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I glance at my watch, see the 6am time and frown.
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Our first single debuts on national radio today and we’re supposed to meet here this afternoon to listen. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since we wrapped up all the pre-recorded promotional material last week.
It was supposed to be down time before we head off on our three month long promotional tour.
I’ve been in the studio by myself all week, focusing on writing new music. It’s the only thing keeping me sane and sober. I’m not expecting anyone, my bandmates included, for at least another hour.
“Why are you here so early? And what visitor?”
“This visitor, you fucking asshole,” Jack’s voice reaches me before he appears in the doorway.
“Jack?” I stand up in surprise. I ask, confused and alarmed to see him.
He strides into the room and slams the door in Dane’s face without a word.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, alarmed by the barely restrained anger pouring off him.
Instead of answering me, he drops wearily onto the couch in the corner and sweeps his gaze around the room. His expression is distinctly unimpressed as it lands on me.
“Is everything okay at home?” I prod when he doesn’t answer.
He inspects his fingernails with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m surprised you remember you have a home. Seeing how you forgot that you have a family. I thought maybe, you’d forgotten everything.”
“What are you talking about? I talk to at least one of you every single day.” I ask, annoyed now, too.
“Oh, I know. And you’ve told us all about LA, and your music, and your little band, and all that shit. You forgot to tell us that you found your biological brother. The one that your biological mother, who you also found, gave birth to ten years after she gave birth to you. And that you found out Dad had a sister. “
My heart drops like a stone in water to my toes.
“Jack, I can explain.” Are the only words I can muster.
In the span of the second it takes him to surge to his feet, he is transformed. His nostrils flare, his lip curls and he’s vibrating with unadulterated, unbridled, anger.
I tense, instinctively braced for him to launch himself at me.
He stops an inch away from us being toe to toe and roams my face, inspecting it like he’s looking for something.
When our eyes meet, I flinch at the disappointment in his. He snorts in disgust and looks down, as if the sight of me hurts him.
I’m gripped by a keen sense of helplessness. I don’t know what to say. How do I explain that the chapter of my life he’s asking me to probe is one I’m too afraid to revisit?
“I drove all the way here.” The change in subject is so abrupt that I wonder, for a second, if I missed something or misheard him.
“From the airport?” I ask, cautiously because he’s still staring at the ground and his voice is thick with anger.
“I didn’t fly, Carter.” His words are as gritty and rough as gravel, but I forget his anger and gawk at him.
He rotates his head, as if just talking about the drive is making his neck stiff.
“Wait. You drove from New York?” I gape.
“No, from Austin,” he says around a large yawn.
“What were you doing in Austin?” I ask, but guess before I even finish the question.
I should have known that I couldn’t bury my head in the sand and ignore Phil forever.
