Page 59 of Shame Me
By the time we were in Atlanta, I had already tried doing what Cy had suggested—just hoping against hope that it would pay off. But Zack was even quieter than before, only speaking when spoken to or talking to fans through the mic at our shows.
I blamed myself.
And all the love I’d felt for him before was bubbling up again, this time mixed with guilt. Guilt for not talking with him, guilt for giving up on him and sleeping around. I suspected the guys were having sex on occasion with the eager girls wanting to meet them, but I didn’t ask—and, after waking up barely remembering getting it on with that guy after trying coke for the first time, I’d decided to not indulge anymore.
That also meant I was longing for Zack again—my first and only true love. No man had ever held a candle to him and probably never would. And I saw him underneath all his rock star cockiness on stage, behind the frontman image he even displayed around the crew and sometimes us.
I knew who he was inside…and I understood which of his lyrics spoke of real pain. There was one particular line buried in a song about his father: “you can’t talk to a dad who doesn’texist.” He’d written that line before his mother had told him who his dad was and where he lived—and now the line meant so much more. I realized that most of his pain must have stemmed from that—from never knowing his dad to passing up the opportunity to meet him, of wanting to be angry with his mother for keeping his father’s identity from him until it was too late but loving her nonetheless.
How had I missed that? Was it because I didn’t care much about my own father? Of course, I could remember the guy, just snippets, but that was all it took for me to know my mother and I were better off without him. So there was no regret there.
But for Zack—especially a boy who’d probably needed a father figure growing up—that had to be what was killing him. And I couldn’t keep putting off the conversation I’d been planning to have.
We had an off day in Georgia and, after we’d arrived and settled in, Zack had announced that he wanted to check out Underground Atlanta—but I was feeling tired and a little under the weather, so I planned to rest. Besides, sightseeing wouldn’t allow time to talk about how he felt underneath the mask he wore.
Braden said he’d stick around in case I wanted company, and Zack, Cy, and a couple of the roadies headed out to check out the city. I was curled up on my bed reading an ebook—determined to avoid our social media for the time being—when Braden asked, “You wanna watch a movie or something?”
Considering I’d had to read the same paragraph three times due to my distracted mind, I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“I bought some microwave popcorn the last time we went to Walmart. You want some?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Handing me the remote, he said, “Pick something.” Meanwhile, he started rifling through his backpack.
As I started perusing the menu, I said, “It looks like some of these we’d have to pay for.”
“Don’t they have HBO and stuff?”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
As I scrolled the menu more, I found a lot of channels that were showing movies, some already started. For about two seconds, I pondered a horror movie but then decided I didn’t want to be scared—and I bypassed a drama, because I definitely didn’t want to feel shit like that.
But I found a comedy—and that sounded perfect. “Here you go,” Braden said, handing me a bag of popcorn before putting another bag in the microwave. The movie had started a few minutes before I’d flipped to it, but I thought we could figure out what we missed. “This is a good one.”
Soon, the microwave beeped and Braden took out another bag, shaking it before pulling it open at the corners. Then he sat next to me on my bed and we laughed at the movie, munching popcorn and forgetting about our present situation.
And I realized just how good a friend Braden was—not just to me, but to everyone in the band. He rarely said an unkind word—and he was loyal and thoughtful.
And probably as anxious about Zack as I was.
During a commercial break, I said as much. “I’m really worried about Zack.”
“Me too.”
“His drinking has gotten out of control.” Braden nodded but didn’t say anything else—so I continued. “I’m going to talk to him about it when the time is right.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dani.”
“Why not?”
“You know what they say. Talking to him won’t help. He has to realize he has a problem himself. All talking to him would do is make him double down. You know how stubborn Zack is.”
Sure, sometimes… “But I think it depends on the approach, you know? If I come out swinging, yelling at him like Mick, he’ll clam up. But what if I was compassionate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, then how do interventions work?”
