“No problem. Once I heard you were around, it was a no-brainer they’d want you. Did you hear the crowd?” His smile faded. “I do envy you that, the luck on top of the talent that took you to the top.”
“Not denying it,” I agreed. “Right place, right time. Until this year.” That reminder took some of the shine off my bubble.If I hadn’t looked down at the wrong moment, would Linda Bellingham have been out in that crowd with her husband, rocking out to the local bands?
Probably not. But my awesome night had come at someone else’s cost.Don’t think about it.I picked up my guitar. With a wave to Naylor, I headed toward the parking area. The last band of the night was just taking the stage but my driver was waiting by her car.
“Sorry to take you away from Marsscape,” I said as we pulled toward the gravel road.
“Nah.” She lined up to get out the gate. “My kids have to get up for school and the parking lot will be a zoo. I planned to leave early anyhow.”
She didn’t seem inclined to chat as we drove, so I sat quietly, watching the dark countryside turn to city. My fingertips burned from the strings and my throat felt thick and dry. It’d been a long time since I’d done a performance like that, focused exclusively on my hard rock songs from— what, now?— must be fifteen years back. Back in the period when the label had me grow myhair out and learn to growl. Yeah, I still sang those in practice, and sometimes shredding the hell out of my guitar was the best therapy in the world. But usually I mixed it up with the more folk and classic stuff that didn’t demand as much of my voice.
ColdNova Records had signed me, but not really known what to do with me. I’d begun in folk-rock, suited to the small venues and cafés I’d played for over a decade, but after the HeartTrap tour, the label had wanted to steer me to something more commercial. The contract I signed, back when I was too stupid to run it by a lawyer who knew the biz, kept me locked in. So they pushed me to harder rock, verging on metal, switching up my backing bands, bringing in session musicians to record the albums.
When they swerved me into pop six years later, I’d tried to put on the brakes but they owned my ass, so I did that for a while too. Those songs could keep gathering dust as far as I was concerned, although I heard them in store Muzak now and then. Which was not good for my ego, whatever my mom had thought. My backing musicians from that tour had probably been glad to see the back of me too. And I’d gratefully leaned back into my classic rock roots.
I tried to remember the name of the keyboard player who’d filled in for the last date on that tour and failed. So many folks I’d played in front of, good, bad, and indifferent. Some I’d hated to see go, others not so much. I’d fallen out of touch with most of them…
I’m so damned lonely.The thought hit me like a sandbag to the head.
What Naylor had with his band, that sense of unity, creating something together and hanging out afterward, sharing the buzz, was something I’d never had. I’d been the name, thestar, the others the backup, and with the way the label had cut people loose, the impermanence kept me from getting really close to anyone. Some had tried, yeah. Colby was the drummer from my tour sixteen years ago, when I was on the fast track to fame, and he’d kept me from freaking out more than once. Calm personality, great hands, and a musicality that’d grounded me on stage and given my songs strong roots. He’d let me bounce song ideas off him and had a great ear. We still texted sometimes. But he’d had small kids, and had declined the next tour.
I didn’t want to be here in the back of a Lyft car, silent in the dark, after playing a great show. I wanted to be talking off the performance high with someone who’d shared it with me, with someone who cared about me as well as the music.
I didn’t want to tour alone again, all those nights in hotels, trying to remember what city I was in and where we were headed next. Of course, after what I’d done to Linda, the label had cut me loose, so touring probably wasn’t an option anyway.
Am I just trying to pretend that rejection is my own choice? I fucked up my career so I’m going to pretend I don’t want it anymore?My thoughts spiraled downward.
At my apartment, I gave the driver a bonus tip and dragged myself upstairs. Once inside, I took care of my guitar, poured myself a giant glass of water, and retreated to my bed. When I plugged my phone in the charger, it lit with the most recent text from Lee.
~ I know you’ll rock the hell out of that show tonight. Have fun.
I couldn’t resist tapping the icon for a call.
His phone rang, then I heard his voice, sleepy and thick. “Griffin? Are you okay?”
I realized it was after midnight. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
“No, you called me for a reason. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Show went fine. Great, even. I just…” My voice trailed off, my throat clogged. I took a slug of water.
“What, hon?” Then Lee chuckled. “Ignore that. My brain did a time warp.”
I tried to push away how much I liked him calling mehon.“I think I’m going to stop touring.” I managed a rough laugh. “Assuming I even have the option anymore, which I probably don’t since ColdNova dumped me. That’s my big ego talking.”
“You don’t have a big ego, Griff. That’s one of the best things about you. What’s making you so down tonight?”
He knew me too damned well. “I just… spent my whole career as the frontman, the star in the lights, and I shouldn’t complain. I made money, way more than I could’ve imagined as a drywall installer here at home.”
“Money’s not everything.”
“Right? I feel like I never connected with anyone, not really. I have casual friends, but it’s been too easy to drift apart. We chat on social media, maybe hang out if we’re in the same town. The guys I dated,” —or mostly just slept with— “were usually not part of the music scene, but that meant they didn’t care enough to stick around when music pulled me away.”
“Like me.”
“No!” I hesitated. “Well, yes. But that was different.”That was real.“Neither of us had much choice, back then. It wasn’t about how much we cared, it was all the rest of life.” I drank more water, then admitted, “I cared about you more than I let myself see. I missed you so damned much, and not just that first year.”
“Same,” Lee murmured. “I told myself I hated you to try to miss you less. Kind of worked. Wasn’t true, though.”
