Chelsey sighed, patted my shoulder again, then stood up. “Be mindful of that steak, Griffin. It’s rarer than you realize.”
Snatching the ball, I looked up at her. “I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
She sighed, and she looked about ten years older as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I know. And I’m scared for you, because I feel like…when you do figure it out, it’s going to be too late.”
I was agitated when Chelsey left the room, and no amount of ball thwacking could restore my serenity. Things just weren’t turning out like I thought they would. I thought I’d have my name alone in lights by now, but more often than not, people didn’t know who I was, not like they did Kellan. People just had to look at his hair and they recognized him. Me? I practically had to spell it out for them before they understood who I was—Oh yeah, that bassist guy who got caught jacking off. Didn’t sit right with me. I should be just as big as Kellan.
The sting of fans wanting me to rename my child crawled up my spine, followed closely by that stupid producer’s stupid words—He is the talent. While that sentence still sizzled my skin, the praises that Kellan’s numerous fans bombarded me with shuffled through my brain, leaving whiplike scars across my skull. He’s so amazing, so sexy, so good onstage, he has such a good voice and such a great body, and he seems like such an amazing husband, father, lover, person…
And you…you’re good too.
Fuck that. I was so much better than good, it was ridiculous. Sure, I might have blown it when Matt had given me a chance on lead, but that was nerves and lack of practice. They never let me play, so how could they expect me to rock it at a moment’s notice. But if they gave me all the chances that they gave Matt, I’d be prolific in no time. I mean, I’m a savant, how could I not be awesome? Which brought to my greatest beef with the band—Matt proclaiming that I’d never do anything but play bass. You will never play lead. Those words still pissed me off. I didn’t see one good reason why we couldn’t share the spotlight.
The guys needed to accept my greatness instead of trying to bury it even further. Yeah, since the very beginning of the band, they’d been too busy holding me back to truly appreciate me. And now I’d bumped into the proverbial ceiling with the D-Bags, and I had nowhere left to go.
Fuck. I needed to be drunk, not hiding in my room overthinking shit I couldn’t change.
Tossing the ball into the closet, I stood up and grabbed my keys off my nightstand. Anna would probably be pissed when she got home and found out that I’d left our kids with my family, but at the moment, I didn’t care. She could bitch at me all she wanted, I was leaving.
Stepping into the living room, I could hear shrieks and howls from people in the pool. There was always somebody in the pool now. I never got a chance to use it in my preferred way anymore, buck naked. Damn shame, and pretty annoying. Swim shorts were for pussies.
Since the frantic energy in the house was about to make me lose my mind, I held my hands up and shouted, “Whoever the fuck has my kids, please tell them I’ll be back in a few hours.” I turned to leave as everyone stopped moving to stare at me. Rethinking my statement, I rotated back around and added, “Please watch Gibson with small objects, she still likes to taste…everything. And don’t let her bully you into staying up late or having ice cream for dinner, and make her brush her teeth, and watch her around Onnika. And…give her a kiss for me…Onnika too.”
My mom appeared at the top of the stairs, Onnika in her hands. She nodded at me, and I knew my kids would be well looked after. I immediately spun around and left. I needed beer. Obscene amounts of beer.
Maybe because I wanted a taste of the old days, when everyone knew me, loved me, and worshipped me, or maybe because I just didn’t know where else to go, I ended up going to Pete’s. The guys and I still stopped in on occasion, but it was usually for some promotional type thing. The bar was different now, which kind of irritated me. Different waitresses, different band…even a different sign. Where it used to only say PETE’S BAR in modestly sized neon, now it proudly proclaimed: PETE’S BAR, HOME OF THE D-BAGS. That second line was nearly as large as the first.
On a night when I wasn’t wishing to reminiscence about the old days, that would have been fine, but tonight, I felt like going back in time. Back when Kellan and I were equals, and I still thought I had a chance to stand out. I’d still had hope back then. Here, at this bar, I had been a god.
There was one thing about Pete’s that hadn’t changed since the good old days though. The bartender. Ragtag Rita still called the shots here, and she nearly dropped a full glass of beer when she saw me. “Holy shit! Do my eyes deceive me, or is the D-Bag of all D-Bags before me?”