by Lauren Rowe
“Okay, calm down, Daxy,” Colby puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“I’m just trying to explain why I’m losing my mind lately. It’s not because I’m addicted to anything. Nobody could live like this and not party. But don’t worry. C-Bomb said it happens to everyone at first. He called it ‘tour madness.’ He said when I get back to real life and a normal schedule, when I’m finally able to shut myself in a quiet room for a week with my guitar, I’ll be okay and the writer’s block will be cured.”
Colby scoffs. “Sorry, but C-Bomb’s ‘cure’ for what ails you ain’t gonna cut it. Your Instagram account looks like one nonstop party, and for the past month and a half, you’ve blown all of us off, even Kat.”
I rub my face. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been overwhelmed.”
“You haven’t called Theo in weeks, Dax. Do you have any idea how rejected he feels?”
Oh, God. Theo. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Colby pauses. He looks like he’s gathering himself. Trying to calm his anger. “I made you an appointment with a psychologist for this coming Wednesday—for therapy. It was the first appointment I could get.”
“What? No, that’s stupid.”
“It’s not negotiable. Lydia asked around and got a referral to a therapist in L.A. who specializes in celebrities. He told Lydia there are unique pressures related to fame, especially fame that happens quickly. He said he’s excited to help you deal with your astronomical success so you can enjoy it without falling apart.”
“It’s just the wacked-out situation that’s been getting to me lately, the fact that I never get any downtime. But I can handle it on my own. Like C-Bomb said, I just need to—”
“Fuck C-Bomb!” Colby bellows, shocking me. “He’s in the bubble with you, Dax! He doesn’t even know what’s fucked up anymore. And he doesn’t know you like we do. He doesn’t know what you look like when you’re actually happy. Whether this is ‘tour madness’ or not, whether C-Bomb says it’s normal or not, we’re getting you help, even if I have to physically drag you to the psychologist on Wednesday!”
Holy shit. If mellow, even-tempered Colby Morgan is yelling at you, then you know you done fucked up, son.
Colby takes a deep breath. He’s visibly trembling. But when he finally speaks, he sounds calm again. “I set an alert on your phone. It’s gonna go off in plenty of time to get you to your appointment on Wednesday.”
I exhale with annoyance.
“Remember how messed up I was after my accident? I thought I could handle my nightmares and anxiety by myself, but Lydia insisted I see a therapist. And since I trusted her judgment, I went.” He grins. “And also because I really wanted to get into Lydia’s pants.”
The three of us chuckle.
“But the point is, therapy really helped me. And I think it’s going to help you, too. What do you have to lose? You’re obviously miserable, Daxy.”
Emotion rises inside me at the look of sincere concern on Colby’s face. At the way he just now said Daxy. I swallow hard and nod.
“Thank you,” Colby says. His broad shoulders relax. “And one more thing: for a full month, you’re gonna stay clean and sober.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not addicted to anything.”
“Then taking a month off from partying should be a snap for you. If you make it a month without ingesting so much as a beer, then we know you’re right about not needing help. But if you can’t do it, then I guess you’ll have learned something important about yourself, huh? Something that’d be a damned good thing to know.”
I throw up my hands. “Fine. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll be a Boy Scout for the next thirty days. Anything else, Master Yoda, or are we good?”
“We’re good,” Colby says. “As long as I have your word.”
“You have my word.”
“And if you can’t do it, you’ll immediately let me know.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, quit scowling,” Ryan says. “We all know you’re secretly thrilled somebody’s finally calling you on your shit.”
I roll my eyes again, even though he’s right.
“If you can’t make it thirty days, you promise to tell me,” Colby says. “Say ‘I promise.’”
“I promise.”
“Thank you.”
I twist my mouth and mutter, “You’re right about the calling me on my shit thing.”
“Yes, I know,” Ryan says.
I sigh. “Actually, you could smoke a Thanksgiving Day turkey up my ass from all the smoke that’s been blown up there over the past few months.”
My brothers laugh.
“I can only imagine,” Ryan says. “You’re like one of those skywriters at this point—trailing smoke out your ass everywhere you go.”
We all chuckle.
“The other day in a radio interview, I told the stupidest joke—a legit dad joke—like, I think I made a pun out of slay and sleigh or something stupid like that—just because I was trying to make Colin and Fish groan in pain—and the woman interviewing us laughed hysterically like I’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.”
“Holy hell,” Ryan says.
“Right? It’s shit like that that drives me up a wall. Like, dude, laugh if I’m actually being funny. I’m a vain motherfucker, as much as the next guy. I love getting a laugh. But if I’m not actually funny—if I’m lame as shit—then have the decency to roll your eyes at me. For the love of God.”
“Send that ass-kisser my way and I’ll set her straight,” Ryan says. “I’ll tell her you’re the least funny goat, by far. Not to mention, the least funny Morgan.”
“Fuck you. I’m funnier than Colby, at least.”
“Like hell you are,” Colby says.
“Aw, you know he is,” Ryan says. “What I should have said is Dax is the least funny Morgan out of the actually funny Morgans. It’s a given he’s funnier than you and Dad. You two don’t count because you’re so not funny, you’re not even entered in the race.”
“Are you high?” Colby says. “I might not be Keane-level funny. I grant you that. But I’m funny.”
“Keane-level funny?” Ryan says. “You’re implying Keane is the gold standard of funny in our family, not me?”
Colby and I look at Ryan like, Duh.
“It’s an accepted fact that Keane is the funniest,” I say, looking at Ryan. “Then you, Kat, Mom, and me, in that order.”
Now it’s Ryan’s turn to be offended. “Keane’s not funnier than me. Peen’s problem is he’s too funny. He never lets up. I, on the other hand, pick my spots. Plus, my humor is way cleverer than Peen’s. His idea of funny is leaving a dick-and-balls doodle in some random place for Mom to find, and then telling her it’s a rocket at lift-off.”
Colby and I laugh, simply because, whenever Keane the Peen does that, it’s hysterical. Quickly, our conversation devolves into the three of us reminiscing about the many, many times Keane’s pulled the dick-and-balls-doodle prank on our darling mother, sometimes with all of us around to watch and laugh.
“Okay, that was a bad example,” Ryan says, chuckling. “On second thought, I admit Keane’s dick-and-balls doodles are hilarious. But, still, in the big picture, I’m funnier than him.”
Colby and I disagree vehemently. Ryan insists, with equal fervor. We argue and laugh and back up our arguments with classic family stories. And through it all, I feel the stress and anxiety I’ve been wearing like a heavy cloak around me for so long becoming slightly lighter against my shoulders and back.
“Hey, do you guys remember Julia Fortunato?” I ask. “The girl who took my virginity at music camp?”
“And then promptly ghosted you?” Colby says.
“That’s the one. Guess what? After eight years of ghosting me, she finally contacted me a couple months ago, out of nowhere.”
“You’re joking,” Colby says.
“Nope.”
“Gee, I wonder why she suddenly contacted you,” Ryan says caustical
ly. “Could it be your two number ones and two Top 20s?”
“Yeah, my agent called and was like, ‘Hey, I got a voicemail from a girl who says she’s a blast from your past. Normally, I wouldn’t bother you with messages like this, but this one seems legit.’”
“What’d she say in her voicemail?” Colby asks.
Ryan interjects, “‘Hi, Dax! Congratulations on your two number ones! Let’s fuck!’?”
“Yeah, basically. She was like, ‘Blah, blah you’re so amazing. I’ve watched the ‘People Like Us’ video a thousand times and it’s obvious you’ve learned a thing or two since we got together. Let’s meet up so you can show me what new stuff you’ve learned.’”
Colby grimaces, but Ryan laughs.
“Well, damn, points for clarity,” Ryan says. “So, did you take her up on her offer?”
“Hell no. I told my agent to call her and say, ‘Sorry, I gave Dax your message, but he doesn’t remember you.’”
“Savage,” Ryan says. He hoots with glee.
“The crazy thing is, for years, I had this fantasy I’d see Julia Fortunato again—that I’d fuck her again, but next time, so well, she’d be the one begging me to stay in touch. I’d tell her, ‘Sure, let’s keep in touch, Julia’... but then, I’d ghost the hell out of her.”
My brothers laugh.
“But the minute my agent told me the ‘blast from my past’ was Julia, and not this other girl, I felt nothing but disgust and disappointment. No desire to see her at all.”
“What other girl?” Colby asks.
“This girl I met right before the tour.”
“The one from Reed’s party—the one you told us about at your going-away dinner?” Colby asks.
“Yeah, I forgot I’d told you guys about her. Honestly, that’s what started my downward spiral. Finding out the ‘blast from my past’ was Julia and not that other girl.”
“Violet?” Colby says.
“Wow. How’d you remember that?”
“I didn’t. You kept babbling about her while you were barfing.”
“Oh.” I sigh wistfully. “Violet Rhodes. I haven’t stopped thinking about her throughout the tour. If I’m addicted to anything, it’s her. Before I got writer’s block, I cranked out half an album’s worth of songs inspired by her.” I exhale a long, tortured breath. “It just sucks, you know? With Violet, I knew for a fact she liked me for me. There was never a doubt. But nowadays, all I’ve got are doubts when I meet someone. I can’t help wondering, will I ever meet a hot girl again and know, for sure, she’s genuinely into me? Or will I always have doubts?”
“Maybe you’re not obsessed with this Violet girl so much as the idea of her,” Ryan says. “Maybe she’s become a symbol of what you’re missing about your old life.”
I consider that for a moment. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m just totally and completely obsessed with Violet.” I rub my face. “But who knows? Fuck. I can’t even clearly remember her face anymore. It’s been so long. Plus, she didn’t give me her number, so I might be in this on my own.”
Colby says, “You think maybe it would help if you tracked her down, now that you’re back?”
“Yeah, I’m already planning to do that, just as soon as I’ve had a few days to recharge my batteries.”
Colby puts out his hand to Ryan, a smirk on his face. “Pay up, fucker. Told you.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “You asked him a leading question.”
“So what? He answered it honestly. Pay up.”
“What was the bet?” I ask.
Colby says, “After you were so smitten with Violet at your going-away party, I told Ryan, ‘I’d bet anything he’ll still be hung up on her when he gets back.’ And Ryan said, ‘No way. Dax is twenty-two and about to become the next big thing. He won’t remember her when he gets back.’ So, I said, ‘A hundred bucks says you’re wrong. He’s gonna track her down within a month of getting back.’”
“Pay the man, Rum Cake,” I say to Ryan. “Violet told me her friend would be working at River Records by the time I got back from tour. So, I’m gonna go down to Reed’s office this week and find the friend. I’d call, but I want to ask her some questions and feel her out. Plus, I need to talk to Reed, so I don’t mind going down there in person.”
“What do you need to talk to Reed about?” Colby asks. “The new album?”
“Yeah. That, and I just realized the other day I’m homeless now. I need a real estate agent or whatever. Probably an accountant, too. I’m sure Reed can hook me up with whoever.”
Ryan whacks me across the shoulder. “Hey, dumbshit. Your real estate agent is sitting right here.”
“You? But I thought you were a real estate broker. Don’t you handle office buildings and stuff?”
“I can handle any kind of real estate transaction. If I were a lowly agent, I could only handle residential.”
“But you don’t even live in L.A.”
“I’m licensed in California. I’ve been looking at L.A. locations for the bar.” He’s talking about Captain’s, the chain of bars that have turned Ryan into a legit baller the past couple years. “You think I’d let some stranger help my baby brother find his first house? I won’t even make you pay me a commission. That’s how much I’m willing to help you.”
“Wow. Now that’s love.”
He winks. “You know I love you the most, kid, even if you annoy me.”
“Thanks,” I say, even though we both know he’s full of shit. As every Morgan knows, Ryan loves Colby the most, by far, followed closely by his love for Kat, and then Keane. Yes, he loves me. The dude would take a bullet for me, without a second thought. Of course. The same as I’d do for him. But Ryan understands me the least of anyone, for whatever reason. But, in this moment, the way Ryan’s smiling at me, I could actually believe he truly means every word he just said. So, fuck it, I say, “I love you the most, too, Rum Cake.”
Ryan says, “I’ve got a great accountant for you, by the way. And probably anyone else you’re gonna need. I’ll work on assembling a team for you.”
“Thanks, Ry. You’re the best.”
“You bet.”
There’s a knock at the door. “Room service!”
Ryan pops up. “Holy hell, it’s about time. I was just about to say let’s kill the rockstar and eat him for a midnight snack. I’m starving.”
Chapter 21
Dax
It’s early afternoon in my hotel suite now, an hour before I need to leave for the arena for soundcheck. Colin and Fish were here with my brothers and me earlier, hanging out and checking in, making sure I’m okay and have arms and all that. But Colin and Fish are gone now, and only the three of us Morgan boys remain. At the moment, Ryan is sprawled on the loveseat, researching the L.A. housing market on his laptop while Colby and I sit on the couch, video-chatting with Colby’s son, Theo.
“What if you try modulating the key heading into the third chorus?” I say to Theo. And then, by way of explanation, I play him what I mean on my acoustic guitar.
Theo expresses extreme excitement about the idea. But then he surprises me by saying, “Or, I could modulate the key going into the bridge. Something like this.” He plays what he’s thinking on his guitar, and I’ll be damned, it’s a better idea than mine.
I tell Theo he’s a genius, he says he’s gotta go work it out, and we end the call.
But when I begin leaning my guitar against the side of the couch, Colby says, “Play us some of your new songs, Rock Star. You said you wrote a bunch at the beginning of the tour, inspired by your girl, right?”
I haven’t played my new songs for anyone but Fish and Colin yet. But the idea of playing them for my brothers excites me, even though, admittedly, it makes me nervous, too. But since excitement is far outweighing anything else I’m feeling, I position my guitar, pause to gather myself, and then launch into playing “Hitwoman Elvis Disco Momma.”
Much to my relief, my brothers go apeshit for the song. Emboldened, I play them a few o
thers, one after another: “Island Girl,” “In This Bathtub,” “The Girl with the Dragonfly Tattoo,” “Ultra Violet Radiation,” and “Fireflies.” And, with each new song, my brothers express nothing but extreme enthusiasm. I’m stoked, but not surprised. My brothers have never been a particularly tough audience when it comes to my music, the same as the rest of my family. Plus, I knew while writing this particular batch of songs they were magic, the same way I knew it when I wrote, “People Like Us.”
“Are all those songs about Violet?” Colby asks. “Even ‘Island Girl’?”
I chuckle. “Violet lives in Rhode Island.”
Colby and Ryan laugh their asses off about that, and so do I, seeing as how “Island Girl” has a bit of a reggae vibe to it.
“My songs aren’t necessarily literal,” I say. “Violet’s not a hitwoman, either. At least, I hope not.”
“Have you written any songs that aren’t about Violet?” Ryan asks.
“Yeah. I’ve got a bunch of random songs having nothing to do with women or sex. A ‘rage against the machine’ song. A ‘why are we here?’ song. A song about home. But the very best ones I’ve written lately—the ones I know for a fact are magic—they were all inspired by Violet. I’ve got this one that’s not finished yet that’s going to be the best of the bunch when it’s done. It’s called ‘Caught Violet-Handed.’ I started writing it and then got sidetracked by other songs. And then I got writer’s block before I’d finished it. If I can just get unblocked and finish that one, I think it’s a shoo-in to be the lead-off single.”
“Couldn’t ‘Fireflies’ be the lead-off?” Colby says. “It’s so catchy.”
“Same with ‘Ultra Violet Radiation,’” Ryan says. “They’re all great, but those two were my favorites. Also, that Hitwoman Elvis one is awesome.”