Page 85 of Your Echo
23Disarm || Smashing Pumpkins
ACE
I siton the couch in Matt and JP’s apartment, eating a ham sandwich. For someone who loves food as much as JP does, he doesn’t seem to know much about cooking. I’ve been fed a combination of ham sandwiches, boxed mac n’ cheese, and pudding cups for the past day and a half.
Not that I’m complaining. It’s better than I’d be feeding myself if I were at my own place.
After I was discharged from the hospital, the guys all insisted that I go home with Matt and JP. I was too caught up in a haze of pain to protest and spent last night on their couch. I woke up with the ability to open both my eyes again, but the painkillers I took this morning have only managed to mellow the stabbing pain in my ribs to a dull ache.
I deserve worse. I deserve a smashed rib instead of a fractured one. I deserve three smashed ribs.
“I ruined her life,” I keep repeating between bites of ham. “Everything she missed out on was because of me.”
Matt finishes up the last bite of his own sandwich and sighs in the armchair across from me.
“It can’t be as bad as you think.”
I shake my head. “She ran away at the hospital. She blames me as much as I blame myself. I know she does. She’s gone, Matt. I lost her.”
“She was in shock,” Matt argues, for probably the fifth time today. “Give her some time to process it. I think it’s fucking stupid to let what you guys have fall apart because of something that happened when you were just kids.”
“You weren’t there.” I sound hollow. “It’s not just some childhood memory. It changed both our lives. Forever. It made us who we are.”
Matt drags a hand down his face. “I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, so I’m going to let this drop. We’ll continue the conversation when you can actually breathe properly again.”
There’s a knock on the apartment door before Cole lets himself in. JP pops his head out of his bedroom at the sound, and the two of them join us in the living room.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” Cole says, taking a seat next to me on the couch.
That leaves JP to sit on the beanbag. This must be one of the last apartments in Montreal to have abeanbaginside it. It’s also one of the last to have a lava lamp. No one has ever accused JP of having fashionable tastes.
“Late?” I repeat.
“We, um, we have to talk about some stuff,” Matt explains, “as a band.”
All three of them have tensed up, staring at me like I’m a grenade about to have my pin pulled out.
“What stuff?” I demand.
Matt holds up his hands. “I want you stay calm when I tell you this, okay? You know what the doctor said about your rib. I’d rather put off telling you for a few days, but you’re going to find out anyway, so it might as well be from us.”
“What. Stuff?” I repeat. I’m really not in the mood for another dramatic reveal.
“Atlas Records dropped Sherbrooke Station,” Cole blurts. “They cancelled our contract.”
He might as well have just thrown a punch at my gut. The sensation is the same.
“They can do that?” I demand.
I already know the answer, though. Our old manager, Shayla, made sure we were aware of it when we signed with them. At the time, we were so sure of ourselves we figured we’d be leavingthemlong before they ever wanted to leaveus.
Matt nods in answer.
“The goblin is the one who convinced them to do it,” JP tells me, “and now they’re signing a deal with GHOULS.”
“Fuck GHOULS!” I shout, jumping to my feet and ignoring the ensuing pain. “We were on our way to becoming the biggest band on that label. How could they throw that away?”
Matt throws JP a glare. “You didn’t have to tell himthatpart.” He turns back to me. “Sit the fuck down, Ace. Your rib.”
