What?Zack was totally off script.
“Now you all might not know, but there’s this reviewer atFerocitymagazine. His name’s Eugene Young, and—”
All of a sudden, I couldn’t hear Zack’s voice anymore—and I didn’t know it at the time, but neither could the audience ormy bandmates. Mick’s voice boomed in my in-ear monitor: “Start playing ‘The Grind’ now!” It was the next song on our setlist and Cy started playing with Braden and me joining in shortly after. I had no idea if Mick was speaking to Zack through his monitor, but a few seconds later, Zack stopped talking into his dead mic. When we got to the part where he was supposed to start singing, he hadn’t caught up yet—so Cy started singing the first line, looking at Zack as if willing him to figure it out.
Zack, despite being blitzed off his ass, found his place in the song and started playing his guitar. Shortly after, he started singing too—and, finally, after experiencing some confusion, the audience joined in as well, glad we were back on track.
I couldn’t speak for Cy and Braden, but I was tense as hell for the remainder of the show, wondering what shit Zack would pull next—but I was glad Mick had our backs. What the hell had Zack been trying to pull? Had he been planning to ask the audience to harass the critic atFerocity? As much as I’d hated the review, the guy was entitled to his opinion. And, like we’d tried to tell Zack, the only opinions that really mattered were those of our audience—and they were eating it up, even with Zack fucking songs up.
At the end of our set, we’d barely made it backstage before Cy was in Zack’s face. “What the fuck was that all about?” He grabbed Zack’s collar, pulling his face close.
Braden, of course, was right there, trying to shove them apart with his hands. But Zack wasn’t doing the whole testosterone thing. He was still far too wasted. As if nothing had happened, he simply said, “What?”
“These people pay their hard-earned money expecting us to give them a good show, not an embarrassing display of inebriation. What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Cybacked off a bit, but he was still bristling with fury. “You were sober for barely a year and now you’re back at it. I can’t do this shit again.” With that, he stormed off.
Mick joined us and ushered us out of the way so our road crew could get our shit off the stage. “Zack…we’re disappointed in you.”
“Maybe, but at least I feel better.”
“Do you? Do you really?”
Braden whispered in my ear. “I’m gonna talk to Cy.”
Keeping my voice low, I said, “Thanks. Please don’t let him quit.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
I gave Braden a quick kiss and then turned to Zack and Mick. Although our tour manager’s voice was low, there was no mistaking his frustration. “What’s it gonna take? You can’t run to the bottle every time something goes wrong. If you don’t figure out how to deal with it, you’re gonna die before you’re thirty—before you’ve had a chance to prove those fuckers wrong. Don’t you want to do that?”
Zack looked at me when he said, “I don’t know what I want.”
“Well…here’s whatIwant. We’re going to your dressing room, and if you have any alcohol stashed, you’re gonna give it to me. And then you’re gonna get your ass on the bus and wait till we roll.”
“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my dad.”
Mickalmostyelled at Zack—but then he stopped and we stood silent for a moment, save for the sound of the crowd in the auditorium bleeding backstage while our crew hauled all our equipment and instruments off stage. Putting a hand on Zack’s shoulder, Mick said in a tone I could barely hear, “I wish I was. Then maybe you would stop killing yourself like this.”
At that, Zack shook his head—and his eyes filled with tears. But then he blinked, shaking his head again. “Just let me do what I gotta do and stop worrying about it so goddamned much.”
Mick let out a long sigh. “You know…you’re right. I can’t tell you what to do and I can’t make you stop buying alcohol or drinking it. But I don’t have to stand around and watch you kill yourself.”
And he walked away. Oh, Jesus. Did that mean Mick would be leaving?
Would this be the end of our band?
I understood why everyone was at the end of their ropes—but didn’t they realize that Zack was suffering far more than they were? Why would they abandon him in his hour of need?
Drunk or not, Zack felt the same way. “Are you leaving too?”
“No. But Mick’s right. We need to get you on the bus.”
Zack draped an arm around me as we walked to his dressing room. “I love you, Dani.”
If only that were true. “I love you too, Zack.”
“You’re my best friend.”
That was just drunk talk…and I wasn’t about to fall for it.
