“She’s pretty, sure, but she’s also got this thing about her that just makes me want to get to know her. Like when you meet someone and you understand they’re special, but there’s no way to put that feeling into words,” Tanner said.
Mach nodded. “Yeah.”
“And I couldn’t talk to her.” Tanner tossed the cap to the trash can in the corner. It hit square in the middle.
“You finally met a woman you want to talk to, and your tongue did the seizing thing?” Mach asked, not like a dick. Like a brother confirming some shitty news.
“There have been loads of women I’d like to talk to,” Tanner said.
“But not like this one, right?” Mach asked, gentler than he was generally known for.
Tanner nodded.Not like this. Not like a magnet pulling them together.
He took a pull of his Coors.
“Fuck,” Mach said, doing the same.
“Maybe I should talk to Becca,” Tanner said, the pressing defeat of his inability to deal with this himself weighing heavy.
Becca, Linx’s wife, was also a counselor. The non-judgmental kind who genuinely seemed to care.
“Not a bad plan.” Mach smacked his lips. “But you don’t want to do that.”
Tanner nodded again.
“One thing I don’t get,” Mach mused. “You get laid on the regular.”
They both did.
“You’ve hooked up with women on the road,” Mach said.
All the guys—except Mach—had paired up and found love. Tanner sort of figured that wasn’t for him given his history. So, yeah, he’d hooked up. The whole Dimefront gig rarely required talking. Groupies wanted a notch on their lipstick tube. He hadn’t had a problem handing it over.
“How the fuck do you communicate with them?” Mach asked. “The ones you… you know.”
“I don’t use words,” Tanner said. “Not really. I let them talk.”
Things went quicker that way and everyone got what they wanted.
“I could see that.” Mach smirked. “Does your dick take over or something so your brain doesn’t have to think? Is that what it is? That’s probably what Becca would say it is.”
No, that’s not what Becca would say. Becca would say that Tanner wanted more for himself and got nervous because he didn’t feel like he was good enough for more. He knew this because she’d had this conversation with him.
Mach wasn’t interested in more. Not into anything permanent, so the whole falling-for-someone bit was not for him. He’d never been a “run away from the shit of life” person or “seize up when shit got hard” person. Not like Tanner.
Their stories were similar. Ditched by the parents and heaved into the foster circuit. Tanner’s parents got into illegal shit. They’d taken off. Then they went to jail.
Tanner and Mach found each other and became brothers quickly. A different kind of family.
So, yeah, Mach didn’t run. Not like Tanner. No, Mach just made sure everyone knew he didn’t fucking care.
Tanner knew better. Tanner understood Mach felt shit deeper than the rest of them—pretending not to care was easier than admitting life could suck so badly.
“I pretend I’m not me.” Tanner shrugged. “That’s how I do it.” Why’d this feel like a confession?
Fuck it. Mach already knew the crap of Tanner’s life. This wasn’t anything new.
“It's like role play. I’m a drummer. They don’t want Tanner. They want the Dimefront drummer.” He pursed his lips. Acknowledging that sat funky in his stomach. “That’s what I give ’em.”
