Chapter Twelve
The following day, Gunnar was sitting in his home studio with his bandmates. He’d asked them to stop by so they could talk about the album. He knew they were expecting a brainstorming session, not for him to blindside them with his epiphany.
“So most of you know that I’ve spent the last few weeks with Gianna and the kids,” Gunnar said, clasping his hands as his eyes circled the room, taking in the men who had been like his brothers for the past two decades.
“Yeah, how’d that go?” his drummer, Mikey, asked.
“It was good. Real good.” In spite of their blow-out, Gunnar felt confident they’d all been more real with each other on this trip than they’d ever been before. “Made me put some things in perspective.”
Rich raised an eyebrow, looking concerned. “What kind of things?”
“We started out all chasing the same dream.” He gestured around them, to the studio that boasted state-of-the-art equipment. “And look where we are now. Living it.”
There was a smile or two amidst the nods of agreement.
“Yeah, livin’ the dream, boss,” Rich said, chuckling.
“Except this isn’t my dream anymore,” Gunnar said, watching their smiles fade. “It was. For a hell of a long time, it was. And I’m so grateful I got to see it come true. But I’m not that same high-strung, driven teenager I was when we first formed this band.”
“Is this because of Gi?” Mikey asked. “Did she convince you to—”
“She didn’t convince me to do anything.” He knew there would be a lot of questions regarding his decision, and many people would likely point the finger at Gianna, but he refused to let her shoulder any of the blame. He planned to be clear with everyone that it washisdecision. “This is all on me, guys.”
“What is?” Mikey asked, leaning forward. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I need to slow down, figure some things out. And that means gettin’ the hell out of here for a while.” He’d been more relaxed and at peace in Vista Falls than he had been in a long time, and he already missed that feeling. “That doesn’t mean I won’t be working. I will. In fact, I’ve been working on some new songs.”
“Oh yeah?” Rich rubbed his hands together. “Let’s hear ’em.”
He wasn’t ready for anyone to hear the songs just yet. They were too revealing. Anyone who knew what he and Gianna had been through would know he’d written the songs about her, and he just wasn’t ready to share them with anyone yet, not even his best friends.
“They were kinda like therapy for me,” he said, hoping they could understand. “You know me. When I’m feelin’ something, writing about it is the only way I can express it.”
He’d written dozens of songs about his feelings for Gianna over the years. They were tucked safely away in a drawer and he didn’t think they’d ever see the light of day… unless he found the courage to play them for her someday.
“So these songs weren’t for the new album?” Jay, the lead guitarist asked, linking his hands behind his head.
“No, they were different.” Gunnar sucked in a deep breath. “Because honestly, guys, I’m different. I don’t think I can go on makin’ the kind of music we have been for the past twenty years.” He raised his hand when they all started talking at once. “Music’s got to come from the gut, you all know that. You’ve got to feel it, and if you’re not feelin’ it, you’re just pretending. I won’t do that. Not to you guys and not to our fans.”
“So, what kind of music are we talking about here?” Mikey asked.
“I guess you’d call it new country,” Gunnar said, wishing he didn’t have to define it at all. “It’s a little bit country, a little bit rock-and-roll. But I feel really good about it. The lyrics are tight.”
“Are you ever gonna let us hear it?” Jay asked, scowling. “Because so far I’m hearing a hell of a lot ofIand not a lot ofwe.”
Gunnar knew it would come down to this. He’d never been a one-man show and all of his guys had earned their rightful place in the Hall of Fame. With or without him, they would have found a way to make it in this business.
“People change,” he said, thinking how much he’d changed since Gianna left him. “The things that used to be important to me just aren’t anymore.”
“Meaning?” Rich asked, swiping a hand over his face.
“When we first started out, I was desperate to make it. I had something to prove. We all did.” He was sitting on the edge of his desk, gripping the burled wood with hands on either side of his thighs. “And we proved it, guys. We made a hell of a lot of money. Gained legions of loyal fans.” He gestured to the gold and platinum records lining the walls. “And we’ve got the proof. So, what else do we have to prove?”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Rich asked, looking him in the eye. “Retiring? You’re too young to retire. You’d go crazy if you weren’t making music.”
“I’ll go crazy if I keep making this kind of music,” Gunnar said, feeling the truth of those words. “It doesn’t fit who I am now. It’s not the kind of music I want to be putting out in the world anymore.” He wanted to write music from the heart, which may mean finding new fans who could relate to him and where he was in his life. “I think you guys should think about getting a new front man.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jay groaned. “You are this band.”
