“You can’t quit the band.We started this together.You and me, West.Tilted Haze doesn’t exist without you.”
“Remi, we can’t keep doing this,” he said.“None of us have any money or futures.You and Ollie are working minimum-wage retail jobs.Liam is breaking his back in that warehouse.I don’t want to give up either, but the stress is eating me alive.I’m going crazy, man.”
Remi’s eyes widened.“Like your mental health is suffering?”
West shrugged but sort of nodded.“Yeah, I guess you could say that.The uncertainty and living paycheck-to-paycheck thing isn’t working for me.Especially not when I have a real, viable option being offered to me.”
“You want to be a corporate drone?”
West’s shoulders dropped.“I want to be able to afford to put a new roof on the house and go to the fucking doctor without going into debt.”
Remi inched forward.“West, please, don’t give up on us.Not yet.We just need one person to hear us.One chance.”
One more chance.
West’s eyebrows pulled together.He worried his lip.
“Please, West.We need to do this tour.I’ll make this work, okay?”Remi said.“If Tilted Haze isn’t making enough money to pay for the roof by next year, then…” He sucked in a breath and blew it out slow, hating that he had to say this at all.“Then we’ll all get real jobs.We’ll think of a different way to do this.But don’t shoot us in the leg before we can even start running.”
West sighed heavily.“You know I can never say no to you.”
Remi beamed at him.He grabbed his shoulder and shook it.“I know.That’s how I got you to start a band with me in the first place.”
West rolled his eyes but smiled.
“I’m going to call some venues,” Remi said, standing and taking his phone out of his pocket.“I’ll get the tour back on track.”
West nodded and went to his desk.
Remi was about to go upstairs when he turned back.“Hey, West?”
“Hmm?”
“You know, if you ever need to talk to someone about anything, I’m here for you.I’m not like a doctor or therapist, but I’ll always listen, man.Anything.Literally anything.”He widened his eyes to convey, without saying specifics, how much thatanythingcovered.
West had his secrets.Fuck, they all did, but Remi would always love him no matter what.West was his best friend.Had been since the first grade.
West tilted his head, a confused furrow in his brows.“Uh, thanks.But I’m good.”
Remi tapped the staircase railing.“Okay.Good.”He jogged up the stairs to his room.
He didn’t want to admit to himself that the image of West in a psych ward had been haunting him.
Remi’s chest ached with uncertainty.Was West even more stressed than he was letting on?How could Remi not have noticed?
West was the only person Remi could turn to when his home life went to shit.Growing up, he probably spent more nights at West’s house than he did at his own.
Remi would do anything to protect him.In high school, when they received more than their fair share of snide remarks about how they walked, talked, or dressed, it usually turned into physical altercations, leaving Remi with bruises and torn-up knuckles.West told him he wasn’t proving anything by letting the football team rile him up and then wail on him.
But, well, Remi could never leave well enough alone.
Remi flung himself onto his futon and started searching for venues on his phone.He tried not to think about West talking to an empty room, his eyes bloodshot, his voice trembling.
Who was he to tell West to not take a well-paying job?What if West did take the job and could get the mental help he needed before he ended up in a psych ward?
Remi shook his head.No, that was whatshewanted him to think.
His eyes strayed to his trash can, where a black business card laid at the bottom.
