That's why I noticed him the first time Julian dragged him into the studio—hood up, eyes down, barely speaking. Then he opened his mouth and let the sound out like it had nowhere else to go.
One of the best guitarists I've seen in a long time.
"You missed three practices," I say, keeping my voice level. "And a recording session."
He shrugs. "Didn't feel like being around people."
"You haven’t been answering your phone. The guys have been worried. I’ve been worried.”
"I needed time."
"For what?"
He stops playing. Sets the guitar down like it's suddenly too heavy.
"Can we not do this right now?"
I sit in the armchair opposite him. It creaks under my weight.
"We don't have to do anything else but sit in silence if that's what you want."
He studies me like he's waiting for the push. When it doesn't come, his shoulders drop a fraction.
So that’s what we do, we sit in silence.
Tommy lights a cigarette. His hands shake—just enough to notice. He exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the far wall.
Julian once told me pieces of Tommy's story in the careful way people do when they're not sure what's theirs to share. The rest came out over time. Half-jokes. Offhand comments. Truth wrapped in humor because it hurt less that way.
A father who abused him. A mother who couldn't protect him. Men who took what they wanted from both of them. Violence that started as defence and turned into habit.
Tommy doesn't know how much I already know. Or maybe he does.
"My old man was a bastard," he says finally. His voice is rough, stripped of performance. "Beat the shit out of me and that wasn't even the worst of it."
I don't interrupt.
"My mom… she was gone most of the time. Even when she was there." He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "When she finally left him, I thought that was it. Fresh start. But it was just different guys. One after another. Some of them…" His jaw tightens. "Did the same things he used to do to me. Only worse.”
Something tightens in my chest, but I keep my face steady.
"I got bigger," he continues. "Started fighting back. Beat them before they could try anything. Thought that made me strong." He exhales. “But it just made me a problem. My mom kicked me out when I was sixteen and told me I was on my own."
"That's when you met Thatch," I say.
He nods. "I slept in the car for a week before that. Thatch didn't ask questions. Just let me crash on his couch and fuck around on his guitar."
I've seen that bond. The way Julian watches him on stage like he's guarding something fragile. The way Tommy steadies around him without realizing it.
Kind of like the way I used to be around Jake when we were kids.
Music saved him the same way it saved me. Tommy and I are alike in so many ways. That's why I see him in a way others might not.
The difference is I had someone step in before it swallowed me whole.
Tommy rubs a hand over his face. "Now everyone wants something from me. The label. The fans. The fucking internet. They tell you you're special, then they tell you you're nothing if you don't give them more. I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore."
I nod once. "Unfortunately, that part doesn't get easier."
