Page 29 of Sweet Surrender

Silence permeates the studio as everyone eyes the other one, waiting for someone’s feelings to be hurt, before the four of us start laughing at the same time. “It was definite shit,” Rocket says.

“The rhythm was so bad, so off, you couldn’t even fuck to it if you wanted to,” Hawkin says as he makes a play of jerking his hips spasmodically to make the point.

“I don’t need the visual,” Vince chimes in. “But you’re right. It was fucking horrible and I’m the prick who wrote it.”

“Well, it’s about time you do something wrong because we were all getting sick of your perfection.” I roll my eyes and toss my water bottle his way.

“It’s hard to be this good,” he says and slides down the wall until his ass is on the floor and his knees are bent in front of him.

This is what it’s like when you’ve been best friends with your bandmates since your late teens. You can fuck with each other, be honest, and know it’ll all be okay in the end because we always have each other’s backs.

And that’s not an easy thing to come by or be a part of in this industry of egos and vultures.

But it also makes what I have to say to the guys that much harder. Stalling, I check the setup of my drum set, as if I haven’t already done it a few times today. I drop my rag to the ground and use my foot to mop up the sweat that’s dripped there. The studio may be air-conditioned but take after take of this song has me drenched in sweat.

I glance back over my shoulder. Hawkin has taken a seat in the swivel office chair, Rocket is texting someone, and Vince has his head angled up to the ceiling and his eyes are closed.

“You want to tell us what’s going on with you, Giz?” Hawkin asks without looking my way.

“Who said there was anything wrong?” I ask.

“Fuck, man. We know you,” Vince says. “You don’t miss fucking beats to save your life and yet you missed several today. Something is wrong. We know it. You know it. Just spit it the fuck out already.”

I drop my head and nod. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m trying to fix something before it becomes wrong.”

“The tour? The travel? What?” It’s Rocket that asks and that earns devastating groans from everyone.

“It’s not a problem yet,” I lie because it’s just easier to break shit to them in pieces.

“Yet?” Hawkin crosses his arms over his chest as Vince tilts his head to the side.

“Jase?” Vince prompts.

“You know, the gift that keeps on giving. My probation.”

They all pause. They were there that night at the hotel. After, anyway. They helped me pick up the pieces of myself I was willing to leave behind. They talked me down from the ledge I was teetering on. They supported me through the charges. They know the why behind it all and yet here we are, still dealing with the ramifications all this time later.

“What’s going on?” Vince’s eyes narrow as Rocket steps closer.

“New judge. New hoops to jump through for approval, but we’re figuring it out,” I say.

“We’re?” Hawkin asks.

“Nathaniel. Me. Abigail,” I say, now clearly having their attention. And so I proceed to explain to them the whole scenario. Nathaniel’s talk with the judge. Our discussion over having to get married. My decision to go along with it.

“It’s just fucked in all the ways it can be fucked,” I say, ending my drawn-out explanation. “It was never a problem before so I assumed it wouldn’t be this time. I . . . fuck, I shouldn’t have waited until now to ask, but I did and now we know and are trying to fix it.”

But their faces say it all. Disappointment. Worry. Stress. Uncertainty. To cancel a sold-out world tour comes with ramifications on numerous fronts.

I try to fix things. “You guys are my family. The last thing I want to do is hurt you or the tour or the fans and so . . . that’s why I decided to go along with it.”

“Go along with it? Christ,” the always-single Rocket mutters. “You sure stuck your boot in that pile of shit, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” I say, staring at the bottle of whiskey on the soundboard across from me. I’m desperate for it to wash down the disappointment I feel over letting my friends, my brothers, down.

“Look. It’s a plan. Not sure if it’s a good one, but it sounds like Nathaniel has the judge locked in on this and that the plan will work. Your brother might be a lot of things to you, but screwing you over isn’t his style. So go along with it. Fine,” Hawkin says, the clear leader in this band of equals. “But to some random woman you met in a coffee shop?” He snorts. “What the fuck, dude?”

“I know. It sounds crazy and—well, perfectly like something I’d do, right?” I ask to which a round of laughs sound off.