Linx
“You’re bored,” Brek announced.
Yes, yes, he was. Linx was bored with his life because his bandmates were being tools and not thinking of anything but themselves. Which left him…aimless.
“You wanna hang out with the family and me tomorrow?” Brek asked unnecessarily. They both knew the answer.
Linx nodded. “Sure.”
His foot tapped against the lip of the footrest on his barstool to a custom beat the band on stage played. He’d never heard the song before, and he was pretty versed in all the latest rock ballads. His money said it was an original.
A damn good original. These guys could play. He was slightly jealous of their time in the spotlight.
Fine, there was no slightly about it. He was jealous.
Linx wasn’t a guy who wanted to remodel a house or adopt pets to fill a void. He was a guy who needed to entertain. It was in his blood—clear back to his great-granddaddy who played the banjo Saturday nights at the community dance hall where he grew up.
“Any progress on finding a hobby?” Brek asked, but he didn’t sound hopeful.
Which made sense because he shouldn’t have been hopeful about the whole find-Linx-a-hobby thing.
They’d been dancing this dance for a few weeks now, and all it’d gotten Linx was a big fucking hole in the wall of his new house. Turned out, he didn’t know shit about remodeling.
Linx shook his head. “That’s why I’m here tonight. Got bored hanging with my cat.”
Wasn’t that just the sad sack of shit making up his present days?
“We’ll get you sorted.” Brek wiped down the countertop like he really was a barkeep and not one of the most in-demand band managers in the industry.
“Nothing to sort. I’m just killing time until I can make music again.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Brek clearly didn’t buy what Linx was selling. He might not be their manager anymore, but he still stepped in when things went off the rails, like…now.
These days, he took a consultant role for their new management team. Their current band manager, Hans, sent Linx to Denver to hang with Brek while he got Knox and Bax back in the game. Thus, Brek’s current consulting gig was being Linx’s emotional support bartender.
Settling down and opening a bar instead of traveling the world with the band seemed to suit Brek.
“Maybe I should open a bar,” Linx said, offhand. “It worked for you. You’re happy. Content. All that bullshit.”
“You have any desire to run a bar?” Brek quirked an eyebrow.
“No.” Not in the least.
“Maybe think of something else.” As part of his current consulting gig, Brek was tasked with driving Linx bananas.
Linx was his “project.” This was a form of special torture because Brek was persistent, and he now had standards.
It wasn’t like Linx was a blowhard. He just felt that he shouldn’t be punished because the other guys in the band were a hot mess.
He wasn’t the band member threatening to leave for the bajillionth time because of whatever bug crawled up his ass. No, that would be Knox. But Knox wouldn’t leave. He didn’t have the balls to do it. He’d just make everyone miserable while he figured that out.
Linx also wasn’t the band member asking for an extended sabbatical so he could plan his honeymoon. No, that was Bax. And as soon as the honeymoon was over, Bax would wonder what he needed to do to make some cash. Then he’d realize that meant making a record.
The latest time Knox started bitching about everything, a-fucking-gain, their newest drummer packed up his set and went to play for some no name band. And that drummer had been exceptional. He also wasn’t a dick, which meant that he and Linx got along great. Fuckin’ Knox.
So yeah, that sucked. Linx hadn’t met the new guy the label assigned yet. No use until they were ready to jam again. Besides, he’d probably just ditch them, too, once shit went sour.
All of this combined into one massive shit pile, culminating in Linx’s current boredom.
