Playing for a stadium full of people? Uh-huh, Bax loved it. But time in the studio only left him weary as overwhelming, soul-sucking fatigue took over.
“Linx is ready to make a move to get on with his career.” Hans scratched his temple. “With or without the rest of Dimefront.”
Wait.
Bax stilled, the weight of the words “without Dimefront” settling over him. This was what he thought he’d wanted, so why did he feel like puking all over the beach? “Seriously?”
The three of them came together as teenagers with a dream of hitting the big time.
They’d hit the big time.
They’d gone through multiple drummers—no one had enough glue to stick around long—but the core of the band remained together.
“Linx wants to go solo?” Knox asked solemnly, apparently now taking this conversation to heart.
“Linx met some new guys in Denver. Musicians ready to get started.” Hans said this slowly, like he was trying to prepare them for a blow.
“Fuck,” Knox said.
Yeah. That.Bax’s world started to spin quicker, ready to throw him off the ride.
“If he decides he’s going to go that route,” Hans continued, “I’ll be going with him.”
Hold up.
“The hell?” Knox asked.
Yeah. Again, that.
“You two can’t make a call like that without talking it through with all of us,” Bax said.
They were giving him his out, the one he’d craved only weeks ago. Hell, hours ago. So why did it feel so wrong? Why did he want to fight it?
And why did it feel like he’d just been punched in the gut, worse than finding Em with the neighbor guy?
“I haven’t talked about this with anyone yet,” Hans said. “You’re my first stop, and you’ve got to decide now what angle you’re gonna play this. Retirement is on the table, since you’ve both mentioned that frequently. We’ll support that if you choose.”
“I say shit all the time. Once I told my mom I liked her broccoli salad,” Knox said. “I definitely don’t want it shoved down my gullet.”
“Did you just compare your career to broccoli salad?” Hans asked.
Bax’s entire life seemed to flash before him—from the garage band beginnings, to the Grammys, to his decision to marry Em.
Of all of that? The only thing he had to be proud of was this band—a band he hadn’t even fucking honored.
Instead, he tapped out whenever shit got hard, or he got tired.
“I’m not ready to retire,” Bax said, suddenly certain that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—give up the crowds and the stadiums.
“Why isn’t Linx here?” Knox asked.
“Because Linx already made his choice, even if he hasn’t fully realized that yet. If you two are going to be in, we’ve got to convince him that he made the wrong one,” Hans said, full of sage wisdom like they’d gotten used to from him. He was better at this than Knox, that was certain. “No more threats. No more complaining.”
“Let’s not get loopy here.” Knox held up his hands. “No more threats to retire, sure, I get that. But the other?”
“Linx is seriously leaving?” Bax asked, ignoring the sarcasm in Knox’s words.
Hans nodded, shrugging off his suit coat, because only Hans would wear a suit coat to the beach. “You know Linx, know what makes him tick. It’s the vibe. It’s the song. It’s the tune.”
