Page 95 of The Ballad of Us
I give him an alternative he doesn’t want to hear. “Then we keep making music anyway. In this studio, for this community and beyond, and for ourselves. Because that's what musicians do.”
Andrew is quiet for a long moment, studying my face with the intensity of a man trying to read between the lines. “You're serious about this. This isn't panic or fear talking. You really believe this is the right choice.”
I nod. “I know this is the right choice. For the first time in my adult life, I'm making a decision based on what I need to stay healthy instead of what I think will make me successful.”
“And you're willing to risk all of our careers on that choice?” Wyatt asks the question I’ve been waiting for.
The question is fair, and I owe them an honest answer. “If any of you want to take the tour, I’ll help you transition. But I can’t do it. That choice is made. Your support kept me going, and I believe that by prioritizing ourselves and what makes us happy, we’ll become stronger. If we stay together, we commit to this new direction as a band.”
Another long silence. Then Zep starts laughing, a sound so unexpected that we all turn to stare at him.
“What's funny?” Cody asks.
Zep tosses a pick in the air, catching it with nonchalance. “We're sitting here acting like Gray just ruined our lives, when actually he might have saved them.” Zep grins and shakes his head. “I was dreading that tour. Eight months away from Lana and Jake? Eight months of hotel rooms, bus rides, and pretending to be grateful for the privilege of being exhausted and miserable? Fuck that.”
“Zep...” Andrew starts.
“No, seriously. When did we start thinking that suffering for our art was the same thing as being successful? We've got a beautiful studio, we're making the best music of our lives, and we live in a place where people know our names because they like us, not because they want something from us.”
“But the money...” Parker says weakly.
“Will come from elsewhere. And if it doesn't, we'll figure out something else. Because Zep's right. When did we stop remembering that the point is to make music, not to be famous?” I ask.
I look around the circle at these men who've been my brothers through addiction, recovery, heartbreak, and hope. Slowly, I see the tension leaving their faces, replaced by what looks like relief.
“So, we're really doing this? Walking away from guaranteed success to gamble on something that may or may not work?” Andrew poses.
“We're walking away from someone else's definition of success to build our own,” I correct. “And it will work because it has to work. Because the alternative is going back to the way things were, and none of us can survive that again.”
Parker stands up suddenly and walks to his drum kit, picking up his sticks and playing a simple, steady rhythm that fills the studio with purposeful sound. Wyatt joins him on bass, then Cody on keys, then Zep on guitar.
They're playing “Solid Ground,” the title track of our album, the song that started all of this.
I pick up my acoustic guitar and add my voice to the harmony, and for the first time in days, everything feels exactly right.
We're not just a band anymore. We're a family, and families stick together, even when the world thinks they're making the wrong choice.
Especially then.
Two hours later, I'm walking Duke around the village square, processing everything that's happened, when my phone buzzes with a text from Xavier, my sponsor.
Xavier: Heard through the grapevine about your label situation. How are you feeling?
Gray: Like I’ve just chosen my life over my career for the first time.
Xavier: And?
Gray: And it feels terrifying and perfect at the same time.
Xavier: That's what the right choice usually feels like. Coffee tomorrow?
Gray: Wouldn't miss it.
I'm tucking my phone away when I spot Rhea walking toward me from the direction of Mountain Mornings, her shift over for the day. When she sees me, her face lights up with a smile that makes everything else fade into the background noise.
“How did it go?” she asks when she reaches me, immediately reading the combination of stress and relief in my expression.
“We got dropped by our label.”
