I rolled my eyes and looked away. I’d learned a long time ago that arguing with Theo never went anywhere. He never listened.
He’d circle, reframe, twist things until you were the one explaining yourself. And I was too tired for that. Too tired to dig up everything I’d buried.
Like the way he’d insisted on approving every set list. Every outfit. Every interview answer. Like the time he’d rewritten myharmonies without telling me and then acted surprised when I was upset.
Like the groupies, always brushed off as harmless, as if his hands on someone else’s waist were just part of the job. As if I was being unreasonable for caring.
Engaging with him was exactly what he wanted. So I didn’t. Silence always irritated him more.
I turned toward the guitar wall and picked up the one he’d touched earlier.
My fingers lingered over the neck, gripping it a little too tightly. Then I grabbed a cloth from the counter and started polishing it, slow and thorough, like I was correcting some small offense.
I stole a glance at Theo, who was still standing there, smug and too relaxed, and then looked back at the guitar.Just get out, I thought.Please.
“I was thinking of getting the old band back together,” Theo said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. Remember that? How we almost made it.”
“We were opening for B-rate touring bands,” I said flatly. “That’s not exactly ‘making it.’”
I wasn’t trying to belittle what we’d done. Opening slots were still something. They meant someone believed in you enough to give you a stage.
But Theo had always talked about it like we were on the brink of superstardom.
“Hey, it’s a process,” he shot back. “And we were getting there. Then you quit. And the band fell apart.”
I set the guitar I’d been wiping down back onto its wall hook carefully.
My hands were shaking just enough that I didn’t trust myself not to either snap the neck or swing it over his head.
“Do I need to remind you,” I said slowly, “exactly why I didn’t show up that night?”
Theo paused. Then he smiled. The kind that had always made my skin crawl.
“I’m a changed man,” he said lightly. “I swear. No more groupies. You can ask anyone from the old band. Even my new one.”
I turned back to him and scoffed.Yeah, I thought.Probably because no one’s lining up anymore.
“Think about it,” Theo pressed. “I know you miss it. The good old days. Driving across the country. Us, touring together.”
Before I could step away, his hand slid to the back of my neck, thumb rubbing the side in a slow, familiar motion. My stomach lurched.
I swatted his hand away. “I’m not that person anymore.”
Theo lifted his hands in mock surrender as he backed toward the door. “Think about it, babe. And check your messages, yeah? Don’t go ghosting me like last time.”
The bell chimed as he left.
The moment the door shut, I hurled the rag in my hand onto the floor. I dragged a hand through my hair and stared at nothing.
Theo wasn’t wrong. We had been doing well. The gigs were getting bigger. The drives longer. For the first time, it had felt like the dream was solid enough to grab onto, like I might actually get there.
Like I could invite my dad to see me play on a real stage, under real lights, and finally show him that I’d done it. But bands didn’t break up over one night.
They broke apart slowly. Over egos. Control. Resentment. Over someone deciding their wants mattered more than everyone else’s.
Theo blaming me had always been easier than admitting the truth. And the cheating, constant and careless, pushed everything over the edge.
I was breathing through it when the bell chimed again.
