Sandy's guitar is not here.
Another headline dropped this morning. BELLADONNAS GUITARIST SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN AT EXCLUSIVE VENUE. The photo is blurrier than the last one. The woman in the leather jacket is the same, but the angle is different, the context is different, the narrative is deeper now.
I spent two hours fielding label calls instead of warming up. Each headline equals one more conversation with upper management equals one more person questioning whether this band is worth the investment.
I'm at the mixing desk with my bass plugged in. Phone showing a text from Sandy:omw!!Two exclamation marks.
"She said she's on her way," Ana says when I don't ask.
"She said that twenty minutes ago."
Jo's phone buzzes. She glances at it. A smile crosses her face—fast, private—and she types a reply. Rebecca. Always Rebecca.
I look at that smile and feel something shift in my chest that feels like a match meeting fuel.
"Jo," I say. My voice comes out level. "We need to talk about the EP."
"We are talking about the EP. We're here."
"You're here. Your phone's here. I'm not sure the rest of you is."
Jeremy puts his sticks down. He sets them on the snare with a care that is its own statement. The drummer going quiet before the explosion.
"Rhonda—" Jo starts.
"Don't. Don't try to manage this the way we've managed everything else." I pull out my phone. Open the notes app. "I booked this studio. I booked the last one. I called in favors that cost me something. I found three producers this month, the collab opportunity, the festival submission. Three different paths forward. You replied to one. 'Looks good!'. I feel like I’m carrying everything.”
"I've been?—"
"You've been happy. I know. I'm glad. But you used to stay until midnight. You used to send me producer links with reasons why you thought they could cross us over. You used to sit in the driver's seat sometimes and I could rest. And now I'm alone."
"That's not fair," Jo says. Her voice has an edge now. "That's not what's happening here."
"What is happening then? Tell me. Explain to me how you're helping us move forward when you're spending every waking moment with Rebecca instead of with us."
"I'm in love," Jo says. "That's what's happening. And apparently that's a conflict of interest in your version of the band."
"It's not about love. It's about commitment. You checked out."
"I didn't check out. I'm here. I'm always here for the actual work."
"You're here in body. Your head is somewhere else. And that's fine for you, but it's not fine for the rest of us. We're trying to build something that matters and you're treating it like a side project while you figure out your relationship."
Jeremy flinches.
"You know what I think?" Jo says, and her voice is steady in a way that tells me she's been waiting for this. "I think you go quiet and think you keep that tab in your head—every email, every call, every task you took on that nobody asked you to take on—and you wait until the list is long enough to use as a weapon. So we feel guilty enough to fall in line."
"That's not?—"
“You're manipulating us by making us feel like we owe you something just because you chose to work harder."
I stare at her.
"We're here now," Ana says from the couch. "Both of us. Can we just work?"
"Why are you defending her?" I ask.
"Because she's right!" Ana says. "You are controlling and make decisions and then you present them to us like they're facts we have to accept. You rerouted the tour without asking anyone. You’re the one who decided on producers without getting input. You booked this studio without checking if we had other commitments."
