Page 83 of Shame Me
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.”
