“I can come help.”
“No. We need you in good shape to drive the bus.”
As we entered the venue, Mick asked, “What the hell are they fighting about?”
“I have no idea. We just saw them getting in each other’s faces.”
“Dumb shits.” He sighed as we neared the green room where the noise was spilling into the hall. “I think it’s time to retire.”
I was pretty sure I’d heard him say that before.
When we walked in the green room, I expected to see Cy and Zack on the floor in a scuffle, much like I’d witnessed a time or two back in high school—but they were still facing in each in much the same place, but they were now being held back by two guys I recognized as roadies for the other bands, and most of the room was focused on them.
“Knock it off, you two,” Mick said as he shoved his way through the crowd to the two men. “What the hell’s going on?”
But both Zack and Cy ignored him, because they were still yelling at each other. Cy said, “We’re all sick and fucking tired of your ego—like you’re the only one in this band.”
“This band wouldn’t exist without me!”
Mick finally just wedged his broad body between them, daring them to take out their anger on him—and, even though for a minute it looked like they were going to tear through him, they didn’t. Instead, they continued glaring at one another as if Mick wasn’t even there.
But Mick put one hand on Cy’s chest and then the other on Zack’s and said, “If you can’t handle your alcohol, you get cut off. Now you can either get along right now or I’ll do something you both regret.”
Zack said, “What would that be exactly?”
Oh, shit. Zack’s defiance communicated not just to Mick but to all of us that he was full of himself and his stardom.
Mick had probably seen it all throughout his career, because he wasn’t fazed at all. “I could have you carted off to spend a night in jail. How’s that sound? You’ll probably get some press from this, but imagine what they’d do knowing you spent a night in the clinker?”
“It’d do wonders for my reputation.”
“I’m sure it would—but your party would still be over.” Even though Mick had dropped his hands off both men’schests, they remained in place. “You can’t really celebrate in a cell.”
“I can have a good time wherever I am.”
“Then let me make the call.”
Braden said, “Zack, come on, dude. You don’t want to do this.”
“I sure as hell don’t,” Cy said and turned.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mick asked.
“To the bus.” As he left the room, three women followed him out. I realized that most of the party was ignoring all of us again—even the roadies who’d been holding the guys had backed off when Mick had taken over.
Zack, for his part, had calmed down some. “This shit wouldn’t happen if people would just leave me the fuck alone.”
“I don’t want to talk about it with you here, Zack,” Mick said.
“I don’t care. I’m sick of this shit.”
“Okay, then tell me exactly what has you pulling this shit?”
“I just want to party, man. Is that such a bad thing?”
“You know as well as I do that it can be if you overdo it—andyoutend to overdo it.”
“It’s my right. You only live once and I’m gonna enjoy myself.” To emphasize his words, Zack took a drink from one of the women who’d been hovering around him.
