Bottleneck Read online

  They have gigs to play, money to make, and all I do is twist her up in knots so tight that she’d be lucky to find an end to tug herself free.

  “If I had to give this up and get a real job, then I don’t think we could be friends.” Words she spoke to me years ago that seem more real than ever.

  Maybe she hasn’t given up entirely, but she’s stuck in limbo while I’m flying among the stars. All I had to do was dig deep enough into our memories to see what was spelled out the whole time.

  She’s right to have her hesitations. Love isn’t enough to fight jealousy when one spouse does better than the other in the same career. If married couples struggle to keep a united front, then how the fuck do I think dating will go? Especially with our checkered past.

  Dew still hangs in the air as I tug a crumpled cigarette free and light the end. Mosaic sniffs his way around half the parking lot gardens before finding the bush he feels is best to relieve himself on. His mobility is much better, but the guy still hasn’t got half the zest he used to show.

  I suppose I could be viewed much the same. Still the same arrogant fuck when I’ve watered down my inhibitions with alcohol but get me sober, and I lose most of the energy that makes me the sexual powerhouse I am on stage.

  Alice is right—again. I’ll need to get myself on this wagon one foot at a time. Shifting from a chemical high to one that I’ll need to foster myself will take time.

  I need to find what that natural hit is before I can expect to drop the artificial one.

  And I won’t find that here.

  Not when the one solution guaranteed to lift me out of this fucking world keeps throwing up walls every time I get near.

  If she needs space to get her head around this, then I can give her that.

  I’ve got loose threads to tie off anyway. Providing they don’t trap me in first.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Alice

  “Thrash Metal Cassette” – Dinosaur Pile-Up

  “We start in two days with this one.” Shanae points to the itinerary she drafted last night. “And then I have six more scattered over the following two months with three yet to get back to me with dates.”

  “We’ve got ten shows,” Fria summarizes with a frown. “Are we allowing enough time to sell tickets for this?”

  “The venues will be promoting to get maximum bar profits,” I explain. “All we need to do is reach out to our followers and fill the gaps.”

  “We need graphics and to figure out prices for those that don’t have a set door charge.” Shanae sends her tablet to sleep before tucking it under our impromptu meeting table.

  We needed to get our heads around how we’re going to do this with minimum delay, and none of us wanted to deal with Emery when he woke up. More than likely, he’s currently tearing our apartment apart in search of alcohol, or he’s already gone, on his way to the nearest bottle store.

  I’m not saying I expected him to fail. I just know how hard it is to break a habit, and his is the hardest of all.

  “If we do this,” I say, “then I need to know that we’re all on the same page here.” I make a point of looking at Fria.

  She leans back in her seat, long nails tapping the side of her ceramic mug. “I’m back home, aren’t I?”

  “But are you with us?” I snap. “Right here, right now. Let’s get this out on the table and deal with it. What is the issue?” I prop an elbow beside my bottle of water and lean in. “You said you’re sick of me being in charge all the time, so how do you propose we run our band?”

  She lifts an eyebrow, clearly picking up that I said our and not my band. “I haven’t got an issue with having one person in charge.”

  “You want it to be you?” I question.

  She shakes her head, long black ponytail swishing side-to-side. “I want to do this more often.” She gestures to our round table. “When was the last time we sat down as all three of us and talked about our plans? It’s always two of us making a plan and letting the third one know what it is. We should be all in at the same time.”

  “I don’t argue that. I think you’re right.” I look to Shanae, who watches us both with an attentive gaze. “What do you think? We do this once a week? A month?”

  “A week is too often,” she says. “I think monthly is fine.”

  “I think so too.” Fria nods.

  “Good. Let’s, say, do it the first Sunday of every month. That way, we’re likely to all be home.”

  The girls nod.

  I sip back the last of my water, hoping this headache is purely from lack of sleep and dehydration. Emery was still out like a damn light when I got up at the first crack of dawn. I barely slept, avoiding proper REM altogether, I’m sure.

  My decisions around him spin through the options like a goddamn Rolodex. Let him do his worst; send him on his way; test the waters; hate fuck him out of my system; demand he works for it.

  I’d settle for the majority without blinking an eye. It’s the fallout after I’m not sure I can handle.

  “What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Shanae asks, breaking off another chunk of her Toll House cookie. “I’ll be at home.”

  “Figured you would,” Fria says softly.

  We all know Shanae’s sister’s health pops up and down like whack-a-mole. If it were either of us, we’d make the most of what we have left, too.

  “I’ll be home this year too.”

  Both of them pause what they’re doing to stare at me.

  “What?” I shrug. “Mom made it clear it was the trade-off for borrowing the money we used to keep the apartment.”

  “I still wish you hadn’t done that,” Shanae mutters, fingering her food.

  “Well, we didn’t have much choice at the time, did we?” I refrain from adding that Fria staying at home would have saved us a lot of stress too. She may have only been gone a couple of weeks, but two weeks without the added dollars heading toward our bills makes a mountain of a difference.

  “What will you be doing?” I ask our drummer. “Spending time with friends?”

  Her gaze drops to the table; chin still held high. “Not this year.”

  From what Shanae told me, most of Fria’s friends are now either married or with kids on the way. Their lives are moving forward in a whole other direction while we still maintain our selfish lifestyle. Family will come in its own natural way; until then, we have each other.

  “You want to come with me?” Shanae asks quietly. “There’s always room at my parents’ place.”

  “No offense, but I’d rather not.” Fria offers what could, at best, be called her smile. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

  “Silver lining, girls.” I cap the empty bottle in my hands and set it in the middle of the table. “We each get time to do our own thing before we’re stuck in each other’s personal space again.”

  “True.” My bassist shoves another cookie chunk in her mouth.

  “I’m not giving up on this dream yet.” They both give me their full attention. “We have as many bad days as good, but the only way we’re guaranteed to fail is if we quit. I don’t know about you two, but I couldn’t live out the rest of my life wondering if I would have made it had I just stuck out the pain another year or more.”

  “Me either,” Shanae mutters, mouth full.

  “You both know that I’ve lived the alternate,” Fria mutters. “I’m not going back there if I can help it.”

  “If we put our trio first, always,” I stress, “then you’ll never have to.” Reaching out, I take a hand each. “Make no mistake, the band might be named after me, but there is no band without you two.”

  Shanae squeezes my palm, where Fria holds steady. It’s as good as I’ll get from her. I’m just glad she didn’t pull away.

  “On that note, I’ve been researching how we can do this next album without the funds to foot a studio retreat.” Letting go of their hands, I set mine in my lap and lean back. “There was this band who recorded twelve new tracks in their hotel
rooms while on tour.”

  “How did it sound?” Fria narrows her eyes on me. “Wouldn’t the acoustics be terrible?”

  “Clean it all up when you’re done,” I explain. “Get the rough bones down with what you have, and then you can fine-tune it with less than a quarter of what you’d spend doing it all in the studio.”

  “That’s risky,” Shanae adds. “What if shit comes up, and we don’t get it done in the timeframe we give ourselves?”

  “Then, we adapt.” My head throbs with the rise in my blood pressure.

  I need to stop getting so excited until I can kill this burgeoning migraine.

  “Can we talk about details tonight?” I ask. “I need to go lie down in a dark room.”

  “You okay?” Shanae rises from her seat when I do.

  “Fine.” I wave her off. “You two finish up here. I’ve just got a headache.”

  “If you’re sure.” Shanae tentatively retakes her seat.

  Fria watches me with dead eyes as I gather my coat and scarf. She barely waits until I’ve turned my back before muttering to Shanae, “She probably wants time alone with Emery.”

  “Shut up,” Shanae hisses.

  I pretend I didn’t hear a thing as I push my way out of the crowded diner and break out into the street. The fresh air is an immediate relief on the pressure in my skull, but I have a decent walk until I get home yet.

  Part of me hopes that my suspicions are right, and Emery has left, while the remainder aches for the comfort of his arms while my body stages a revolt.

  An entire morning out of the place and it’s only becoming clearer that time won’t solve this riddle.

  If I want to know what the best course of action is when dealing with him, then I’m going to have to try them all.

  Trial and error.

  Guaranteed to fuck me up. But oh, won’t the pain be so damn bittersweet.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Emery

  “Uh Oh” – Puddle of Mudd

  “Take a break, Em.” Toby’s voice comes across the studio PA. “We’ll go over Rey’s section again.”

  We’re three days into what has to be the messiest and most uncoordinated recording session to date. Rey came out of rehab with some epic new lines, but they didn’t gel with the music Kris and I had pieced together. Hell, the shit Kris wrote barely made sense laid next to mine, but I have a good feeling about it all.

  There’s some really great content amongst all the tangled bullshit, and I think when we finally figure out where all the pieces go, it’ll be our best work yet.

  My fingers ache, the simple movement of holding my guitar by the neck to carry it out the live room door painful in itself. We’ve been at this for fifteen hours straight, but the thing with collaborations like these is the need to run with inspiration when it hits.

  If we take a break, the muse does too, and we lose more ground than we can afford to spare.

  “…but she wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how many times I had to tell her I’d be fine.” Rey laughs, wide shoulders shaking as he walks backward towards me.

  I sidestep our lead singer, happy to hear him chatty for a fucking change. He barely said ten words to us the final days of our last tour, so deep within himself that I don’t think he even knew the way back out.

  “She’s more clued on than you give her credit for,” Kris says quietly, unlit cigarette pinched between his fingers. “She knows what this shit does to you.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think it will this time,” Rey argues, lifting his favorite ax. “The lyrics are different. I’m singing about better shit, stuff that doesn’t trigger me the same.”

  “What happens when we tour again, then, and you sing our back catalog?” I take a seat behind the sound tech, balanced on the flat arm of the modular sofa.

  “Cross the bridge when we come to it, man.” Rey grins, spinning for the recording room. “From the top, or just the second verse again?”

  “We’ll try picking up from the start of the second,” the tech confirms. “If it doesn’t mix right, we’ll need to do the whole lot over.”

  Rey throws a thumb in the air, the sealed door swinging shut behind him.

  Toby hasn’t said a word since I stepped out, head down as his thumbs fly furiously over his phone.

  “All good?” I ask.

  He nods, brow furrowed as he glares at the words appearing on his screen.

  “Hey,” I whisper, leaning in closer. “What’s with Rey? Is he manic again?”

  Toby finally stops typing to look up from the backlit screen. “Nah. New meds are working okay—this week.”

  “One’s he’s taken before?” Kris asks, on his feet at the exit.

  Toby shakes his head before resuming typing at breakneck speed. “Not as strong as the others, but it has fewer side-effects.” He recites the line on rote as though he’s said a hundred times already.

  “You want to join me?” Kris asks, lifting his cigarette.

  “Why the fuck not.” Not as though Toby wants to make small talk, and I’ve heard Rey play these bars enough times to know them inside out and back to front already.

  My Vans hit the ground with a thud, drowned out by the first bars Rey strums out inside the soundproof room. The sound desk lights up like a Christmas tree, throwing sparks of color across the walls.

  I hate this part of the process. It’s so monotonous and tedious, playing shit over and over until we get the sound just right. There’s no denying how important it is, but the repetition I enjoy is the kind where I play a finished track over and over before an ever-changing audience.

  That’s the high I live for, and I know Kris is the same.

  “How was the holiday?” I accept the stick he offers my way, popping the filter between my lips to wait my turn of the lighter.

  Kris ducks his head, long black hair curtaining the far side of his face as he shields the flame from the bitter winter wind. “Too short,” he answers, squinting into the glare of the cloudy sky while he passes me the light.

  “Take it things worked out between you and that little firecracker then?”

  He glares, silently warning me away.

  “Relax.” I lift both hands, burning cigarette in one. “I’m not after your girl, man.”

  “Good.” He sucks back damn near half his smoke. “She’s everything, and it scares the fucking shit out of me.”

  “There’d be something seriously wrong if it didn’t.”

  “What about you?” He tips his chin my way, settling his back against the outside wall of the studio. “What have you been up to?”

  “Aw, not much,” I hedge, studying the burning stick as I roll it between my fingertips. “Kickin’ back and resting up mostly.”

  “Heard you spent some time on a bus with Alice.” His smile is small, but for Kris, he may as well be grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

  “Toby said something, huh?”

  His eyes light up as he stares across the snow-dusted lot. “The second you showed up with Henley, I knew you had no idea. You wouldn’t have come if you’d known she was supporting Jasper.”

  “True that.” I pull a deep lungful of smoke and amuse myself puffing it out in crooked circles.

  “You gonna tell me what happened, or do I need to ask around until I find out?” Fucker shrugs the hood over his head, hiding the smirk I know he wears.

  “I caught a ride halfway home with them, fucked her drummer, drunk myself stupid, got high, got blackmailed by Deanna, and then figured the only way to shake the she-devil was to get sober.” He stays silent while I take a final drag on the cigarette and then stomp it out beneath my shoe. “That what you wanted to hear?”

  “Getting sober, huh?” he asks, picking out the most critical part of my whole tirade.

  “Trying.” And failing. Four days in a row is all I’ve managed, but hey, it’s three and half more than I’ve done in the past.

  “Awesome.” Kris grinds the butt of his cigarette into the wet pavement. “I�
��m real happy for you, man.”

  That’s what I love about Kris, and probably why we’re such good friends—I can always rely on him to be honest and upfront with me. No false bravado, no manly bullshit. Just genuine opinion and unfiltered thoughts.

  “You ready to smash out another ten hours of this shit?” I ask, holding the door for him.

  “Fuck off.” He shrinks into his hoodie. “Told Henley I’d call her in half an hour.”

  “You can do that on another break,” I state. “Nothing stopping us going hard all night.”

  His dark eyes shift to meet mine. “Video call.”

  “Oh.” My man … “Dude!” I lift my hand for a high-five.

  He bunts me with his shoulder instead, chuckling to himself.

  Toby still sits right where I left him, angrier than a bull at a gate while Rey seemingly nails his section in the booth. Whatever pisses the guy off, it has nothing to do with what goes down in here—that’s for sure.

  I run my gaze over the three assholes, pinching myself for being lucky enough to be a part of this crew. It was dumb luck that I had space for them to practice when they needed it and that I’d just transitioned from drums to bass when that’s what they required to complete the line-up.

  A week later, a month sooner. Such a tight timeline and things could have been so much different.

  I could have been like Alice, still waiting on my big break. A break that has nothing to do with talent and everything to do with fate.

  Kris glances across as I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and run my thumb across the screen. His gaze shifts back to Rey, attention on the notes he receives from the tech. I turn slightly to lean my shoulder against the wall, body-blocking the guys from what I do, and pull up Alice’s number.

  I’ve done this same fucking dance twenty times over since leaving her apartment, but I don’t know what the hell to say. I told her everything while I was there, and it still wasn’t enough. Aside from tearing my still pumping heart from my aching chest and offering it at her feet, I don’t know what else I can do to prove how fucking serious I am when I say that I love her.