Firelight flickered against the stone mantel
of the fireplace, yet despite its warmth, Jesse shivered and huddled in the
blankets he’d wrapped around his shoulders. The winds outside had picked up as
the sun sank lower in the sky. Now, as the minutes ticked closer to sunset, they howled like the crowds in the
stands at every show he’d ever played. Staring into tear-blurred flames, he
wasn’t sure if he’d ever climb up on a stage again. His fingers itched to touch
his guitar, but what was the point in creating anything with the way his bandmates
had turned their backs on him.
“Way
to go.”
The
sarcasm in Tish’s voice was unmistakable. Whirling, Jesse turned to glare at
her.
“You
think I ruined the concert on purpose?”
“What
are we supposed to think!” she spat, crowding into his space. Didn’t matter
that she was shorter, she had a way of getting right in his face. “The way you
played tonight was abysmal. The fans didn’t deserve that. We
didn’t deserve to have you out there ruining the set like that. You let
everyone down tonight, so instead of making excuses, why don’t you tell us what
the hell you’re on so you can get the treatment you need!”
“I’m
not on anything!”
he roared; then Kyle and Griffin were there, crowding him back against the
wall.
“You
garbled half the words to songs you wrote!” Griffin shot back.
“Not
to mention how many times you were off key and singing in an entirely different
pitch than you were supposed to!” Kyle rebuked, staring into his eyes. “Were
you drunk up there? High? Are you high now?”
“It
was a bad night, okay? Why the hell can’t you all leave it at that?”
“One
night is a bad night,” Tish hissed. “Hell, even two nights out of an eight-month
tour, but this was what, the eleventh, twelfth time you’ve fucked everything up?”
“Fourteen,”
Griffin said. “You’re forgetting the show he had to cut short in Reno and the
one we had to cancel in San Diego when he called and said he couldn’t perform.
Couldn’t even bother to come tell us to our faces, he was so strung out.”
“I.
Don’t. Use,” he
snarled[CE2] , exhausted,
throat hurting as they’d loomed over him like vultures ready to pick him apart.
“Then
tell us what the fuck is going on!” Kyle snapped.
Jesse
shook his head, defeated, as he stared up into the eyes of his oldest friend.
“I-I can’t.”
“You
mean you won’t!” Tish chided. “And you’ll drag all of us down with you as our
band, our dream, fizzles and burns.”
“It’s
not like that. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Could
have fooled me,” she snapped, sidestepping him and walking away, leaving the others
to follow her.
“I
just need time to work a few things out,” he called after them, cringing at the
burn in his throat any time he tried to get loud. None of them even so much as
turned back to look at him.
Pain sliced through his insides like
broken glass, and he cringed and curled inward, rocking in the hopes of easing
the ache. It wasn’t fair—he’d never set out do anything that would hurt the
band or their music, never meant to get up there and fail or worse, not make it
up there at all. But he’d screwed up both his personal and his professional
life in all the worst ways possible…well, all except the ways they’d thought. He
wasn’t stupid.
[CE3] He’d never use any of the hard stuff;
he knew what it could do to bands, and he didn’t drink to get drunk, despite
how free-flowing the whiskey and liquor got. Pot was different; it came from
the earth, and besides, he only smoked it in the states where it was already
legal recreationally. It mellowed him out when his brain was racing a mile a
minute, and sometimes, that hazy silence was the only way he could relax enough
to sleep. They knew him; they knew how deeply he loved the music, how it was
all he had aside from them, and yet…
Did he even have them anymore?
Halfway to Someday
Coming January 27th
Ryker Jorgensen left the VA hospital with a bunch of prescriptions and pamphlets on how to deal with reentering the civilian world, not that he’s in any hurry to do so. His nightmares still keep him up at night, and every new limitation he discovers gives him more reason to believe that he’s hopelessly useless now. Better to drive up to his cousin’s cabin and lick his wounds. Come spring, maybe, he’d look into being around people, if only for long enough to make the kind of money he’d need to buy his own secluded place.
The last thing he ever expected to see was the man whose face had been plastered in his footlocker and his dreams for the better part of the past six years, but Jesse Winters is nothing like he imagined. When trying to leave Ryker out in the storm doesn’t work, Jesse resorts to ignoring him. But two wounded souls trapped in a snowed-in cabin have little choice but to reach out for one another when emotions get frayed. His only hope is that Jesse will trust him enough to let him drag him back from the edge before he’s just another burned-out star in the legacy that is rock n’ roll.
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