Page 15 of Fractured Frets

“It sucks, doesn’t it?”

He curled his hands around his glass and bobbed his head. “Yep. It certainly does.” Sadness and understanding shimmered in his silver eyes. “You want to talk? About Phil?”

The backs of my eyes stung as I nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“What was cool about him?”

I dropped my head back and sucked in a deep breath. “Everything. His energy. Zest for life. Phil owned any room he was in. He was loud. Funny. Arrogant. Immature. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. He just lived life to the max.” Yep. That was Phil. “One time, we were playing in this club in San Diego, he stripped down to nothing because some chick yelled out, ‘Show us your dick, Phil.’ So he did. Mind you, we were never asked to play at that venue again.”

Lewis chuckled. “I’ve done some crazy shit on stage, but flashing my junk is a no.”

“Same.” So many memories. A life cut too short. “He was just fun. We lived to party and play music.”

“I’m down for any of those things at any time if you ever need to let off some steam.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.” I sank back into my chair, staring at my vodka.

“I’m sorry he’s gone.” Lewis’s tone softened.

“Me too.” I took a mouthful of vodka, sloshed it around my mouth, then swallowed it down. The back of my throat burned. Warmth spread through my chest and meandered along my veins, calming my racing mind, my aching soul, and my sore hip. “I’m fucking grateful to be here though. We’re still playing. We’ve recorded a new album. Finding you has been incredible.” But a sharp jab twisted low in my guts. In the two months since he’d joined us, Lewis had blown our minds. His talent was off the charts. His energy, captivating. His creativity, exceptional...and we clicked. I could sit for hours talking to him about anything and everything. We jammed and worked back late in the studio. It was like our souls had known each other for several lifetimes.

I loved and hated the mix of emotions that pummeled through me. I’d been best friends with Phil for fifteen years. Lewis had walked into our lives and become my buddy within a handful of weeks.

How could I connect with someone so quickly?

I could say the same thing about Maddy. She’d captivated me from the moment I’d met her eight months ago. I’d tried to ignore my attraction to her and vice versa. But so much for only spending one night together and not wanting anything serious. I still wasn’t sure where we were heading. We’d hooked up four times since we first slept together last September. We texted all the time. Called each other. Saw each other when we could...in secret. I hadn’t seen her for six weeks while we’d been here in New York, but I was counting down the days until I went home. It had been too long between drinks! I didn’t want anyone else to quench my thirst. What was with that?

Ergh!

How could I let go of Phil and let these two people into my life so easily? They were so different. I didn’t know how to find peace and comfort with the change. The change in me. The desire for new things and new directions.

“I’m stoked to be here.” Lewis ruffled his hand through his blond shoulder-length hair, pulling it back off his face. “It’s mind-blowing.”

“You fit from the moment you auditioned.” That was the truth. “But this album is a big deal for us too. Signing with Everhide’s label and having a massive entertainment management group like Ashlem take us onboard to promote and tour has been huge. It could be a game-changer. I hope you’re ready for the ride.” Am I? Fuck.

“It’s scary but exciting.” Light shimmered across Lewis’s eyes as he swiveled his glass back and forth on his coaster. “I’ve been waiting for something like this my whole life. It’ll be awesome.”

“Yeah, it better be.” My emotions were up and down, like I was playing scales at pace. I swiped my hand across my mouth, then down my neck. “I’m not looking forward to the jump in popularity though. I like being able to walk down the street without turning too many heads. I like not being followed by paparazzi. Wouldn’t it be nice to become more successful without the shit that comes with it?” If our third album took off as much as Ashlem believed it would, our band’s celebrity status would escalate to new heights. We’d have no privacy for the next two years—maybe even longer. I loved performing and promo, touring and traveling, meeting fans and celebrating after our shows. But I could do without being hounded by ruthless reporters and pushy photographers who often twisted the truth around just to sell a story. I’d seen enough of that when Flint had gone off the rails. I loathed the lies and bullshit.

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” Lewis leaned back in his chair. “My brief brush with stardom years ago gave me insight into how shitty the music industry can be. That the Internet is full of crap. The only way to handle it is to surround yourself with good friends and people you trust. You’ve got that. I doubt there is anything the tabloids could publish that you haven’t already been through. You’ve always stuck together. That’s one thing I admire about you guys. If we stick together and are always honest with each other, everything will be fine.”

I raised one eyebrow. “You trying to be wise, old man?”

“Fuck you.” He grinned. “I’m only five years older. I’m not ready to hang up my party shoes just yet.”

“Good. You wouldn’t be here if you were.”

I just wanted to play. I loved our music. I loved the life we had. I didn’t want that to disappear. But the wheels were now in motion to take our music to the next level, and I prayed we would survive. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t worried about my friends...I worried about me.

My hip had been in agony since I’d had a bad stack snowboarding six weeks ago, just after Christmas at Big Bear. We’d been goofing around as we’d raced down a black run, carving up the snow. Cole had lost his balance and wiped me out. In spectacular style, I’d tumbled head over heels several times before I’d crashed into a tree. Me, being me, I’d gotten up, dusted myself off, and laughed about it. Said I was okay.

But I wasn’t.

By the time we’d snowboarded home to the cabin, and I’d showered, the solid black bruise covering my hip and lower back was the size of two hands, and the pain was excruciating. Before we’d come to New York to record our album, I’d gone to the doctor’s. Scans had shown I had a bulging disc in my lower back but hadn’t done any new damage to my hip. By some miracle I hadn’t re-torn my labrum—the cushioning in my hip socket. The surgery I’d had to reattach it following my horrific surfing accident when I was seventeen had somehow held together. Not much could be done about the new pain, other than rest, having regular physical therapy, getting injections, and taking meds. I’d opted for everything. After several needles of cortisone, deep into my joints, the doctors had sent me home with a prescription for Tramadol. Having to take a mid-strength, synthetic opioid medication to manage the pain had me break out in a cold sweat.

I loathed taking pills.

I was terrified of popping them after losing Phil to addiction.

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