Page 69 of Shame Me
And yet here he was having a drink first thing. He wasn’t even hiding it anymore. “Can we talk?” I asked softly, touching his knee.
“About what?”
“About…your voice. I’m afraid—”
Instead of answering me, he gently touched my cheek, pulling my lips close to his. For a short moment, I thought he was going to let it all out, because I could see it in his eyes, a hesitation, a second of weakness and that vulnerability he’d shown me not long ago.
But then he flashed a wicked grin and kissed me hard. Jesus…already I was growing to hate the taste of whiskey and vodka—but I couldn’t resist the way Zack’s tongue explored my mouth, as if we’d never been together before. And I couldn’t deny my body’s response to his aggression.
Soon, he deepened the kiss, making me feel desperate and needy, and when he stood, he pulled me up with him. We began tearing off each other’s clothes but, like so many times before, never got them completely removed. He needed me, maybe had been thinking about me before I’d awakened, and I wondered if it was approaching a topic of vulnerability that had led him to crave a closeness with me.
We landed on the bed and he entered me, not saying a word—but his eyes were intense, as if he were driving demons out of his head.Take me, I thought.I can handle your pain…we can get through this together.And I wondered if he could feel my silent message.
He kissed me again with such intensity, such force that I nearly lost my breath—and it wasn’t long before an orgasm overpowered my brain, causing me to moan and dig my nails into the t-shirt on his back. Shortly after, he climaxed as well, and he collapsed on the bed next to me.
After a few minutes as our bodies cooled and we caught our breath, I rolled over on my side, placing my hand on his chest. “Hey…you know you can tell me anything, right?”
His answer was a mere smirk as he opened his eyes.
“I see you, Zack—and you don’t have to hide from me. I love you no matter what.”
Instead of answering, he got up off the bed, zipping up his jeans and walking back to the table. And then he took another drink—but at least it was a sip instead of a chug. I was certain then that Zack struggled talking about how he felt…and I was grateful that at least we had a physical connection. Maybe through our bodies I could help him figure out how to heal.
I held onto that hope.
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?”
