“Because Kane told him not to. You and I, we know better. Those two, they’re assholes about shit like that.” Sitting as cross-legged as he could on the bed, Miki cocked his head at his friend. “Unless it was Quinn. He’s sneaky sometimes, but don’t think he’d do it.”
“Nah, he’s too… righteous. Wrong word. Something or other. Not someone who’d fuck with a dog’s ass.” Damien joined his friend on the bed, waiting until Miki was settled in before easing against the wall. “We going to audition Rafe?”
“You asking me or telling me?” Miki sipped at his cup. “’Cause I thought we’d already decided it was at least worth a chance.”
“We’ve got to be sure, Sinjun.” Damien made a face when Miki snorted at him. “Okay, I’ve got to be certain. There’s a lot at stake.”
“How’s it different than before?” he asked softly. “When we were going through all of the shit before Sinner’s broke open, we had to dig through some guys to find out what worked… who worked. Not like we found Johnny and Dave on the first go. Remember that Brenton guy?”
“Shit, I forgot about him. Him and his banana fetish.” They shared a laugh, the experience of finding their drummer with a banana peel wrapped around his dick and jacking off to the soundtrack from Xanadu much funnier years later. “Can’t even look at a banana without wondering if it’s a virgin anymore. That kind of ruins it for me, you know?”
“What about Cherry Phil? Took us three weeks to find out he was peeing in that juice container and leaving it in the fridge in case of an animal attack.” Miki shuddered at the memory. “That was disgusting.”
“Dude, I almost drank from that apple juice bottle. How do you think I felt?” Damien sighed, reaching out to stroke Miki’s knee. “Just don’t want you to be… I just want you to be safe. Shit, I want Forest to be safe. I’ve got to trust this guy with everything. That’s a lot, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Miki agreed softly. “But D, it’s always going to be like this. At some point in our lives, we’re going to be falling off the edge and just hoping we land okay. You’re talking about touring… about albums… like we’re starting over. So if we’re going to start over, we’ve got to be willing to do that. Banana-peel fuckers and all.”
“Scary, you know that, Sinjun? This whole beginning thing,” Damien admitted. “I keep trying not to think about the pressure to be better than we were… because no matter what we do, there’s Sinner’s standing behind us, looming. Suppose I fuck that up? Suppose everyone comes out and says shit like, they should have let the band rest in that grave? I don’t want that for you and Forest. Hell, I don’t want that for me.”
“What does it matter what people say, D?” Miki set his cup down on a low table next to the bed, then scooted over until he was against the wall, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Damien. “We started this shit without giving a crap about what everyone said before. Why should we give a shit now? So we make music. So people might hate it. What does it matter if we like it? What the fuck does it matter if no one else does?”
“Because it does.” He shrugged, nudging Miki aside a bit. “I’m a shit. I know it. You… you’re different. You don’t need to have people tell you you’re alive—”
“Well, that’s ’cause people keep declaring you dead.” Miki’s sharp laugh woke Dude up enough for the dog to look up, then roll back over.
“Hear me out, asshole,” Damien muttered. “Doing the music’s enough for you. Shit, you don’t care if no one ever hears what you make, but me, I’ve got to. I need that, Sinjun. I need people to hear it and see me and fucking want to come back to it. And yeah, that’s a shit ton of ego, but I’m going to own that shit. I want a stage. I don’t care if there’s five or five thousand, but I need there to be someone in that black beyond the lights listening to my shit and thinking, yeah, my life’s better because I heard this guy play.”
“And you think Rafe’s not going to bring that?” Miki ventured. “Or are you scared he is?”
“Don’t know. Maybe both. Suppose we’re the ones who are fucked-up and can’t get up there anymore?” Damien slid a glance over his best friend. “Screw that. You—you’re still there. You’ve still got it. I’ve heard you sing. Still can make a fucking stone cry. Forest—he’s just here for the ride. He wants to play and doesn’t give a shit so long as he can make music. If I suck now, he’s not going to care, but Rafe—”