I almost spat out a nasty retort—but then I realized I was talking to Drunk Rock Star Zack—and I doubted anything I said at this point would even sink in.
But that didn’t make the words any less hurtful.
“I think you need to leave now.”
“What? The truth hurts, Dani?”
“No—but you’re being an asshole and—”
“Asshole?”
“—you’ve already had too much to drink.”
“Asshole?”
“Yes. And if you still want to say this shit to me when you’re sober, I’ll be happy to listen and have a conversation.”
Without warning, Zack turned. For a split second, he acted like he was going to grab me by the shoulders but he instead clenched his fists. What the fuck? Was he going to hit me?
Just because I’d reacted?
Adrenaline jolted my bloodstream and I felt that ancient emotion coursing through every nerve as I prepared to run from or fight my predator.
Before I could even react, Zack turned again, punching the mirror on the wall above the counter. Not once, not twice, but three times until it shattered underneath his fist. “Zack? What the fuck?”
If I’d thought I was scared before, it wasn’t until he grabbed my wrist that I felt fear down to my bones. “Do you really think I’m an asshole, Dani?”
I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest, but I drew in a sharp breath through my nostrils, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. Regardless of the panic I was feeling, I didn’t want to lie to Zack, not now when he needed the truth more than ever. “Not usually—but when you’re drinking, you have atendency to be selfish, cruel, and unthinking…so, yeah, kind of an asshole.”
He started laughing, but there was no mirth in the tone—and his grip on my wrist tightened.
“Zack, that hurts. Please let me go.”
For a brief moment, I saw recognition in his green eyes…and then he released his grip. But instead of asking him to leave my room again,Idid, even though I didn’t know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. After our conversation, I didn’t feel right running to Braden.
Instead, this was something I needed to take to Mick, the man who became more like our father every day.
I found him near the back door, chatting with the road crew. It appeared that all of our equipment and instruments had been loaded up and they were getting ready to leave, heading toward Cleveland where our next show would be. When I paused in the doorway, I wondered if maybe I was overreacting and considered going back to my room.
Mick said, “What’s up, kid?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he said, putting a hand on my back and guiding me inside the venue. “What’s going on?”
I dropped my shoulders and gave him an abridged version of what had just transpired between me and Zack.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But was I? What had been the whole point of that encounter?
“I’ll talk to him,” Mick said, heading toward the dressing rooms before I could say another word.
But, after spending a few more minutes processing it, I decided maybe I should talk to Braden…because I was afraid we were losing our best friend for good. Would we be able to prevent it?
It wasn’tuntil the next evening in a hotel as we lay in bed ready to sleep that I told Braden about Zack coming to my dressing room the night before. But I felt bad almost immediately because he wanted to confront Zack—and, even though Braden was a peace-loving guy, he was giving off the vibes of wanting to throw a few punches.
I didn’t want that.
