Page 38 of Rock Bottom

“Tappy’s?”

“Yeah, it’s an old biker bar just outside of McArthur. Not your scene, but they play there pretty regularly.”

I frowned and looked away. Tappy’s was exactly the type of place where I’d gotten my start. Just hearing about it brought back memories of playing in smokey, crowded rooms that smelled like stale beer and worn leather. A secondhand guitar on my lap and the refurbished amp I’d borrowed from my uncle, just jamming for a crowd of twenty. End of the night, I’d walk away with two hundred bucks and think I was the king of the world. Dive bars were a second home to me, and there was a part of me that missed that.

“He’d die of jealousy if he knew I was here playing with you instead of him,” Oscar continued, talking about his friend. His eyes widened, and he shifted to the edge of his seat again. “Hey, we should go see him play!”

I set my guitar aside, shaking my head. “Can’t.”

“I forgot about the fun police downstairs.” He rolled his eyes. “But if he’s sick, he probably won’t even notice, right?”

“It’s not serious, thank God. He’ll be better by tomorrow.” I hope.

“Oh.” Oscar’s excitement disappeared, and he looked away.

“Church means well. You can’t really blame him. He’s just doing his job.”

“Is it his job to crush your creativity? I hear you up here every day playing the same few bars, pacing, and cussing. You’re trying to work on something new, right? And you’re stuck?”

I sighed and nodded. “Creative block.”

He shrugged again. “Maybe hearing someone else play will inspire you.”

“That’s just it. I want to, but I can’t, Oscar.” I paced to the other side of the room. “And not just because of Church. I’m supposed to be out of the public eye for thirty days and someone there would recognize me for sure.”

“Not if you put on a ball cap and some sunglasses,” he said. “Then you’ll look like everybody else. Nobody’ll be looking for you. Trust me.”

I shook my head again. “Even if that were true, I can’t just walk out. Church would flip.”

“So sneak out.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You could go out the window. There’s a little gravel service road about fifty yards in that direction that goes out to the pond. I could pick you up. All you have to do is tell him you’re going to bed early and don’t want to be bothered. It worked all the time with my dad when I was seventeen and had to sneak out, and trust me, he was every bit as paranoid as your guard dog.”

I chewed on my lip. This was a bad idea, and not just because Church would be pissed. If I got caught, he’d tell Sam, who’d tell the label execs and they might give up on me. I could get kicked out of After Atom. Never mind the fact that his friend was playing in a bar and I was a recovering alcoholic. I’d only been sober for twelve days. Everyone would tell me it was too soon for me to face temptation.

But they didn’t know me. I could sit in a bar and not drink. I knew I could. As for the other part of the equation, that was only a problem if I got caught. Even if Church did find out, I was pretty sure I could smooth things over with him and keep him from ratting me out if I was careful.

“At least think it over.” He strummed the strings and then started playing another song.

I arched an eyebrow. “‘Wonderwall?’ Really”

He chuckled. “It’s the only other song I know how to play all the way through.”

I sighed and came back over, gesturing for him to hand me the other guitar. “Nah, I’d rather drown in a well than hear that or 'Stairway to Heaven' ever again.”

I sat down next to him and started to play a random riff that quickly turned into the song I’d been working on for weeks because I couldn’t get the damn thing out of my head. It was like the tune was haunting me, but I couldn’t quite get the lyrics right.

Maybe it was because I was sober. Everything was easier when I was high or drinking because it made it more difficult to overthink it. Without drugs or alcohol to lean on, it was just me and my own mind, and the pressure from the outside to get this one right. I wasn’t After Atom’s primary songwriter, but we were all supposed to be working on something to bring to the next album. Remi, Gabe, and Jake all had their songs finalized, and I hadn’t even written mine.

Oscar scooted closer, and I was suddenly acutely aware of where his knee was touching mine. I wanted to move away, but I didn’t want him to get upset and think I didn’t like him. I just wasn’t interested in being more than acquaintances.

Maybe he doesn’t realize.

That thought went out the window when he put his head on my shoulder. He definitely didn’t do that by accident.

I stopped playing and looked over at him. “Are you okay?”

He looked up at me and nodded. I stared at him, hoping he’d get the hint and back off, but he must’ve misinterpreted my intent because the next thing I knew, he had his hand behind my head and had locked lips with me.

I shoved him back. “Dude, what the fuck?”

---