Page 4 of Madness

"It's been incredible," I say, and I mean it. Despite everything, being on stage with these guys is the closest thing to pure joy I've felt in years. "Every show is a rush. The energy from the crowd, the connection with the guys. It's everything I dreamed of."

The conversation continues as she peppers the rest of the band with questions and then shifts to our latest single, with Brad explaining the inspiration behind the lyrics. "It's really about resilience," he says passionately. "About facing your demons and coming out stronger."

I feel my throat tighten at his words. I helped write that song. Hell, I help write all the Chaos Fuel songs with me and Brad sharing lyrical duties. If only he knew how relevant that song is right now. I take a sip of water, trying to stay present.

"Dakota," the interviewer turns back to me yet again, "how do you feel your style has influenced the band's sound over the past year?"

I relax a little at this question. Music, I know. Music, I can talk about. "I like to think I've brought a bit more edge to the low end," I say, trying not to sound too cocky. "The guys have been great about letting me experiment with different techniques and sounds."

Stefan jumps in this time, his lanky frame stretching out to slap me upside the head playfully. "He's being modest. Dakota's basslines have taken our songs to a whole new level."

The praise should make me feel good, but instead, it just adds to the pressure I'm already feeling. I force a smile and nod my thanks at him.

As the interview appears to wind down, the reporter asks about our upcoming album and tour. "We're in full prep mode," Emmett says, twirling a drumstick while flashing a crooked grin. He’s been almost normal the entire interview. I’d expected at least a few oddball jokes to fly out of his mouth. He must realize the importance of this. "Lots of rehearsals, lots of planning. We want to give our fans the best show possible."

"And lots of team bonding," Brad adds with his own grin. "We're like a family now, and that closeness comes through in our performances."

Family. The word hits me like a punch in the fucking throat, reminding me of Chloe, of the family we could have been. I blink hard, forcing the morose thoughts away.

Just keep it together a bit longer. You can do this.

The reporter pauses, her pen hovering over her notepad. Her eyes flick to me, then away, as if steeling herself. Nervous, almost. She shifts in her seat uncomfortably, and my chest tightens with anxiety.

Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. Not today.

"One more thing, Dakota," she begins, her tone softer than before. "My research uncovered that today marks a significant anniversary for you. Would you be willing to talk about your late wife, Chloe?"

Fuck me.

The question hits me like a physical blow. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, and way too fucking. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. I can feel the eyes of my bandmates on me, and Ian, our manager, takes a step forward from the sidelines, ready to jump in if I need him to. They know about Chloe, of course, but we've never really talked about it. Not like this. It’s just not something I do.

I swallow hard, my throat dry again. The water I’ve been downing like it’s going out of style isn’t working. "I... I'm not sure what to say," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. The plastic bottle in my hand crinkles as I grip it tighter. I give Ian a brief glance, unsure if I need him or not.

"It's been three years today, hasn't it?" the reporter presses gently. "How has that loss influenced your music, if at all?"

Flashbacks of that night invade my mind like lightning bolts. Chloe’s moment of weakness. The phone call from the police. The funeral. They’re like movie clips with no sound or real context, but together, they tell the tragic story. And it suddenly feels fresh all over again.

For a split second, I consider deflecting, changing the subject. But something in me fractures. Maybe my brain is still foggy, or maybe it's the weight of the secret I'm carrying, but suddenly, I want to talk about her. I wave to Ian that it’s okay.

"Chloe was..." I start, then stop, searching for the right thing to say. "She was everything. My anchor, my muse. Losing her... it broke something in me. But it also drove me. Every note I play, every song I write, it's all for her. It's how I keep her memory alive."

I can feel the tension in the room, thick and heavy. The silence is almost deafening. This isn't what they expected, this raw honesty. But now that I've started, I can't seem to stop.

"The thing is," I continue, avoiding everyone’s gaze, but my voice gains strength, "grief isn't something you just fucking get over. It's something you learn to carry. And some days, like today, it's heavier than others. But music... music helps lighten the load."

After another weighted silence, the reporter nods, her eyes sympathetic. "Thank you for sharing that. I'm sure your words will resonate with many of our readers who have experienced loss."

As she moves deftly on to the next question, I catch Brad's eye. He gives me a slight nod, a silent show of support. I appreciate it, but I’ve never talked about Chloe publicly like this before, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. It’s like the wound I haphazardly opened last night in private is somehow festering now that it’s exposed to open air. It almost feels like a mistake to have said anything. Maybe I should have kept it to myself like I always do.

When the interview finally wraps up, the reporter stands to leave, thanking us for our time, and I let out a deep breath. We made it through. I made it through. But as I watch the crew pack up their equipment, I can't shake the feeling that they all saw more than I wanted them to. The equipment's being packed away, but I feel like I'm the one being dismantled. Beneath the surface of the lucky bassist who got his big break, they saw a man barely holding his shit together.

How long before everyone else sees it, too?

4

BLACKBIRD

DAKOTA

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