Page 53 of Living on the Edge

“Hey, Stu.”

“How’s it going?” He searches my face carefully and I’m not sure whether he really wants to know or he’s just being polite.

“I guess it’s going.” I take a pull from my bottle of Sam Adams, since I figure I need to lay off the hard stuff.

“It’s been a tough week, yeah?” He motions to the bartender and orders a beer too.

“A little.”

“You need to talk?”

“I think I’ve said all there is to say.”

“I’ve been there, you know.” He stares straight ahead. “The scandal, the media coverage, the lot of it.”

I can’t compare my situation to his. He wound up serving prison time for something it turns out he didn’t even do. His band at the time dropped him like a hot potato and it took him several years to claw his way out of the darkness and back to rock and roll.

He’s married now, with a beautiful wife, a cute baby, and a band with a platinum album.

“Your situation was way worse,” I say diplomatically.

He waves an impatient hand. “Nah, don’t do that. I got myself into a mess, and that’s the same thing happening to you. It’s not a pissing contest to see who has it worse. I’m just trying to help. Give you a bit of perspective.”

As much as I hate to admit it, I could really use some.

“All right.”

“Look, it can and will blow over. The fans don’t give a shit, not based on what I’ve seen the last few shows. The response online isn’t terrible either, but at the end of the day, you don’t work for Holland-Burke, and you never have. They can hate your father—and your family—all they want, butyouhaven’t done anything. You were in college when your father pulled that shite with the chemo drug.”

“Yeah, but just the mention of our last name gets people pissed off.”

“Well, there’s a reason you legally changed your name—and from where I’m sitting, you changed your entire life at the same time. I don’t think you owe anyone anything.”

“Tell that to my band,” I mutter.

“They’ll be all right.”

“Tate and Sam, yes. Mick’s getting there. Jonny? Not even a little.”

He seems thoughtful. “Not everyone reacts the same, you know? He needs time. And you can’t stop trying.”

“Trying to what?” I ask in frustration. “Apologize? Act contrite? Grovel? I mean, what else can I do?”

“Show him who you are, mate. I don’t have a specific suggestion, but you don’t need tosayyou’re sorry, you have to show him. The opportunity will arise, and when it does, you’ll know.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

He slaps my shoulder. “One way or another, it will. You’ll see. And if you need a friendly ear, or a drinking buddy, I’m always around.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

He grins. “Like I said, I’ve been there. And I had no one back then. Part of it was because everyone turned on me, but I reacted by pushing everyone away. Just like you’re doing. You can’t sit here and brood by yourself every night. Reach out. Buy Tate a beer. Get Mick some of those damn Red Hots he likes so much. Yeah, it’s a small thing, but it shows you’re thinking about him. That you care.”

Mick is obsessed with the spicy candy, and he can’t always find them at rest stops. I might order him a case and have it waiting at the hotel when we get to St. Louis. “That’s a good idea.”

“I have them now and again.”

“I wish I’d done things differently, you know?”

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