While I was talking to Gracie on the damn phone.
When I didn’t answer, Gracie giggled stiffly. “No worries. You’ll just be forced to keep me company. If I have to suffer through the rough and wild sex show, so do you. It was a deal we made years ago, remember?”
“I remember. But I think that promise was made under duress, if I recall,” I chuckled.
Just last week I had told her that I needed my distance. That it was the only way I could co-exist with her in the same town.
Maybe it was the alcohol that made the walls come down so easily.
Maybe I was just sick of being mad at her for things that I couldn’t change.
Because she had been my friend first.
She had broken my heart much later.
“Okay, I had withheld your Twizzlers. That was pretty harsh of me,” Gracie agreed. There was a crash on the other end of the phone. “Crap, I think they broke a window,” she whispered.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They’re still going at it. Sheesh, they’re stamina is enviable,” she said, sounding impressed.
“It’s all that Viagra Cole takes,” I deadpanned.
Gracie gasped. “No! Really? Vivian never said anything!”
I busted out laughing. “I’m kidding. That’s all him, lucky bastard.”
The laughter dwindled away into silence. Heavy, heavy silence.
“So why aren’t you sleeping? You’re not that much of a night owl,” Gracie observed. I sighed and leaned back on the couch, covering my eyes with my arm. My head was starting to pound and I didn’t feel so hot now that the booze was working its way out of my system.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I told her.
“Like what?”
You.
I thought it but I didn’t say it, thank god. I guess I still had some sort of a filter.
“Is it the band?” she asked and I found my way out. I could tell her something that was sort of true. Because yeah, that was on my mind too.
“I think Generation Rejects are done. And I’m kind of glad,” I admitted quietly. Only to her. It was easy to give her my confidences. My secrets.
“Why? You love music,” she said, sounding surprised.
I dropped my arm to my side and stared up at the cracked tile in Garrett’s ceiling. Was it moving? I closed my eyes, feeling the room start to spin.
“I do. I really do, G, but I miss playing just for me. Not for a label or so an album will sell. I can’t find the passion for it anymore and that scares me.” Why was I telling her this? We were way past that point in our relationship where I could give her my truths.
But I wanted her to have them. I needed her to have them.
They were tiny parts of me I could give her without crumpling.
“Then you have to find your heart in it again,” she said softly. “You have to rediscover that place where you can enjoy playing. Where it’s only for you. And if that means taking a step back and doing something else in the meantime, then do it. You’re a smart guy. There’s more out there for you than just being Generation Rejects’ bassist.”
I held onto her voice like a lifeline. Everything around me was wobbly. My heartbeat was too fast but she was keeping me still.
“What if there isn’t? What if I’m washed up at twenty-five?”
Gracie laughed. “Don’t be silly, Mitch.” God, I loved it when she said my name. “You need to stop being so pessimistic. I think it might be the beer talking.”
“Hey! I’m not drunk!” I denied.
“And I’m the Queen of England,” she stated drolly.
“Well, howdy, your majesty,” I threw back at her.
“Seriously Mitch, if this falls apart and the band is no more, you’ll find something else. You’ll land on your feet. I promise you.”
She sounded so confident. So damn sure.
Why couldn’t I feel that?
“What am I going to do, Gracie?” I asked, my voice hushed as I gripped the phone so tightly against my ear, it made my hand ache. “What else am I even good at?”