Page 69 of Your Rhythm
“I thought everything that came with that would be easier to ignore: all the publicity, the partying. Sure, it’s fun. It’s a perk, but that’s it. I never wanted it to be who we are. I’d rather no one even knew or cared what our names are, if it meant they were more focused on what we doonstage than what we do off it. Lately I haven’t felt like it’s my music that’s had an impact on anyone. That’s what this was all supposed to be about: connecting to people with our songs, making moments.”
You’re wrong, I want to tell him.Your music connected with me.
“But that’s not what it’s about. It’s all just a sick game. Iliedto people. I let my best friend say something that wasn’t even true to a bunch of reporters. Is that what our lives are becoming? Is that—”
“Matt.” I cut him off and lower my phone down. “We don’t have to record this. We can just talk.”
“I want to record it,” he insists. “I want you to use whatever you need. If it means they have to kick me out of the band, then fine.”
“Matt, you don’t mean that.”
“I mean it.” He twists on the bench to face me. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”
I blink at him. “You mean you’d walk out?”
“No. No, they’re my best friends.” I don’t think he even realizes what he’s doing as he reaches up to rub where I know there’s a metro sign inked on his arm. “This just isn’t how it was supposed to be. We talked through this stuff before we signed the deal. We said we wouldn’t let this happen. Now we’re just the Atlas Records show horse, and once they make us drop Shayla things will only get worse.”
“You’re firing Shayla?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“That’s what Atlas wants, and none of the guys will stick up for her. I can barely be in the same room as them anymore.”
He lapses off into fuming silence. I try to stop myself from asking my next question, but the sense of curiosity that’s part of my job description wins out.
“So what really happened on Friday night?”
He spends the next few minutes giving me a story that’s much more in line with my suspicions than what they fed all the other reporters.
“It doesn’t matter that he didn’t even buy the shit,” Matt concludes. “He was being a drunk asshole like he always is. He would have punched somebody over way less. Hewillpunch somebody over way less, and he might not get off so easy.”
“Have you confronted him about it?”
“I don’t know what to say to him. The Atlas PR people have basically given him immunity. He’s their ticket to a huge cash out. Heisthe band and he knows it.”
He shakes his head, staring past me.
“I love him like a brother. I’ll admit that to anyone. He’s been through some shit, shit you can’t even imagine, and I forgive him again and again when he fucks up, but I don’t...I can’t...”
Fuck the interview. I switch my phone off and put it away before reaching to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Sometimes you have to draw a line, Matt. That doesn’t make you a bad friend. It actually makes you a good one.”
He draws me into his arms, and I let myself forget that we’re on a public pathway. I let myself forget that there’s a dangerous ache in my chest when I see him hurting like this. I just squish in closer while he holds me.
“I can’t abandon them,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You can’t abandon yourself, either.”
I reach under his jacket and breathe in the scent of laundry soap on his shirt.
“You don’t have to decide overnight,” I tell him, “and anyway, maybe it’s not as black and white as just one choice.”
“Yeah.” His palm traces circles over the small of my back. “Who knows? Maybe your article will save us all.”
The bottom of my stomach drops out. It’s like the weight of his trust is pressing in on me from all sides.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“So,” he ventures, as the circles on my back move lower, “I think you mentioned something about knowing a few ways to get us warm?”
