“Thanks. I feel like shit, though.” I motion to the couches, and we have a seat.
I blow out a long breath, my gaze flicking between them. We’ve learned the different steps for recovery, and I’ve memorized the ones Doctor Steinfeld made especially for me as an atheist. “I finished Step Eight last week. It’s to make a list of everyone you’ve harmed and become willing to make amends. The three of you are on my list. Step Nine is to actually make amends. I owe you three an apology. I was…fucked up. Really fucked up. Hell, I still am, but I have more clarity now than I’ve had in years.” I look between Mitch and Kas. “We all lost Vic, and I’ve been acting like I’m the only one that loved him. I never stopped to ask about you two. We’re best friends, and I shit all over that. I’m sorry.”
Mitch nods, pulling his lips in. “Thanks, man. We were young when he died. Kids, really. We should have done better.”
“Yeah,” Kas says, “I think we all handled things differently. We could have…I don’t know, gotten you away from the alcohol and drugs to help you.”
I shake my head. “There was nothing you could have done to help me. I was long past help when Vic died. And I didn’t want it.” I look at Zed and swallow roughly. “You made me come here. You knew I needed help before I did. Thank you. And I apologize for what I said all those weeks ago. You’ve been my friend for years. You’ve always looked out for me. I’m sorry I put you in the situation that you had to be my parent and not my friend.”
Zed holds his hand out to me. I grasp it like a lifeline.His voice is tight as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for. I wish I had helped sooner.”
“No sweat, man. You did what you could. I appreciate that. More than you know.”
He pulls his hand away, swiping at the tears dripping down his cheeks.
“There’s something else I have to tell you all,” I say, nerves dancing in my belly. “Since I’ve been in treatment, I’ve had time to think about what I want out of life. Where I want to go from here and how I’ll stay clean to do it. And right now, it’s not making music. It’s not being a part of Lana’s Mischief. I’m sorry, but I have to take a step back.”
Guilt clouds Zed’s face, and Mitch and Kas exchange a look. “What’s up?” I ask, alarm bells ringing in my head.
Mitch blows out a breath. “We wanted to wait until you were out of treatment to tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“The label is dropping you. They said you’re more trouble than you’re worth. They want to replace you. With Tech.”
Anger simmers just below the surface, but I push it down. I don’t like Tech, even though he’s on my list of people to make amends with, but I don’t have the energy to hate him. Not when I need to work on not hating myself.
A soft chuckle leaves my throat. “I should have known they would try something like that. It’s all good. I hope you have success with him.”
Kas shakes his head. “We’re not doing it. Lana’s Mischief is ours. They can’t put someone in your spot. Our contract says that we can come to a unanimous decision to disband the group. Say the word, and we’re done.”
“Guys…”
Mitch sits forward. “We’re not Lana’s without you.Hell, it’s your fucking band. I don’t want Tech at the head of a groupyoustarted. Your blood, sweat, and tears went into building us up. It’s been tough without you, but it’ll be even harder going out on tour without you leading us.”
Tears prick my eyes as I look at my bandmates, my friends. They’re willing to put their careers on hold when I’ve been nothing but irresponsible and haven’t shown up when I should have. I’ve done nothing to ensure their loyalty, but they’re giving it to me anyway.
“Let’s make a deal,” I say, wanting to come to a compromise. “I’m not going to be able to go on tour or record an album while I’m still in recovery. With all the shit I put in my body, that’ll be awhile until I’m one hundred percent. So let’s take a hiatus and see where we are in a year.”
Kas smiles. “Yeah, I like that. Honestly man, I’m tired of touring. We’ve been at it nonstop since we signed almost ten years ago. A year-long break is just what I need.”
I sigh. “It might be indefinite. I won’t compromise my sobriety. I did the most drugs when music was involved. If I think it’ll interfere with staying away from drugs and alcohol, I won’t come back.” I meet each of their eyes, trying to impress upon them how serious I am.
Mitch shrugs. “That’s fine with us. Whatever it takes to make sure you’re healthy. That’s more important than albums and touring. Besides, we’ll still have income with our residuals.”
Zed says, “I got those three guys that had a suit against you to settle out of court for a low six figures. The label jumped at it, so that case is handled.”
“Settle all of them. I don’t care the cost. I want that chapter in my life closed. Whatever they’re asking for, pay it from my personal accounts.”
“But Ryder?—”
“Wesley,” I say, feeling more like me and less like my stage persona. “I have close to ten million in my account, and I have some stocks and shit. Settle the cases. Then I’m out for at least a year. Okay?”
They nod solemnly.
“Tell the label and have them release a statement.”
Zed looks like he wants to do anything but see us break up, but it’s necessary. I wish Kas and Mitch would continue to give the world the gift of their talent, but I won’t try to convince them if they don’t want to keep the band together. “Okay, Ry—Wesley. I’ll inform them as soon as we leave today.”
