“Babe, you there?”
“What?” I ask, snapping from my thoughts.
“Let me take you to dinner this week.”
“Maybe,” I say just to placate him.
“Okay. I love you.”
I pull the phone away so I can laugh. “Bye, Chad.” I hang up, toss the phone aside, and get lost in my show.
6
PENN
“I’m comin’!”I yell at whoever is banging on my door. I drag myself out of bed and shuffle to the living room. Through the peephole, I see Travis on the other side, holding his middle finger up. I yank open the door. “What?”
“Morning, sunshine.” He strolls in, going right to the fridge and grabbing a soda before sitting at one of the barstools. Popping the top, he spins around to me. “Why the long face?”
I throw myself on my couch. “Why are you here so early?”
“Dude, it’s after two.”
I take my phone out of my pocket and check to see if he’s right. “Late night. I’m beat.” I lean back and shut my heavy eyes.
“Did you work?”
I nod. Aside from being in the band, I work at my uncle Ray’s mechanic shop. He does everything from bodywork to paint and parts. I don’t love it, but I’m good at it, and he needs the help. Having no kids of his own and pushing sixty, it’s getting harder for him to do certain things. He works around the band’s schedule, and the money pays the bills.
Even though we’ve been gaining momentum lately and playing more gigs, we’re far from bringing in enough cash to retire on. We all have some sort of side gig—aside from Travis, whose parents still send him money for pretty much everything. Probably because they feel guilty for taking off on him like they did, retiring to Florida nearly the second he graduated from high school.
“Got anything for me?” he asks.
I keep my eyes closed so I don’t have to see the disappointment on his face. “Nah, man. Not yet. Working on something, but it’s not finished.”
“We have that gig in a few days. Will it be ready then?”
I sigh. “Doubtful.”
We all play our respective parts in the band, each one as important as the next, but being the one to write the songs is a burden only I carry. I’ve been in a rut lately, and I can’t shake it. It’s affecting my sleep, my writing, basically everything, except my playing.
I stand up, stretching my limbs. “I’m gonna shower. If you’re hanging out, make yourself useful and order a pizza.”
“On it,” he calls to my back as I move down the hallway to my en suite bathroom. My apartment is far from fancy, but it does the job. It’s in a good neighborhood and close to all the bars we’ve been playing at. I even have a spare room for my mom or my sister if she ever comes back, though lately that seems unlikely. I probably wouldn’t be able to afford this place if my dad were still here. A thought that still stings anytime it crosses my mind.
I step into the shower and turn the cold water on, letting the iciness wash over my skin, trying to shock my system awake. I make quick work of washing off and getting dressed. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten yet.
I head back to the living room, where Travis is watching ananimal documentary. I chuckle to myself. My friend has so many layers. Even I haven’t peeled them all back, and I’ve known him most of my life. Travis’s family moved a few houses down from mine when we were ten. He was an only child with older parents and wanted someone to hang out with. He saw me outside shooting a basketball one day and asked if he could play. After that, he never left.
At sixteen, we started a band. It was mostly us fucking around until we graduated. Then we got serious, looking for our missing pieces. We searched high and low around our town and surfed the internet for a bassist and drummer with no luck.
We met Tanner at a local music festival and bonded over our love of all things punk rock. Travis wasn’t keen on him because he was more…anal than us, but after hearing him play, he couldn’t deny that he fit. He’s a badass bassist and exactly who we needed to keep us in line.
Shortly after, Tanner introduced us to Liam. He’s been playing drums since he was old enough to hold sticks, and it shows. We all moved into Travis’s house, and Loose Threads was complete.
“Pizza will be here in ten,” Travis tells me when he hears my stomach rumble beside him.
I prop my feet up on the coffee table and lie back, closing my eyes again. The cold shower didn’t do its usual trick. I’m still exhausted. Between writing, band practice, working at the shop, and trying to keep tabs on my sister, I have been running myself ragged. I’ve always struggled with insomnia, but after my dad and then Pacey, it’s gotten worse. I barely manage to get three hours of sleep most nights. I toss and turn, unable to shut off my fucking rampant thoughts.
