Bottleneck

by Henry, Max

  So, fraudulent.

  My phone vibrates in the pocket of my coat, drawing me from my angry spiral. I snap back to the present to find myself outside a coffee shop, bustling with midday corporate types looking for the fix that’ll see them through to the end of the nine-to-five.

  I dig the device out, relieved to find Shanae’s name lighting up the display.

  “Where you at, babe?”

  She chuckles. “Somebody had to warn Fria who was in town. Can you imagine how that would have gone down if she’d turned up and found Emery at ours?”

  I snort, taking a seat on the brick windowsill of the historic building. “Like she’d show up. She’s avoiding me like the plague.” My skin chills. “Fuck—you don’t have me on speaker, do you?”

  Shanae laughs. “You’re safe. I just left her place. Where you at?”

  “Outside Bean Loco at the moment.”

  She sucks air between her teeth. “What the hell are you doing that far from our place?”

  “I needed air.”

  “Did it help?” she teases.

  “Hardly.” I roll my eyes, elbow to my knee while I lean forward and groan. “Things got a little heated between us.”

  “I knew you still like him!” she exclaims, piercing my ear.

  “Not hot in that way,” I clarify. “We argued.”

  “Ugh.” I catch the stiff voice of the subway notification in the background. “You’re no fun. But …”

  “But?” I straighten on my perch.

  “I have some news that might get your mind off things. Tell you when I reach you.”

  “Nuh-uh.” I rise to my feet, almost collecting a graying businessman as he exits the shop, tray of takeaway cups in one hand. “You tell me now.” I lift a hand in apology.

  He grimaces, shaking his head as he continues. Sheeple.

  “No way,” Shanae groans. “This calls for an in-person discussion.”

  “Discussion?” A frown tugs at my brow. “This is getting worse by the second.”

  “Chill,” she urges. “Look at the bright side: I already got your mind off Emery.” She moans his name.

  I can only imagine what the people around her think. “Quit it.”

  “You quit it.” Jesus—we’re preschoolers, are we? “You like him. He’s back in your goddamn life and at our place. Fuck, woman. Just ride him and be done with it. He can run away with his tail between his legs when he realizes he’s fucked up by cheating on his woman, and you can get rid of him for good … if that’s what you want.”

  “Two problems with that,” I level. “One, he wouldn’t feel an ounce of regret. He already did Fria without giving a single shit, remember? And two, I don’t want to be rid of him for good. I just want … I don’t know. Something else.”

  “You want a do-over,” she deduces. “To rewrite history, am I right?”

  “Bitch.”

  “Takes one to know one,” she chuckles. “I’ll be there in, like, ten. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Where would I go?” I drop back onto the windowsill, much to some snooty woman’s disgust at the counter on the other side. “The only other place I have to go is home, and there’s no fucking way I’m going back there until I can sneak in un-noticed.”

  “You’re such chicken-shit.” She tuts.

  “I’m in survival mode,” I sass. “We do crazy things when threatened.”

  “Threatened.” She snorts. “What by? His giant dick?”

  Perhaps. “We’ve got way too much going on right now to add his shit into the mix, babe. I need to put us first.”

  “Well,” she says on a sigh. “You’re not wrong there.” Shanae pauses before adding. “Everything will work out fine.”

  Face in my hand, I groan. “Now, I really don’t believe you.”

  ***

  The woman shows up twenty minutes later with Twizzlers. I’m ready to bail before she’s had a chance to start. Twizzlers are comfort food.

  I’d rather she’d arrived with a fifth of vodka.

  “You said you’d be here in ten,” I grumble unnecessarily.

  I’m pretty sure the people inside the goddamn coffee house are starting to think I’m homeless.

  Jerking her head toward the entrance, Shanae unwinds her scarf before holding the door for me. “I had to talk to Mickey, and I can’t concentrate on him and walk at the same time. I’d be likely to get my ass run over crossing a road without looking.”

  “You’re not doing women any favors by proving we really can’t do it all at once, you know?”

  She grins, plump red lips matching her fiery hair. “Having the usual?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get this round, though.”

  “Nonsense.” She pushes my cash away. “I’m feeling generous.”

  All I can do is lift an eyebrow. I haven’t secured any solid work yet, so I have no idea why she thinks she’s so flush after our conversation about finances last week.

  “So, Fria is coming home,” Shanae drops while feigning interest in the menu.

  I know she doesn’t give a shit what’s on the board because I’ve just told her I’d have my usual and never once in the past five years that we’ve been in this neighborhood have I seen her order any different.

  “How the heck did you manage that?” I take a step back to let the person in front of us out with their takeaway lunch.

  “I might have laid down the facts in a way she can’t ignore.”

  I lift an eyebrow. So, I can tell Fria what she doesn’t want to hear, and suddenly I’m the enemy, but Shanae says the same, and the bitch listens? Nice.

  “What did you tell her?” I reach out and take Shanae’s scarf from her to free up her hands.

  “I reminded her that without income, she’s likely to go back on the streets since I know for a fact, she hasn’t saved a single fucking dollar.” She rolls her eyes before pausing our conversation to place an order. “I also pointed out that her source of income right now is our band, and if she wants to see it succeed, then she better pull her goddamn weight and learn how to be a team member. Because …” Shanae lifts an eyebrow, giving me a wicked grin. “She’s not our first drummer, is she?”

  “You told her she’s replaceable.”

  “Exactly.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Tell me one drummer who’s managed to ditch their band and make it on their own.”

  “Dave Grohl,” I drop without a second’s hesitation.

  She snorts. “He’s, like, a goddamn unicorn, so he doesn’t count. And besides, he formed another band, not went out alone.”

  “What’s stopping her doing the same?” Shanae and I reach for sugar and a stirrer at the same time.

  She grabs two of one, and I get double the other. “Her friends aren’t musos. They’re all beauticians or kept women.”

  I snort. “You can’t call some drug runner’s lady a kept woman, Nae-Nae.”

  “I can if she has more in her back pocket than I do.”

  She has a point. “Telling me Fria is coming home isn’t exactly good news worth celebrating until she gets over how she feels about me.” I get flattened lips in response. “What else you got?”

  “You’ll want to sit down for this.”

  We collect our order and find an empty spot at a tall table before picking up where we left off. I settle on the tall stool, tucking the heels of my boots over the rail. “Is this related to what you discussed with Mickey?”

  She nods. “So, you know how you said picking Emery up from the airport was a favor for Dark Tide?”

  Oh, no. She didn’t.

  “I got Mickey to reach out to their manager, Rick.”

  She did. “Mickey. Rick.” I snort. “I bet they even look the same.”

  Shanae laughs, dumping sugar into her cup. “Probably. Anyway, they had a chat, and Mickey felt him out like I asked.”

  “Felt what out?” My hand pauses on the stirrer; eyes narrowed on my bassist.

  “Dark Tide might be big news, now, right? But once
they were like us, filling time between tours as a support act with club gigs.”

  “And?” I slowly circle the wooden stick, curious about what comes next.

  “I got Mickey to ask them if we could have the contacts for their starter circuits.”

  Everything freezes. A nuclear bomb could drop on the street, and all I care about is what Shanae says next. I swear the girl takes on a golden aura around her damn head.

  “Guess what’s in my inbox,” she singsongs. “The contact details and rates for all forty venues Dark Tide played in their first two years on the road.”

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  She jumps her eyebrows. “I already called the first ten to feel them out, and two have said they’ll lock us in once we have a date, four need to call back with what’s available, and the others just want to listen to us before they decide either way.”

  I launch off the stool, almost face-planting in the process. She squeals as I throw my arms around her neck, throttling the hell out of her with my over-exuberant hug. “Oh, my God, Shanae. You’re a goddamn legend!”

  “Can I get that in writing?” she chuckles, squeezing me back.

  “I’ll engrave it on a fucking plaque if you pull this off.” Releasing her from my hold, I slide back around to my stool, a grin stuck on my face.

  She’s lifted an incredible weight off my shoulders and all through her brash tenacity to get what she feels we deserve.

  “So, I was thinking,” she starts, fidgeting with her cup. “Emery could help us lock down the others.”

  My smile falls instantly. “No.”

  “Why the hell not? He’ll have a rapport with the places. He can get us the best slots, surely.”

  “And make him feel that his trip here was justified?”

  “If you don’t want him at ours, why not just kick him out?”

  I glance across at the door, watching the line as it grows shorter.

  “You can’t, can you?” Shanae watches me patiently.

  “It’s complicated.” The excuse feels limp as it falls from my lips.

  “Then uncomplicate it.” Shanae taps the table under my chin to get my attention. “You’ve been given a chance to clear things up between you two. Yeah, I know it’ll be hard, but for fuck’s sake, just do it so you can move forward and leave him in the past.”

  That’s my issue, though. If I engage with Emery and dig deep into our past, I know that the past isn’t where he’ll stay. He proved that already with our short tryst this morning.

  I open that time capsule with him, and there’s no turning back.

  Either it’ll rewrite history and pivot our paths to align like I always hoped they would, or the complete opposite will happen.

  It’ll utterly destroy me.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Emery

  “Your Fault” – Burden Brothers

  “What the fuck is she doing ringing me again?”

  I knew I should have ignored the call, but with Rey in rehab, I knew I’d fucking regret it the rest of my life if it had been about him.

  “Figure she’s trying my close circle first before she puts feelers out wider.”

  “So, just tell the bitch where you are,” Toby growls. “Fucking grow a pair, Em.”

  “If it were that easy, I would,” I holler back, throttling the phone in my hold.

  Mosaic lifts his head and whines, seemingly frustrated by his inability to do much when I’m getting worked up like this.

  “Call her off, Emery.”

  I take a deep breath before answering in a more level tone. “Is that a threat?”

  “Hardly. It’s me telling you what you should already know you need to do.”

  “Wanna say that again, less confusing?” I tease.

  He sighs. “Where are you anyway? Your mom said you were with a friend.”

  “And she’s right.” I don’t need him giving me the third degree about my current choices as well. I knew I’d be starting a fucking shitstorm the second my dick decided seeing Alice would solve all my problems, and yet, I went through with the crazy idea anyway.

  “How have you been?” he asks, apparently over his initial frustration with me. “Your mom also said you were trying to get sober while you’re there.”

  “That’s what you told me to do, right?” I take a seat on the windowsill, watching the street on the far side of the complex parking lot like a goddamn puppy waiting on its owner.

  “Sobriety is a long-term project, man.”

  “Well aware, Tobes.”

  “It’ll take a while, and even then, you’ll have to work at it to keep it.”

  “Wanna pep talk me some more, champ?”

  “Fuck you.” He chuckles. “Call me edgy with Rey where he is. I don’t need the whole fucking band falling apart while they try to put themselves together again.”

  I touch my head to the cool glass, closing my eyes against the ache of a truth. “Maybe we’ll be better put together after this, though.”

  “You need to show up to the studio, man.”

  “Yeah. I will.” I open my eyes and blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. “I’ve sent some shit through to Kris to work with.” I’ve already got the jitters after twelve hours without a drink.

  “Awesome.” Toby pauses.

  Long enough for me to rise to my feet and take on a more aggressive stance—one hand in my pocket—while the girls approach.

  “I gotta go, but promise me you’ll call Deanna and tell her to back off.”

  I shrug a shoulder, even though Toby can’t see me. “Yeah. I’ll do it after dinner.”

  “Now, Em.”

  “After.”

  “The second I hang up,” he grumbles.

  “Yes, Mom,” I mock.

  The fucker disconnects, cutting his laughter short.

  Pocketing the phone, I pat Mosaic on the head as I pass and make myself comfortable on the sofa. There’s no way in fucking hell I’m calling that bitch. The redhead, whatever her name was, opens the door and walks in first, shedding her military-style parka.

  “Hey, roomie,” she calls, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Cleaning lady,” I quip.

  Her smile wanes replaced with a roll of her eyes.

  Alice follows in second. Unlike her bandmate, she stays silent.

  I’m beaten to the punch when the wicked witch of the western-suburbs strides in, slamming the door behind her. “I thought you were kidding when you said he was here,” she barks to the redhead.

  “Hey, Fria,” I call out far too cheerily for this ice-cold situation. “How’s it goin’, girl?”

  “Fuck off.” She marches down to what I thought was the redhead’s room.

  It appears they must share. Nice.

  “So, I spoke to your manager today,” the redhead shouts from the kitchen, pouring herself a drink of some green shit. “Rick was quite accommodating when I explained what we did for you.”

  “We?” I echo. “You mean what Alice did for me?”

  The woman in question ducks her head behind the open fridge door.

  “He’s given me a list of the places you boys played at the start of your touring career.”

  I narrow my eyes on her, propping one ankle to the opposite knee. “Why?”

  “We need income, and you have contacts.”

  I tilt my head, indicating she should continue.

  The petite little thing drops her pert ass to the chair opposite, swinging long, lean legs over one arm while she reclines against the other. “I need you to call a few venues and do your thing to get us the best booking.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You want to stay here, right?” Fria snaps, one hip jutted against the counter that Alice frantically unloads ingredients onto. “Pull your weight and do what Shanae asks you to.”

  “What are you doing to help out around here?” I make a point of looking between Shanae, who earlier picked up before heading out, and Alice, who pretends making
dinner is the most fucking interesting thing in the world.

  She chooses not to answer, scowling instead before marching away to her room. Shanae follows close behind, ducking first into Alice’s doorway to drop one coat, and then into the same room as Fria.

  I remain where I am and stare up at the ceiling while Alice bangs around in the kitchen. She clangs a pot on the cooker, then slamming a knife down onto the chopping board with enough vigor to ax the fucking wooden block in two.

  “If you want to practice drums, you’d be better using Fria’s kit,” I snap, dropping my chin.

  She stands poised with the knife in her hand, glaring at me over the counter.

  “Just saying.”

  “Make yourself useful and get a blanket and pillow out of the warming cupboard, huh?” She resumes annihilating the poor shallots.

  “Yes, Messer.” She misses my mocking salute when I rise to my feet and head off in search of this fucking cupboard.

  I find it between the doorway for her room and the bathroom. All that’s inside is a broken snare drum and two scratchy blankets. I pause with the flea-rags in my arms beside the counter and clear my throat.

  “Find it all?” Blonde waves conceal her face as she studies the pile of sliced mushrooms balanced on her chef’s knife.

  “There was no pillow.”

  “Try the girls’ room. Fria sometimes uses it when her neck’s playing up.”

  “Jesus,” I scoff. “Are the lot of you invalids?”

  The heat in her glare is enough to fry our fucking dinner.

  “Leaving now.” I back away, twisting halfway down the hall to face the devilish duo.

  Fria spots me first. “Get the fuck out.”

  “You do realize this is every guy’s wet dream, right? Girls sharing a room outside of college.”

  “Not happening, stud,” Shanae teases. “What do you need?”

  “The possessed one harbors a pillow I can use.”

  Shanae rises off her bed with a wry grin, reaching behind a surly Fria to snatch up a striped pillow. “Here.” She thrusts it at me, barely giving me time to catch the fucking thing before she returns to filing her goddamn nails.

  All these years and I thought touring with only guys was a drag. Fuck. I’d take the drunken nights and hours lost to too many uppers over one more fucking minute in this hormonal hotspot any day. How the hell do they get through the month without killing each other when shark week kicks in?