Chapter 25
Aweek later, we were in San Francisco getting ready to play a mid-sized show. I was still quite unimpressed with Bleak Viper, a bunch of pot-bellied unwashed over-tattooed wrinkled old men who clearly didn’t give a shit about their fans. They just wanted the money and the ego strokes.
I hated to admit that Ashen Retribution was a really good band, especially live, because they continued to be assholes. They mostly left me alone because I tried not to let it show that they were getting under my skin—but I still heard their occasional shitty comments.
Still, I kept telling myself we only had a little over a month to go and then we’d be home again—and, once there, I planned to have a long talk with Zack, with or without our other band members.
He couldn’t keep drinking like he was, because I was pretty certain the last time he’d been sober was part of the day after Christmas.
I prayed that his mood, usually grumpy, and his attitude, often distant, were because of the alcohol…
because that could be fixed if he wanted to.
If he was becoming this person regardless, I didn’t know that we’d have a chance.
And I started questioning myself. What would I do if Zack refused to get help? Would I stay with him? Or would I show him tough love and give him an ultimatum? Instead, would I break up with him to protect myself?
I didn’t want to think about it now. I’d figure it out at the end of the tour.
After Mick knocked on my door telling me I needed to head backstage, I took a long breath and stared at myself in the mirror, thinking I looked a lot older than twenty—and it wasn’t because of the makeup.
Picking up my jacket off the chair, I put it on, knowing I’d need to remove it later, but I’d been chilly all day, and I didn’t know if it was due to San Francisco or the way I felt inside or the pounds I’d lost on the road.
As I entered the hallway and started heading toward the stage entrance, I heard Cy behind me. “Wait up.”
“Hey.” We hardly talked anymore, any of us, and I knew we were reaching the end of our proverbial ropes.
Not only were we tired all the time, the feel of the wheels on the road day in, day out and being the lowest on the ladder had numbed us all to everyday life.
I knew we’d return to normal when we got home, but how long would it take?
Would we ever speak to each other again as friends unless it had something to do with music?
Well…I could try to repair those feelings right now by showing some empathy and compassion. “How are you holding up?”
“Doing okay—but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I wanted to be home in my own bed.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“But Mick said the numbers are looking good.”
I couldn’t help the frown that formed on my lips. “He always says that—but does he really know?”
“Yeah, but I trust Mick. I know he puts on a good show, but he’s a good guy.”
“Agreed.” Mick had more than once shown his true self to me, and it wasn’t the gruff, short-tempered man he often portrayed.
“But I wonder how long he’ll keep doing this. He doesn’t always seem to enjoy it.”
As we approached the door to the stage, I said, “Don’t say that.
I was hoping he’d be our tour manager forever.
” Out of everything our first tour had been, at least Mick had been a rock for us.
I’d even decided sometime during the second leg that the man deserved the single room he stayed in, even if it cost a little more.
When Cy opened the door, we first heard the swell of the crowd, talking, shouting, laughing, and having a good time over the music being piped out of speakers somewhere in the auditorium.
And then we heard Zack and Braden yelling—at each other. Well, not when we first entered. They were in a heated discussion when Cy and I arrived and we heard them as we got closer.
“The drinking needs to stop. It’s not just affecting me, Cy, and Dani. It’s affecting the band and the way the fans look at us.”
“Bullshit. The crowds love us.”
“Yeah, they do, but they’re not gonna keep forgiving us.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. They love me.”
“You? Just you?”
“Yeah. You guys are acc—”
That was when Braden’s voice rose and he got closer to Zack, still not realizing Cy and I were there. “Don’t you fucking say it.”
“But you know it’s true.”
“It’s not. If you could be a band by yourself, you would be already.”
“Maybe I should try.”
“I don’t get you. You’re not the same guy anymore.”
“I’ve grown up, Bray. You should try it.”
Braden all but exploded and got in Zack’s face, jabbing him in his chest—but, try as he might, he couldn’t tower over Zack. Still, I’d never seen Braden that angry—and Cy and I sensed that we should break it up. We would be going onstage at any minute.
But there was no getting in between them as Braden gave Zack hell. Still, we got close. Cy was trying to pull Braden back. “Dude, let this shit go.”
And I was trying to grab Zack’s hand but he was having none of it. “Back the fuck off, Dani.”
That stung…but okay. I did back off, folding my arms across my chest.
“What makes you think you’re such an adult, Zack?” Braden demanded.
“For starters, I mind my own goddamned business.”
Shrugging Cy off, Braden pushed Zack in the chest again, this time causing Zack to lose his step, but he didn’t fall—and Braden followed it up with words. “You think you’re all grown up because you drink all day and party all night? You think fucking a groupie every night makes you a man?”
Before I could fully digest what I’d heard, the blood started draining from my face.
Had I heard that correctly? And it was as if time had slowed.
My brain started processing the veracity of Braden’s accusation.
There was the time back in Boston during the second leg of the tour…
that blonde who’d been giving Zack a blowjob.
And afterward, in Washington, D.C., when he’d told me he was sorry…that he knew he had problems and was using drugs and alcohol to numb them. He’d acted like he was helpless—not just about his addiction but even sex, like the girl had forced herself on him.
But then my brain started calculating if it could really be true…because, deep down, I knew it was. Zack’s promise to me had been a lie…reminding me of the time when another kid spilled the beans, revealing to me that my mom was Santa Claus.
This wasn’t just a falsehood; it was also a betrayal. Everything I’d believed had been torn away in an instant, the scales falling from my eyes.
And it was the same tonight as all the times I should have figured it out hit me like a freight train.
How many times had Zack disappeared, nowhere to be found, and I’d just assumed he was off somewhere drinking?
There were so many instances where a roadie—two specifically who really liked Zack—had gone out of their way to tell me where they’d supposedly last seen Zack, but Zack had never been where they’d said.
Who else had been in on the deception?
Braden had obviously known. Had Cy? Mick? The rest of the crew? What about the other bands we were touring with?
Worst of all…I’d refused to listen to own instincts, instead finding excuse after excuse for this man I’d grown to love in the most dysfunctional of ways.
Jesus fucking Christ. I was such a fool…and Zack had played me for one this entire time.
I knew I’d be angry at some point—but first I had to work through the shock and hurt.
And I had a show to play.
Braden and Zack were still fighting, almost coming to blows, when it was time for us to go on.
Mick appeared out of nowhere and split them up as if they were nothing more than toys, telling them to get their shit together.
“If you want to fight after the show, I’ll gladly referee—but, for now, you owe this crowd a show. ”
As we walked onstage, Cy asked me, “You okay?”
A knee-jerk reaction, I said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I could feel Braden and Zack staring at me as we walked into view of the crowd, but I kept my eyes down. My cheeks were blazing red and I hoped the audience couldn’t tell. I could also feel a well of tears that wanted to overflow—but now was not the time.
First, I had a lot of anger to pound out on the drums.
My worst night on the planet wound up being our best show to date—and the crowd never had any idea that Once Upon a Riot was fractured…probably beyond repair.
When our set was over, the tears were still far away—and I was grateful for that. Quickly, I waved at the crowd and then made my way backstage. I didn’t want to face any of my band members right now.
And fucking Ashen Retribution—they lined the hallway next to their road crew and all their equipment, waiting for their turn onstage.
I understood the roadies being there, but the band should have been in the green room or their dressing rooms. Of course, Bleak Viper had probably made them feel like they couldn’t use the green room either.
Still, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with these assholes—so I kept my eyes on the doors at the end of the hall as I made my way past all those guys.
But their drummer dared to say something to me. “What’s the matter? Shitty show?”
“Shut the fuck up, dickweed. You only wish you had a show as good.”
Lame…but my brain and heart weren’t in it—and I was lashing out.
“Oh, she must be on her period.”
That was the final straw. Every last flame of fury rose up in me and I turned, my right hand formed into a fist before I even knew what I was doing—and he must not have expected it either, because he was looking at their rhythm guitarist, smirking at what he’d thought was a funny joke, paying no attention to me.
All my strength and anger flowed through my fist, connecting with his jaw. As I grabbed my hand, pain radiating through it, he turned and glared at me. “What the fuck?”
“My periods are none of your goddamned business—any more than yours are mine!”