Page 310 of Second Sets Omnibus
Through my newly found trauma, I’ve discovered the best coping mechanism for me. Something I never thought I’d enjoy. Or feel relief from. Our therapist.
I had doubts at the beginning when River gave us mandatory sessions. How could I sit in a quiet room and tell a complete stranger about what my father put me through?
That first day, I think I sat in silence for ten minutes. Then, the floodgates opened, and I told her everything. The abuse. The betrayal. My mother’s death. It was all out in the open and no longer hidden in the depths of my mind for only me to suffer through.
And wouldn’t you know? The relief I felt when she validated everything and helped me learn how to cope with the past was a life changer. Even now, as something sits heavily on my mind, she was the first person I spoke to about it. The therapist smiled at me, letting me know that everything I’m contemplating is good. It’s coming from a place of true concern. She told me she’d help me talk it over with the guys, but I opted to have the discussion myself, without her help.
It’s a subject that’s been on my mind for some time now and was only cemented further during my hospital stay. After surgery, I stayed for a few extra days, ensuring I was okay. The guys and River stayed by my side every step of the way, especially my Little Brat. She glued herself to me, even then. Refusing to leave when visiting hours were over.
One night, long after the others left, River climbed into my hospital bed where we talked for hours. The future. The past. Everything in between brought us closer together. But there was one sentence that struck me square in the chest.
“You and the guys are doing so well with our training. Before you know it, you’ll be back out on tour. After this, of course.” River tentatively runs a finger over my cast, slowlyworking up my leg, and grabs my hand. “You’ll be as good as new.”
Will I, though? Will I ever become as good asnew in her eyes?
Fuck.
“What if they leave again? They’ll go on tour. What if…”
Her words haunt me, chasing me everywhere I go. The amount of pain and uncertainty that rested in her tone reminds me every day that I gave her that insecurity. It will always be on her shoulder, reminding her of what we did. We left.
And we could do it again.
What if we go on another band tour? Far the fuck away from here. We’d probably go back to Europe or travel through the US for weeks at a time. But it wouldn’t be here. Not with her or Ly, where we need to be.
An ache forms in my chest at the thought of leaving them. Years ago, I walked away with no problem. Now? I could never. Not again. They’re too damn important to say goodbye to anymore.
Been there. Done that. And have the bruises to prove it.
How can we rebuild our life on the road, anyway?
Answer? We can’t. It’s impossible. We’ll never connect with millions of fans screaming our names when our girls are here. Without us.
Since we left Central City, this exact argument has been in the back of my mind. Every time I think I’m going to bring it up to the guys, I chicken out. I’m afraid of what they’ll say. Or how they’ll react when I let them know—I’m done.
Anxiety swirls in my stomach. Images of their angry faces pop into my mind. They’ll argue. Fight tooth and nail for what we’ve worked so hard for.
But I won’t.
They can find a new guitarist to carry on our legacy. For once, I’ll sacrifice my dream to be with River so she can pursue her dream as the Fixer. She’s already done so much for herself. Now, it’s time for us to step up and be her support system. We can still work as a band, playing local gigs. Hell, we can still have a small-scale contract with West Records. Something that doesn’t take us away from this spot we’ve carved out as our home.
Music has been our life for years now. Even before we moved here. It runs through our veins, feeding us life. It’s our escape from reality. A way to glide above our bodies and live in the moment.
Nothing exists when music is involved.
And I’m about to suggest something that throws us off the rails of our future and plummets us into the unknown. A life without music and freedom. A life here. With the girls we’ve fallen in love with.
If only they’ll listen.
After getting dressed the best I can without asking anyone for help, I make my way out of my room and toward the top of the staircase.
I grunt, hobbling down the stairs, carefully maneuvering my crutches. One at a time. Every few steps, my damn leg throbs where the bullets pierced through, and they sewed me back up, fixing the ripped muscles, bones, and ligaments. They promised eight weeks of this cast and then physical therapy to regain my walking.
“You idiot,” Rad grunts, coming up to meet me halfway up the stairs. “I told you to yell, and I’d help you.” He shakes his head with disapproval, stealing a crutch from me and winding his arm around my shoulders. “Now, lean on me like a good boy.”
I sigh, leaning into him for support. A pathetic feeling festers inside of me at the amount of help I need to get around. Andshower. That’s been the worst. Having to tie a damn black bag around my leg feels so weird and even weirder when River hangs out in the bathroom with me, making sure I don’t fall over. I would have, too, the first night.
“Thanks, man,” I say, taking my crutch from him as he tsks me like a child.
