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“What, I can’t touch it? It’s not even yours.” Sam holds it away from him as if they are children fighting over a lollipop.
“I had it first,” Jay whines.
Sam sniggers and Erick intervenes by snatching the guitar from Sam’s lap. “I don’t know what the big deal is about guitars.” He twirls it by the neck and then hands it back to Jay. “The drums are way better,” he states and flops into the chair.
“How about that coffee?” Peter says, hooking his thumb towards the break room. I follow him across the hall, happy to get away from the childish behavior being exhibited by grown men. Peter pours a cup for me and one for himself. He pulls out his flask and dumps a good helping into his coffee.
He raises it towards me and I put my hand over the top of my cup. “No, thank you.”
Peter shrugs and pulls a cigarette out of the pack and holds it between his teeth. As we pass by the studio, I can hear more bickering.
“Are they always like that?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” Peter says. “Try living on a bus with them 24/7.”
I know exactly what he means. It used to make my heart constrict thinking about the old days with Mogo, and times like these bring back so many memories, but now it brings me joy. Not many people have been able to live the life I have. I’ve grown to appreciate it, even the bad times, because sometimes, you have to crawl through the shit to get to the light at the end of the tunnel. It just makes the ending that much sweeter.
We lean against the concrete block and Peter lights his cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke.
“What really brings you here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and looking at him with suspicion.
Peter laughs. “Can’t I just come to visit an old friend?”
“We are not friends.”
“Ouch, and here I thought we’d had a moment once.” He clutches his heart and I laugh.
Peter blows out another puff of smoke and lets his chin fall to his chest retrospectively. After a moment he holds the cigarette out for me.
I snatch it from him and take a drag before passing it back.
“You’re not re-signing,” I say, not looking at Peter.
He doesn’t say anything, and I know I’m right.
“Have you told Bret?” I ask.
“This morning,” he confirms.
Fuck, I mutter under my breath.
“You’re an asshole,” I say, and snatch the cigarette from him, taking a long drag, flicking the ash with my thumb.
“It’s just business.”
I toe the loose gravel and hand him back the cigarette.
“Five years, Peter,” I remind him, shaking my head.
“Bret is great. You know that,” Peter tries to explain. “We got a major label courting us, and they’re able to throw a lot of money into marketing, tours, you name it.”
“I get it,” I say matter of fact.
Peter scoffs. “Get what?”
“It’s about the money for you.” I can’t look at him.
“That’s not true.”
