I dropped into a chair, instantly morose as I tossed an old band shirt over my head and listened to the lyrics of the song that had ended it all. I took a deep breath in and remembered—my brothers and me standing at the edge of the stage, arms linked, as the screams from the stadium grew louder and more persistent. Emotions were running high. We couldn’t even look each other in the eye for fear of breaking down.
God, how I missed them… and the nights we’d spent rolling down those lonely highways, sprawled out on the leather sofas, exhausted from consecutive nights of performing. It was in those quiet moments when our bond was tightest. The laughter. Our dreams. Even sharing some of our deepest fears. Okay, maybe not Shawn… That dude was a dumbass… but even he had been a necessary part of our dynamic. I’d never had bonds with other guys before. My brothers had always been competition. They’d never had my back and would just as soon have pushed me off a cliff if they thought their names might be in my will.
Looking back, it was hard to believe we’d once been strangers, teens brought together for the ride of our lives. We’d strapped in and gone wild—some of us more than others. Look, I’d be the first to admit, I let it go to my head. After a lifetime of being a second-class citizen in my own family, I’d emerged into a whole new world where I was important and girls worshiped the ground I walked on. I’d become a cocky shit, thinking I was invincible and that anything I touched would turn to gold. Time—and an ill-fated solo career—had proven me wrong. And now I’d come to the inevitable conclusion that I was only great as one tip on a five-pointed star. I missed touring and performing. I missed the guys. I missed my whole life.
We should’ve stayed together.
I know what you’re thinking—that I was the cause of the breakup. That was, after all, the headline splashed across tabloids the world over. “Jealous RJ Quits AnyDayNow Over Bodhi’s Rising Fame.” That never happened. Sure, I’ll admit to having one foot out the door well before the band actually imploded, but it was Mother Nature who’d dropped the final shovel of dirt on AnyDayNow’s grave.
If you somehow missed the story of our destruction, a quick Google search would pull up the cautionary tale of my bandmate Bodhi and the swift-moving firestorm that nearly ended his life. But it was the chaotic aftermath, with the news falsely reporting Bodhi’s death, that made the four of us remaining band members unanimously call it quits. At the time, it seemed impossible for the band to weather his loss. Of course, that same Google search would tell you Bodhi showed up alive the next day, having survived the fire by the hair of his chinny-chin-chin. But by then, the damage had already been done.
My phone buzzed. I swiped it off the counter, saw it was Bodhi, and set the phone back down. This was a pattern that had repeated itself daily ever since I’d walled myself up in this suck-ass fortress.
“Sorry, dude, not today,” I said, hitting the ignore button. Keeping Bodhi and the boys at arm’s length was essential if I wanted to continue wallowing in my own misery. They had a way of lifting me up, and I had no interest in such positivity.
Speaking of which…
“Alexa, play ‘Apologies.’”
Yeah, I was pushing it now. “Apologies” was the first single off my debut album, and the one I’d been sure would catapult me into a successful solo career. I’d put everything into its creation, nurturing it to perfection. And once it was ready to share with the world, I’d sent it off like a baby bird learning to fly. God, I’d been so proud. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined my songbird would slam into a closed window and plunge to the earth with a sickening thud. But that was exactly what had happened following that disastrous concert on the pier—with the added horror of watching “Apologies” barely slide into the Billboard Top 100 charts before dropping away soon after.
Yeah. Too bad I couldn’t swipe left on that memory.
I listened to the lyrics, trying to decipher just what it was about the song that people hated, but as hard as I tried to find fault, I couldn’t. Despite what everyone else thought, I still loved my baby.
“Alexa, do you like this song?” I asked.
“Hmm…if you like this song,” she replied, “maybe try Nickelback.”
“Fuck you!”
I shot up from my chair and threw the shirt across the room. Everyone was a goddamn critic. Silencing the shrew, I headed for the kitchen and tossed all the ingredients into my blender for the perfect smoothie. Even as everything was collapsing around me, I held onto my fitness routine, eating clean and continuing my workouts, because as my life spiraled out of control, my body was the only thing I had left to count on.
My cell rang again. Bodhi. Answer the damn phone, I told myself. You can count on him. You know you can. But try as I might, I couldn’t get myself to answer. Grimacing, I let Bodhi’s call go to voicemail. I loved the dude. He was my best friend. We’d done everything together, including being the dueling heartthrobs in AnyDayNow. Ours were the names screamed from the stands. RJ and Bodhi. Bodhi and RJ.
But then he’d gone on to bigger and better things, leaving me stuck spinning my wheels in the mud. I should have been where Bodhi was, slowly building a solo career with a kick-ass woman by my side. But instead, I’d been overconfident, rushing things in order to be the first Dayer to release a solo album. And now here I was, paying the price for my arrogance. Fuck me. Fuck all those armchair critics who reveled in my despair. And fuck Bodhi Beckett.
Whoa! Easy, son. This wasn’t Bodhi’s fault. Not even close. He was only calling me because he was worried. They all were. How could I blame them? I’d basically dropped off the face of the earth, ghosting the guys I’d claimed would always be my brothers. But here was the deal: they wanted me to be fine. And I wasn’t fine.
So I hid, holing myself up in this shitty apartment and living under the alias Chad Woodcock—one of the many fake names the guys and I had dreamed up on our multiple tours together. Back then, it was funny as shit. Now it just seemed sad. Maybe, deep down, I wanted them to find me, and that was why I’d picked Chad Woodcock. It was a clue—a piece of low-lying fruit ripe for the picking. If my buddies were really motivated, if they put their collective brains together, then maybe, just maybe, they’d find me.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Shit,” I whispered, disappointed in myself. I was such a bad friend. A bad singer. A bad human. I should just go back to bed, pull the sheets up over my head, and drift away. But there was nowhere safe for me. Not asleep. Not awake. Not work. Not home.
I flicked the blender switch to ‘on.’
Here’s to the start of another wasted day.
2
Dani: Repeat After Me
Why did he have to be so perfect?
I dropped my forehead to the table and did a little no-hands head bang. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. Last night, I’d been on my first date in months, but somehow, I’d managed to ruin a perfectly good evening by slut-shaming the dude’s mother over a slice of cheesecake.
“Uhhh,” I groaned, smacking my head against the table one last time. What was wrong with me? Most girls would feel so lucky to get a date with a man like Jeremy. Set up through mutual friends, he and I seemed perfectly matched—so much in common. Some might even say too much. Both driven, articulate, and, dare I say, attractive, we really should have had instant chemistry.