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Even at our worst, we can beat out the best of them.
Except I can’t pull the wool over my bandmates' eyes. They know me too well for that.
“Don’t be mad,” Holden says with a loopy smile. “It’s just –“
“Just what?” I growl. “A fact?”
“Hey, take it easy,” Blaise says softly.
Apollo rubs his chin. “I think what Holden is trying to say is like… we know your mind is somewhere else because of your new wife, but –“
“Congratulations, by the way!” Seraphina blurts, a big smile on her face.
I shake my head, ignoring her.
“Okay, you know what?” Holden says with aggression creeping into his voice.
Blaise alerts. “Oh no.” He shoots out of his chair and starts to wave people out of the room.
Holden and I get under each other’s skin a lot. We’ve been friends since middle school and were the first two members of the band. We’re like brothers. We call each other on each other’s shit. But it gets more complicated when there’s drugs and alcohol involved. It’s not just brotherly quarrels. Things get hot. We’ve been known to throw a few punches from time to time. A couple of years ago we got kicked out a bar in Madrid for nearly causing an all-out brawl for something stupid that neither of us even remembers.
I’m not looking to fight.
But he might be.
“You’re dragging us down,” Holden says. “Go call your wife and get a fucking grip.”
That’s the exact opposite of the problem. If I was able to call Isabella, if I actually still had her, I wouldn’t be dragging our performances down. No, I’d be fucking thriving. It would be the best tour we’ve ever had. “It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Then explain. Because I’m tired of you being fucking lazy out there!” Holden says.
“I think you’ve been great,” Seraphina says with an apologetic smile.
Something inside me snaps. Holden has strung Seraphina along for years and here she is, fighting his battles, at his side even though he’s been a fucking jerk every step of the way. Meanwhile, I have a child with a woman, and I want to give them everything, and she’s rejected me.
“You don’t get it,” I say.
“No, but we can empathize,” Apollo says. He and Blaise are much more chill than Holden and I are and when conflict starts, we can count on them to be the pacifists.
Except now that the room has cleared out and it’s just me, my bandmates, and poor Seraphina, his peacemaking feels condescending. “No, you don’t – it’s not fucking simple. I can’t just fucking call her and make it all better because –”
“Jesus Christ, do you have to be so fucking cagey? You’ve been weird since rehearsals,” Holden says.
Seraphina rubs his chest to calm him, somehow managing a very even keel despite the coke.
“Was it a drunk thing? Were you drunk?” Apollo asks. “It’s okay if you were, but maybe then you just need to annul or –”
If I could break this glass with just the brute strength of my fist. “I wasn’t fucking drunk, that’s not the –‘”
Blaise interjects. “Let’s lower the stakes, okay guys?”
“How can I lower the stakes when Rex is literally ruining the tour? Fucking sad sack sitting in the corner making everything about him and dragging everyone down with him,” Holden says.
I shoot out of my chair. “Just shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up, just stop and shut the fuck up!” I punctuate the final “up” by hurling the glass against the wall. It shatters, splashing the wall with tawny liquor.
The room goes silent. I… regret that. But I’ve been holding everything back for too long. All the pain has been calcifying in my veins. With each passing day, I have to hold tighter onto the pain. If I don’t, I’ll break. Then we really won’t have a tour, will we?
Blaise touches my arm. “Dude, what’s going on?”
