****
The guys visited me two weeks in, and I was so goddamn thankful to see them, I broke down into tears when they walked into my room.
“I’m sorry,” I said, over and over again. “I’m so sorry. I fucked everything up. I ruined the tour. I—”
“Stop,” Max said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t fuck anything up. The tour wasn’t ruined. Everyone, and I meaneveryone, is rallying behind you, man. All of us, the fans, the media—everyone.”
“As soon as I’m out of here, we can get back at it. I just need a little more time.”
“We will get back at it wheneveryouare ready,” Josh said. “None of us are in a hurry. We just want you to be okay. That is our only concern.”
Everyone voiced their agreement, and I choked up again, thankful for the love and support of these strangers that had become my family. They didn’t owe me anything. Even after all this time, I was still the “new guy.” The one who would lift right out of they wanted me to.
No, they didn’t owe me anything. But I owed themeverything.
And I made a vow right there in that room—I wouldneverlet them down again.
FORTY
Eric
? Heavy Is the Crown – Linkin Park ?
When I left rehab, I wasn’t ready to be back home in L.A., so I went back to my parents’ place in Texas. I woke up that first morning to the smell of coffee brewing downstairs and immediately felt guilty.
It’s weird how something so simple can feel so foreign. I should’ve been the one making the coffee, the one getting the day started, but there I was—still stuck in the rut of my own making.
One Saturday morning, I woke to the sunlight sneaking in through the edges of the blinds in my room, casting long, lazy shadows on the wooden floor. I rolled over, rubbing my hands over my face, as if I could somehow erase the last few years by scrubbing harder. The scars were all still there, some in places I could see, others buried too deep inside to reach.
I rolled out of bed and went downstairs to join my parents in the kitchen for breakfast. My mom wrapped me in a hug,and I was grateful for her steady presence. Thankful that when I asked if I could spend some time here before going back to L.A. alone, they didn’t hesitate in their answer.
After breakfast, I went to the basement door and walked down the stairs, stopping at the bottom and staring at my kit, still tucked away in the corner where it’d always been. I wanted to play—to get back to the one constant in my life—but I couldn’t. Every time I tried to sit down behind them, my hands froze. My mind would tell me to play—to justhitsomething, to drown out the silence—but my body refused to cooperate, and I didn’t know why or how or when it’d gotten so hard.
I closed my eyes for a moment, leaning my hands against the kit. A deep breath. That’s all I needed. One deep breath and I could do this. I could play again.
I lowered myself into the familiar seat and tried to reach for the sticks, but I couldn’t make myself move, so I stood up and started pacing. My hands were shaking.
It was ridiculous. I’d been playing drums since I was a kid. Hell, my dad used to tell me that it was in my blood. So why couldn’t I bring myself to play now? Why did it feel like I was just going through the motions, pretending to be someone I wasn’t?
I closed my eyes and saw Amy’s face. I missed her. I missed the way she could make me laugh when everything felt like it was crashing down around me. I missed the way she held me when I felt weak. I missed the way her fingers would tap on my chest to the beat of some song only she could hear. I missed the sound of her voice. The sound of us together.
I pushed my palms against my eyes, wiping away whatever tears had started to gather. It’d been two months since I left rehab. Two months since I’d admitted that Icouldn’t do this on my own, and I still couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing someone who wasn’t me. I saw a stranger—someone who’d made too many mistakes, someone who didn’t deserve to be alive.
I thought back to the night of the accident. The bike skidding, the road tearing me open, the world spinning faster than I could process. The sound of metal crunching, glass shattering, then nothing. Just darkness.
I should’ve died that night.
But instead, I woke up in a hospital bed and had to listen to the doctors tell me that I was lucky. Tell me that I’d been millimeters away from a fatal head injury. They acted like I should have been grateful, but they didn’t know what it was like to feel your life hanging by a thread and still come out the other side. To survive but have no idea why you were spared.
I heard the creak of the floorboards at the top of the stairs, and my mom’s soft voice drifted down. “Eric? You alright down there?”
I closed my eyes for a moment, but I knew I couldn’t lie to her. Or to myself. Not anymore.
“No,” I said. “But I will be.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to let it all out. To sit down behind my kit and lose myself.
“Fuck it,” I mumbled, sick of wallowing in my own self-pity. No, my life wasn’t the same as it’d been a few months ago, but that didn’t mean it was over. The silence had been too loud for too long, and I was sick of it.
