
We had a show the following day but had arrived in Billings around noon the day before.
Grateful I’d slept through it, I shivered when Mick told us it had been snowing on a pass we’d driven over.
Obviously, Schultz was a good driver, but the idea of sliding off the side of a mountain didn’t appeal to me.
Mick assured me the snow was light.
After eating lunch, Mick managed to talk the hotel into letting us check in early. Billings also reminded me a little of home, but not as much as Idaho had. Maybe it was because it was cloudy and gloomy. No snow here, but there was always the possibility.
It was kind of a shitty time to be touring all over. But then I remembered that just over a week ago, we’d been in three beautiful and warm cities in southern California and even Portland and Seattle had had pretty mild weather, even though it had rained quite a bit in Washington.
Now, of course, we were in the middle of the Rockies, which meant we’d have winter weather to deal with.
No one wanted to do much of anything, so we all just hunkered down in the hotel. Instead of playing Hearts or one of the many other card games we’d learned, Cy and Braden were playing poker with a couple of the roadies when Zack and I joined them.
It was just another excuse for Zack to drink—and, it seemed, the worse he did at cards, the more he drank. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. I exchanged glances with both Braden and Cy, and I could tell they were just as concerned as I felt.
We all pitched in to have a couple of pizzas delivered and, after we’d eaten a couple of slices, I asked Zack how long he wanted to stay in Cy and Braden’s room.
He wasn’t drunk…but he was well on his way.
And I still needed to talk to him. Our show in Boise the night before had once more highlighted Zack’s vocal struggles and he was either denying it or oblivious to it—but how could he miss something that obvious to the rest of us?
The audiences still hadn’t caught on, thinking Zack was being daring, trying something new—not realizing that he had no control over his voice.
And I was afraid that if he didn’t take care of himself, he wouldn’t have a voice left by the time we wanted to record our second album.
When we got to our room, I closed the door behind me and decided to just go for it—but I tried to make sure my voice was calm and gentle. “Zack…I want to talk to you about last night.”
“Last night? What about it?” At least he still seemed lucid enough to have a conversation. That was some consolation.
“Your voice—”
“Was fine.”
“It wasn’t,” I said, getting closer to him. “It was cracking and you were growling some of the lyrics.”
“And you know what?” he asked, digging in his backpack—for more liquor, no doubt. “They ate that shit up. Why the fuck do you care?”
“Because I care about you.” I touched him on the shoulder, hoping he could feel it. “And, even though the crowd can’t tell, we can.”
Shrugging, he unscrewed the lid of a half pint of vodka and took a drink, underscoring what little effect my words were having on him.
“Hey…” I said, hoping to keep him from getting defensive.
“I know drinking started out as fun but it’s…
” I decided not to go there. Telling him his drinking was becoming a problem would be a sure way to get him to shut down immediately.
Although I was pretty sure I knew the answers because we’d had this conversation before, I asked, “Why are you drinking so much? What’s going on? ”
Putting down the bottle on the dresser, he slid his hand under my jaw and kissed me hard. It was hot and passionate, but now was not the right time. I pushed against his chest. “Zack, stop blowing me off—”
“I’m not,” he said, moving his lips to my neck.
I tried talking but it was no use. His ears were closed and his dick was on.
Lifting me up, he pushed me against the wall, kissing me hard again.
His lips and hands were rough and, although my stupid body was responding, my brain was paying more attention this time.
Even though my body was more than happy to get off, my rational side noticed that the way he touched me was greedy, rushed…
forced. His need to have me in this moment felt more like desperation than wanting to feel close to me.
As our tongues fought and we once more did the dance of removing what clothing we could and pushing aside the rest, he entered me.
And even though it felt amazing as it always did, there was something tickling the back of my mind.
I was close to orgasm but I knew I wouldn’t get there—and I was fine with that.
But Zack, sensing it, slid his hand in the space between our bodies and snaked a finger down my slit, locating my clit and rubbing it.
In such a short time, he’d learned how to make my body feel good, and he kissed my neck again as he touched me in the perfect way.
My breath caught in my throat as my mind focused on that tender spot, begging for release.
Not long after, my nerves betrayed me, causing my body to cave in on itself in a wave of pleasure.
It was the strangest orgasm I’d ever experienced. Certainly, it felt good—but it left me feeling empty and unsatisfied.
Not long after, we collapsed on the bed, Zack holding me close. After a few minutes, I rolled on my side so I could see his face. “Please talk to me, Zack.”
But he was having none of it. Pulling me closer, he kissed me on the forehead but didn’t say a word.
He continued breathing unevenly, and I could still smell the alcohol, could still taste it in my mouth.
As his breathing slowed, it all washed over me: How many times over the past week had he had sex with me just to shut me up…
just to get me to stop asking questions?
And I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I had thought being with Zack as his girlfriend would have brought us closer but, instead, I’d never felt so distant.
It wasn’t long before he fell asleep and I tried not to wonder if this was all we had become. He’d drink; we’d perform; I’d worry; I’d try to talk; he’d fuck me to shut me up.
But I couldn’t let myself think that way. I couldn’t give up on him. I’d just have to try again tomorrow.
Two nights later, we’d just finished what was almost an amazing show in Minneapolis, save for Zack’s cracking voice.
It was bitter cold there, and my jacket wasn’t enough protection against it.
Thanksgiving was later that week, but I was beginning to feel sorry for myself, wondering what I had to be thankful for.
As the road crew was loading up the bus, the driver said there was a flat tire and he needed to get assistance to change it. Mick told us to head to a diner not far off. “Have a cup of coffee and grab a bite if you want. We’ll get on the road as soon as we can.”
I felt bad for all of them—not just Schultz and Mick but also the road crew, because it was ridiculously cold out. But none of them looked as miserable as I felt.
As the four of us made our way to the diner, Cy said, “It was bound to happen. Look at all the miles we’ve already put on that damn bus.”
“Yeah,” Braden said. “And better now than coming over that pass last week.”
“Or going sixty miles per hour.”
“How’d it happen?” I asked.
“No idea. Schultz noticed it right before we got ready to board.”
Zack said, “Well, they better hurry up. We have an interview in Chicago at two.”
He was right, of course, but we still had plenty of time before then. Unless it took ten hours to change the tire, we’d be fine.
I tucked my chin in my jacket to protect against the cold, but it didn’t help. At least walking kept me a little warmer than I might have been. Once we got to the diner, I said, “I’m gonna have to buy a coat next time we have a day off.”
“Me too,” Cy said.
“Do we have room to store them?” Braden asked.
While he wasn’t wrong because we had limited cargo space, we could always put them in our seats when we weren’t using them or underneath.
I knew we had shows down south later in the tour—in Florida, Georgia, and Texas, among others—and we probably wouldn’t need coats when we were there. But right now I didn’t care.
“I’ll make room,” I said as we were seated in a booth near a window.
There were still people in here, though not many, and the red-topped tables and round stools surrounding the counter were reminiscent of the fifties. But it was the smell of coffee that perked us all up.
Soon we were seated, drinking coffee that had probably been brewed that afternoon, but I was relishing the warmth inside anyway. Cy said, “Great crowd tonight.”
I nodded as Braden said, “Yeah.”
Zack took a big gulp of his coffee and winced because it was too hot. “I can’t say that we’ve ever had a bad crowd.”
We all agreed and grew silent. After a bit, Cy said, “I gotta tell you guys, though…I’m feeling really tired.”
Without hesitation, the three of us nodded our heads in agreement. I couldn’t see how this tour wouldn’t be taking its toll on anyone. To call it grueling wouldn’t have done it justice.
After a while, the silence began to feel heavy—and I knew Cy was right.
It was because we were overly tired. So, rather than dwelling on it and on everything that had been weighing down my mind, I decided to try to lighten it up a bit.
“So far, what’s been your favorite thing that’s happened on the tour? ”
“This leg or the last leg?” Cy asked.
“Either.”
“Our first show. Even though so much went wrong, it was a show I’ll never forget.”
Zack said, “My favorite moment was when they asked us to do an encore tonight at the end of our show.”
“Too bad we couldn’t do it,” Braden said.
“We’ll get to when we headline.”
“What about you, Bray?” I asked.