Page 2 of Holiday Hookup

“I heard that!” she yells as I shut the bathroom door.

“I didn’t whisper it!” I yell back, a smile on my face knowing this night could turn into something amazing or could end in disaster.

God, I hope this doesn’t end in a police station like last time.

Chapter 2

I hate this.

All of it.

And as I sit at this table, looking at my bandmates Brent and Frankie, I wonder if I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life and if either of them will ever forgive me.

“I’m done,” I say, watching their eyes narrow in confusion. When they don’t immediately say something I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table, preparing myself for the worst.

“What do you mean you’re done?” Brent asks with an edge to his voice, the wariness in his eyes clear as day.

“Just that. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore… the touring, the recording, the writing. I can’t…” I trail off, watching as Frankie leans back into his chair with a snide smile on his lips.

“He says this after every album cycle, I don’t believe him.” Brent looks at each of us, wavering between believing me and believing Frankie.

Creating a band was always my dream, and after high school, we made that dream a reality and created Blanked Edge. It took ten long years for us to gain success and all our hard work paid off, but at what cost?

“I know I say it all the time, but this time I mean it. The music isn’t coming to me like it used to, and I’m tired all the damn time. I’m just not happy anymore.”

Frankie sits up straight before getting up out of his chair and pacing the hotel room. “This is bullshit! We’re just ending our best tour yet, and you’re deciding that the band is done? Just like that?” I start to say something, but he continues, “We’ve been at this for ten years and we’re finally getting the payoff we deserve and now you want out?”

I nod, knowing my words will only cause more anger and frustration. I don’t blame him. I’m leaving them high and dry, but I don’t have a choice because if I don’t do this now, I’ll regret it.

“You can’t do this to us… to me!” He picks up a glass off the desk and throws it against the wall, causing Brent and I to flinch on impact.

“Frank, man, you need to calm down,” Brent says, trying to ease the tension in the room, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

“You know what? You want to leave? Fine. But don’t expect to come back and everything be okay.”

“Come on,” I start, my eyes pleading with both of them to understand. “Can’t you see this from my perspective?”

Brent’s eyes lower as Frankie shakes his head.

“Oh, I see it from your perspective all right,” Frankie grates through his teeth. “You’re an egotistical bastard who only thinks about himself and seems to forget that there are three people in this group. Just because you’re the lead singer doesn’t mean you’re the fucking boss.”

“I just need to figure out what’s going on in my head,” I admit, sitting on the side of the bed with my head in my hands. “Do I want to quit? Of course not, but right now I don’t see another option. I can’t do this anymore.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and before I have a chance to say anything else, Frankie barges out of the room, slamming the door on his way out. When my eyes peer over to Brent who is still sitting in the same chair, he’s shaking his head.

“Did you have to bring this up today?” he asks, getting up and making his way over to where I’m sitting. “We just ended our tour last night.” When the bed dips from his weight, my head tilts toward him. “What’s really going on, Dane? You’ve always joked about being done, but you always come back. Why is this time different?”

I don’t know, and that’s the biggest weight that sits on my chest. Everything just seems like a big game of Groundhog Day, with no end in sight, and it is crushing me.

“Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in a loop that never ends?” Our eyes meet, and his confused features tell me he knows nothing about what I’m talking about. “Of course, you don’t. But I do. Every day is the same. I wake up, have breakfast, try to write a song on our way to the studio. We record a song then rehearse for a show, we perform that show and then I go back to my room and try to write more songs. And repeat. It never ends and for the first time in my life I’m not looking forward to creating new music.”

Brent’s eyes widen as I let out a loud groan, lying back on the bed.

“I want a break from this lifestyle. I need to clear my head, actively stop making music, and hope that the spark returns.”

We’re silent for what feels like hours but can’t be more than a few minutes. Brent’s hand grasps the top of my knee as I open my eyes to see him looking at me.

“Okay.” That’s all he says, but in that one word, he tells me everything I need to know.

He’ll be here once I figure my shit out, and he’ll try to talk to Frankie, calm him down, and hopefully get all of this behind us. The sense of relief that comes from that one word lifts the burden I’ve been carrying on my shoulders for the last few months.

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