“No…just an observation.”
Near him, I leaned on the counter as well—almost like two friends sitting on the edge of a dock, looking over the water and talking without pressure, just watching the summer drift by.
Almost.
“So what is it I can do for you?”
At that, Zack’s eyes shifted to the floor and, for a second, he seemed to lose his balance, so I instinctively reached out—not that I could have actually done anything to stop him fromfalling. But he took my hand in his and met my eyes. “I broke up with Gabi.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. ‘Cause I’m an asshole, I think.”
“What?”
“I cut her off at the pass—broke it off before I had to listen to her nagging too.”
Oh, Zack. He’d become an expert at burning bridges. “That’s not really fair to her.”
“Life’s not fair—at least, that’s what they always fucking tell me. And better to cut her off now before she gets too serious about me.”
I felt sad for the poor girl, because I thought it was already too late for that. The times we’d seen her while making the album, she’d seemed head over heels—and Sober Zack was quite a catch.
But maybe he was right. If he couldn’t get sober andstaysober, he’d do nothing but break her heart.
“So did you want me to tell you that you did the right thing? Is that why you’re here?”
“Jesus…I don’t know why. I just thought I could talk to you. I thought I should.”
“Is that what you need?” I asked, trying to keep my voice soft. “We want to help you.”
“I don’t know about thewepart. I thinkyoudo.”
“I do,” I assured him.
And then his mood seemed to shift, as if I’d pushed some button. “You guys can help by just letting me live my life the way I see fit. I gotta do what I gotta do, and I swear I’ll keep my shit together onstage so I don’t fuck up another performance. But you gotta understand…it helps me. I’m stronger when I drink—more confident, more in control. I need it to function properly.”
Shit. He was in fucking denial—and maybe before coming here he’d thought I would be the one in the band most easily swayed. Had he hoped I would be an accomplice, convincing Cy and Braden that drinking was a good thing for our frontman?
“I know youthinkthat.”
“I fuckingknowthat, Dani. I just…hoped you’d understand.”
“I understand that you’re suffering, Zack. I know things are tough right now…and I—we—want to help you get through it.”
“That’s so much fucking bullshit. You don’t want to help me through it. You just want me to stop so you don’t have to think about it.”
I was silent—because he wasn’t wrong. If he wasn’t drinking, we wouldn’t have to worry about what was going to happen next. Zack seemed to forget we had evidence to back up every fear we had.
But then he shifted gears again. “You guys just want the glory of being in this band I poured my heart and soul into.”
Were my ears betraying me? “What?”
“You especially. You think drumming is such a valuable contribution to the way we sound? I could train a fucking monkey to do what you do. I did. Hell, they even make machines that can do it.”
His words were sharper than a knife plunging into my heart. How dare he? I wouldn’t have even been here if not for him. At his insistence just years earlier, I’d learned to play the drums and play them well, going far beyond his basic instruction. On this particular album, I’d been allowed to play freely, and I’d added my own touches to the rhythm, helping each song reach its natural climax, throwing in surprises for the listeners to enjoy along the way.
Could a monkey or a machine really do all that?
