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This timelast year it felt as if I had the world on a string, it was mine for the taking. Mine and my brothers, we had it all, a pile of platinum records and the creative power to make more, sold out tours, sponsors, advertisements, girls on tap and the world was listening to our music. Name one thing we couldn’t have if we wanted it. You wouldn’t be able to.
But then I spiralled.
My mum died. I went on that stupid fucking tour when I knew I wasn’t ready, I knew I couldn’t cope, but I made this stupid promise to myself that I wouldn’t let Cassy see me fail. That the world would not see Max Baines as a failure. A screw up.
Weak.
But I was. I was so emotionally battered and crippled that I should have just stayed home and licked my wounds in London. But I followed my stupid head and went to America anyway, and now I’m here, sitting in my therapist’s office. Again. Discussing my ‘deep rooted commitment and relationship issues’ which apparently contributed to me being a fucking idiot and getting behind a wheel when completely intoxicated.
None of that is true.
I shot the heroin because I’m a rock star not because I’m a junkie. That’s what we do. It doesn’t make me an addict, not even close. I’m not craving it, I don’t think I even wanted it then. It was there, I was mad, so I did it. Even if you, me, and my DUI charge in California know that its fucking stupid, I still did it anyway.
I got behind the wheel because I’m a fucking moron. Because I found out my best friend was fucking my sister and I wasn’t in control of my head so I tried to take charge.
“And how does that make you feel, Max?” Donna asks me softly. My regular therapist, now I’m back in London. She’s kind, she seems to know when to probe and when not to. We talk about my mum a lot. About how I felt she saved me. Saved us from the shitty beginning me and Cassy both had. How I didn’t feel like a kid as I always had Cassy to look after. How when we were adopted, I found a family, a home, and a mother for the first time in my life. Sarah Thomas-Baines.
And a new school where I finally found a best friend. Kyle Finch. Our bond was so strong—but now it feels broken. He’s weaved his way even closer into my life and it feels like I have to take a step to the side. To let him care for Cassy now. But he’s my best friend. He was mine before he laid claim to her.
“Do I really have to lose them both to let them love each other?” I know I sound like a wet fucking sap. I know it.Fuck’s sake.
“Is that what you want, Max?” She tips her head to the side, her short fire-red hair falls over her face, she’s probably about my mum Sarah’s age, maybe a little older. I’m not here to get to know her but I’m pretty sure there is some real character under all her layers of self-help methods and talking.
“I want my sister to be happy. Hell, I want Finch to be too.” And I do, I know that he adores her, worships the ground my baby sister walks on, and I’ve never wanted anything more than her happiness. They make each other damn happy. I know that, it’s just so much harder to understand than I thought it would be, because if I lose them… Who do I really have left?
“Life’s journey is not always easy. You know that, but you’ve spent your whole life controlling your own outcomes. You watched over your sister, you looked out for your mum, your band, your brothers. The front man. The performer. The fixer. You need to remember that you can’t fix everything and more importantly than that not everything needs to be fixed. There are some things that are going to be out of your control. Like your sister’s relationship with Kyle. Like Alison leaving the band’s management team. Like Bobby starting a family with his wife.”
“I’m happy for Bobby and Emma.” I am. Our drummer having a baby with his wife, although a shock, is probably one of the only good things to come out of that damn tour.
“Yes, I know you are. But you can’t deny that if you could eliminate all of this and get back on stage with those boys you wouldn’t jump at the chance?”
I nod. Donna is pushing today. Pushing me to my limits. Normally we only speak about Mum and Cassy, but we are diving deeper today. “When was the last time you all got together?”
“Erm,” I stumble.
“Have you all been together since you’ve been home from California?”
“Yeah. Baby Eddie’s christening. I shook Finch’s hand that day.” I looked at the floor and barely spoke to them, but when I saw the apprehensive smile on my sister’s face, I couldn’t not shake his hand. I won’t stand in their way. I just can’t stand with them like I thought I could.
“Well, surely, that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah, but since then it feels like I’ve given up our friendship, and mine and Cassy’s relationship. I’ve stepped back to let them be together.”
“Have you ever stepped back from anything in your life, Max?”
I laugh, a loud hearty laugh. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“Then why are you stepping back from this?” she asks, her tone full of questioning curiosity. I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I barely listen to anything else she says as she wraps up our session, I just continue to ask myself the same question all afternoon. All the way out of her office to my waiting car, the driver probably thinks I’m seriously fucked up on the journey home.
Why am I stepping back from the two best things in my life? My little sister and my best friend.
As much as I think about it, I still can’t fathom being with them. Being openly near them both, together.
That is until I have too tomorrow.
The only other proper‘band commitment’ we have is sitting in my work diary so glaringly obvious it hurts. It could be ringed in red for all I care but I wouldn’t forget it. Forget that somehow six months ago and before the accident Finch agreed to us hosting a local show when we got home. Introducing some home-grown talent and pushing them up the ladder. We were never billed to perform—thank fuck—but we do have to smile, put on a show. We normally do a couple of small acoustic shows when we come home. As a thank you more than anything to our loyal local fans who followed us even on the tiny London pub circuit at the beginning. We keep them quiet, hidden but the atmosphere is always unreal because we wouldn’t be anywhere if it wasn’t for those first fans. Telling their friends to come and see us play, putting videos of us online, buying our crappy garage printed T-shirts.
Doing a show with my band brothers should come naturally but not now. I’m bricking it about seeing them all. Preston keeps reminding me how disappointed the fans were that I let down after the rest of the American shows had to be cancelled. The refunds they had to give out because I fucked up.
Preston is the owner of the record label’s right-hand man. A yes man, since I’ve been home, he’s taken an unnatural liking to me, which is a little unnerving. He’s based in the States, New York I think, but he calls me every few days. He’s calling me now, but I can’t focus, I can’t talk to him. I need to drink the large bottle of Jack in my kitchen cupboard and prep myself for whatever shit show tomorrow will bring.
