Like before, Brad thought he’d never forget a single day, a single concert, but—while he could remember some specifics—overall, the days, the events, the cities blurred into each other. They did other things while they were on the road too like the first time, because he and his friends had never traveled much before. So they tried to see the sights too. They also had fan events, meet-and-greets, appearances on local radio stations, and the like. They were just as busy on the road as they were off, and the days flew by.
They did a lot of partying too. They were living life, having fun, enjoying their success. Zane and Nick had no ties at all, and so women were a big part of their parties. Of course, being a husband and new father didn’t stop Ethan either. Brad was being faithful on tour, though. Karen might not be his soul mate; he knew he didn’t even love her, but he was committed to her. He wasn’t going to cheat on her, even if the woman herself had given him carte blanche to do so when they first got together.
There was a party one night in the great state of Washington. They’d been on a mental high for days. He could see it in his bandmates’ eyes—they were there; they’d made it. There would still be no rest, but they had done it. Brad had started feeling that way anyway, but seeing it on the guys’ faces only reassured him that he wasn’t imagining it.
Ethan, though…the guy didn’t know when to stop. He’d been partying harder and harder, and Brad had resisted the urge more and more to pull him aside and beg him to get his shit together—for the band, for his kid, for his wife. He wouldn’t listen anyway. And why would he bother to get his life on track now? He never had. Yeah, the guy was a brilliant musician, but Brad was starting to see him as a liability.
For the first time, Brad started wondering if he could front the band and play lead guitar. He started asking himself if he could do it without Ethan if he had to.
He didn’t say a word to anyone else about it—not to Zane or Nick and certainly not to the man himself. But it was an idea that started circulating in his head.
And it was something he started preparing for. The truly great artists died young—Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Layne Staley, Mitch Lucker. If he didn’t get pissed at Ethan and finally kick his sorry ass out of the band, the man could very well kill himself off. Brad knew it was a very real possibility.
If that happened, he couldn’t ask Val on board. Fully Automatic had a man’s voice now. Fans would never accept Val as their singer, even if she had been their voice for years before. The world didn’t know it. Wikipedia did, though, and even though there was no hyperlink for her name, she was listed as a previous member.
In the meantime, though, Brad would hold out hope and save the lectures for when Ethan was sober and of a mind to listen.
Washington, though—they had an epic party. The drugs were flowing as freely as the breasts were spilling out of girls’ tops. He wasn’t sure how that had happened, but the girls at that particular party were freer than others, and half a dozen of them started out with a striptease. Brad stepped out in the hallway. His excuse was that he wanted to get some ice for the party. In reality, though, he wanted those girls to sit on someone else’s lap, and he didn’t give a shit whose, but it wasn’t going to be his. Most of their roadies were single, and they loved being with the band because they scored—a lot. He understood that, even appreciated it, but he didn’t want to be put in any awkward positions. If he hadn’t wanted to be around people, he would have just gone to bed.
When he got back to the room, there was a cluster of people around the couch. He didn’t want to look. He figured it was something weird or gross like he’d seen groupies do before—like pulling something ungodly out of her snatch or doing some weird trick, like putting on lipstick by holding the tube in her cleavage. But as he stepped farther into the room, he didn’t sense fun or lightness. No, something serious was going on. Something seriously bad.
And then he realized he’d been here before. More than once.
Sure enough, Ethan was fucked up. His eyes were rolled in the back of his head and he looked dead. Brad pressed his way inside the crowd. “Excuse me.” He put his finger under Ethan’s nose to make sure he was still breathing and then he dialed nine-one-one on his cell phone.
It wasn’t until later, when they were at the hospital and it looked like Ethan wasn’t getting out anytime soon, that Brad called Val. Fucking A, he hated Ethan at that moment. He was angry at his friend because Brad had to call his wife and give him the bad news. He had a hard enough time dealing with Valerie anymore, and to have to tell her…
Well, he had no choice. He stepped outside in the cool air and then called her number.
Her hello sounded panicked. And she had every reason to be panicked. Val was no dummy. She knew her husband better than she wanted to.
There was no easy way to say it, but he didn’t want to blurt it out with no finesse. She needed a few minutes to wake up and get herself oriented. It was after two where they were, and it was an hour later in Colorado, so Brad knew she had to have wakened from a deep sleep. “Sorry to wake you.”
She was ready. There was no hesitation when she asked, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
There was no sense prolonging it or beating around the bush. “He OD’d on H.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “So…how is he? Is he—?”
“They’ve got him stabilized now. He should pull through, but he’s in a coma right now.”
“Coma?” Brad could hear the baby in the background. “What the hell happened? He told me he wasn’t using.”
He sighed. Was Val really asking him that stupid a question? “Apparently he was lying. Like that’s a first. You know him as well as I do, Val. Ethan’s gonna do what Ethan’s gonna do. We were partying, and you know Ethan parties harder than anyone else.”
He heard Val soothe the baby with a quiet Shh. Then she asked, “Where are you guys right now?”
“Spokane.”
“I’m gonna book a flight. Not sure when I’ll be there.”
He considered telling her not to, but he knew she would. When it came to Ethan, the woman was stubborn. More than that, what if this would be Ethan’s last coma? What then? He couldn’t tell her not to come.
It turned out that by the time Val got there the next day—that next afternoon—Ethan was out of the coma, sitting up in bed, sipping at a bowl of soup. Brad offered to hold the baby while Val had a heart-to-heart with her husband.
Brad was nervous at first, holding the little guy in the waiting room. But Chris could toddle and made baby noises. He asked, “Mama?”
Brad said, “Mama’s with Daddy. I’m Brad.”
Chris nodded his head and then pointed at Brad’s Metallica shirt, tracing the line of the words with his finger. He wasn’t with Chris for long, but it was long enough for him to realize that the little guy was pretty cool. Maybe he’d want to be a dad someday too. It made him even angrier with Ethan. His friend was pissing away his son’s infancy and trying to kill himself in the bargain. What the fuck was wrong with Ethan?
No…Brad knew, had always known Ethan had issues. Lots of issues. For some reason, he’d hoped Ethan would grow up, though. The guy had a wife and kid to worry about now. It was time for him to stop acting like a kid himself and being selfish. It was time for him to think about someone besides himself for a change.
But Brad was starting to wonder if Ethan would ever figure out how to do that.
Chapter Fifty-four
THE TOUR FINALLY ended, and—aside from canceling Fully Automatic’s part in one show—no harm was done because of Ethan’s little stunt.
Before they headed home, though, Brad made sure he had a chance to talk with Ethan. It was a few months later, so his head had cooled, but he had a few things to say to his friend, and he was tired of holding them in. He’d bitten his tongue for years, hoping Ethan would decide he was done. Enough, though. Enough. Not only did Brad want to talk to him for the sake of Val and Chris, but also for Fully Automa
tic…and his friend himself. Ethan was killing himself, and Brad was tired of watching it happen.
He texted Ethan early in the morning, and they were due to leave at eleven. Ethan texted him back before ten, so Brad called. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk to you about a couple of things. Wanna go find some breakfast before we hit the road?”
“Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”
The hotel where they were staying had a little restaurant on the ground floor. He didn’t know if Ethan had packed or anything, so he figured he’d save them some time by keeping it close by. After a few minutes, he waited outside Ethan’s door.
No, it shouldn’t have surprised him when a blonde with double-D tits wearing a skimpy dress emerged first, giggling. Ethan was smiling and slapped her on the ass as she started bouncing down the hall. She turned around and blew him a kiss through red lips and then turned back around, making sure her hips swayed more than they needed to.
Fuck, no. He wasn’t going to talk about that. He was pissed that Ethan was still fucking around on Valerie, a woman who adored him and had given birth to his son, but Brad started to suspect all of it was interrelated. Ethan was drunk and high—numb to the world—and the women were a part of that. The guy had no self-control when he was under the influence, and he’d always been a sucker for a slutty girl. Until he could maintain sobriety, the women would be a part of it.
And that was what Brad intended to address. Ethan asked, “Where we goin’?”
“Downstairs. There’s a restaurant on the premises.”
“Convenient.”
“Yeah.” They walked to the elevator together. Brad was glad that Ethan at least seemed lucid this morning. He noticed, though, that the guy was wearing sunglasses, probably to cover up a multitude of sins. Brad could only imagine: bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, dark circles. He’d seen it before. All he asked for was attentiveness. Fine if the evidence of his hard partying was mapped on his face. Brad didn’t give a shit. He just needed his friend present and accounted for this morning.
They got to the restaurant. It wasn’t busy. There were only two other tables with customers, so the waiter met them at their table almost immediately with menus and asked if they wanted coffee.
It wasn’t long before they’d ordered and Brad could talk. He took a sip of his coffee and said, “No sense beating around the bush. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Goddamn. I knew it was too good to be true.”
“What?”
Ethan shook his head and took off the sunglasses. “We can’t just be old friends anymore. You gotta ruin it with a lecture.”
“A lecture?” Brad inhaled. Maybe to Ethan it would seem like a lecture, and maybe that was why the guy wasn’t taking any of his words to heart. That meant one thing—Brad had to strike hard. “No, not a lecture, man. We’re way past that. Think of it more as an ultimatum.”
Ethan’s nostrils flared. “An ultimatum?”
Ethan was riling up, and this conversation wouldn’t be productive if he was pissed off and tuning Brad out. He took another deep breath. “Fuck it. Let’s start over.” He shook his head. “I’m worried about you, man. We all are. And we’re tired of worrying about you.”
“So don’t. I’ve never asked for your concern.” Ethan picked up his coffee and took a big swig.
“Ethan, you are my brother, man. We’re all like brothers. There’s no way we can turn that off. You’re killing yourself.”
Brad saw Ethan’s jaw clench, but he didn’t talk right away. “I look dead to you?”
“Not yet. But how many comas now? How many more before you decide enough? I’m not talking to you as a guy you play with in a band. I’m talking to you as a friend, Ethan. I’m not the kind of guy to stage an intervention. You know I don’t believe in that shit. You gotta decide you’re done. But I’m afraid you’re going to discover it in the afterlife, ‘cause I haven’t seen you have a revelation here.”
Ethan started to say something and then blinked. He took another drink of coffee. At first, Brad expected his friend to be bristly and crusty as he often got whenever anyone questioned or challenged him. Instead, his voice got quiet and he looked into his cup of coffee. Then he said, “I can’t do anything anymore. Not without something. You know…a joint used to make me feel kinda peaceful, but it can’t touch shit anymore. H, though—it drowns it all out, and when it doesn’t quite work, I drink too. It’s the only way I can hang on.”
Brad hadn’t expected Ethan to be so forthcoming. His friend wore chainmail made of hate, anger, and indifference to cover all the scars, but now he’d taken it off and was standing bare in front of his friend. That was a cry for help if Brad had ever heard one.
He hadn’t even had to pull out the you-have-a-wife-and-kid card.
“What are you saying?”
“That dying doesn’t sound so bad.”
Brad felt like a wrecking ball slammed into his chest. It made sense. Ethan really was trying to kill himself with the poison he took. He’d known Ethan for years and, for some reason, he thought distance and time from his painful past would heal the man’s wounds. Not so. Apparently, now that Ethan was an adult, he was finding ways to cope with the hurt inside. Brad thought he’d understood…but he must have had no idea. “Are you serious, man?” Ethan looked at his friend and shrugged but said nothing. “We’ve finally made it. We’re not rich, but you know it’s comin’, right? And you have a wife who loves you, a beautiful son. You have—”
“—everything anyone would ever want. Yeah, I know that, and that’s just another notch of guilt to add to my frayed belt.”
Oh, fuck. Ethan was way worse than he’d ever let on. And then Brad felt like a total shitheel for never having noticed. He sucked in another breath of air, now almost painful. His friend was hurting, and he’d never seen it for all it was. “What can I do?”
Ethan shook his head again, clenching his jaw. “Nothing really. There’s nothing you can do. Just…just stay out of my way and let me do what I gotta do.”
Brad was quiet, and the waiter brought their food out, asking if they needed anything else. When they told him they didn’t, he poured more coffee and walked away. Brad wasn’t hungry anymore and his mind was racing. Ethan was squirting ketchup over his hash browns when Brad was finally able to ask, “Have you ever thought about seeing somebody?”
Ethan smirked. “What? Like a shrink?”
Slowly, Brad started to nod his head. “Yeah, I guess. Like a shrink. You know, somebody to talk to, somebody who can give you ideas of how to handle what you feel.”
“I don’t need someone to tell me what to do or how to feel.”
Brad let the air out of his lungs. He had to find a way to say what was on his mind. “They’re trained to help, Ethan. This shit’s way outta my league. Hell, it’s outta your league too. Aren’t you tired of suffering?”
Ethan shrugged. Brad could tell he’d already put the coat of armor back on. “I do what I gotta do. It’s what’s made me who I am.”
Brad looked at him, waiting until Ethan at last looked up from his plate. “Seriously, man. If you need help, I’m here.”
His face was steel. “I’m good. I got this.”
Brad swallowed and picked up his coffee cup, nodding. As he brought it to his lips, he wondered if Ethan would be around a year from now…and if there was any way Brad could stop the man’s imminent self-destruction.
Chapter Fifty-five
WHEN THE BAND returned to Denver, Brad said they needed a break. They’d worked their asses off the past several years, and now they could enjoy the spoils a little. He insisted they meet once or twice a month to discuss plans, but he told them to focus on rest. Write if they had to, he said, but rest.
He considered urging his friend once more to consider visiting a psychiatrist, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. He’d mentioned it once, and Ethan knew how he felt. If he said it again, Ethan would ignore it or actively decide to not do it.
Brad want
ed to talk to Val and tell her about their discussion too and then thought better of it. First of all, it was crossing the line she’d drawn between them when she’d accepted Ethan’s proposal of marriage. Secondly, though, it would feel like he was betraying his best friend. Ethan didn’t need them ganging up on him. Brad hoped that being home around the people he loved who loved him back would be all the stimulus he’d need to decide to pursue professional help with all his demons.
That was all Brad had now—hope. He’d led the proverbial horse to water, but he knew there was no way he could make the goddamned beast drink it. Ethan had to decide for himself that that was what he wanted.
As the months passed and the band members met on occasion, though, Brad saw Ethan’s health declining instead of improving. He was pasty looking. He’d started getting a little chubby on tour, but now he’d been losing weight, and his cheeks were starting to look sunken in. The dark circles under his eyes appeared permanent.
Brad bit his tongue, though. He had to hope against hope that Ethan would get his shit together. The man didn’t know it, but Brad had put him on probation. If he was still in this shape in another five months—when the band planned to get together to start recording—the four guys were going to talk…and Ethan would maybe get the boot. Brad just didn’t know that a dysfunctional Ethan was good for the band anymore.
He kept those thoughts to himself, though, even with Karen. Karen should have been his friend and confidant, but she’d been growing more distant lately. Brad suspected it was because he couldn’t give her what she wanted. She’d been spending more and more time away, in spite of working less. Sometimes she said she was hanging out with friends, but that didn’t explain her nights away.
It bothered Brad on the surface, but deep down, his thoughts were with Ethan, Val, and their child. Brad stopped by once in a while to check in, but it got harder and harder to see the family in their natural habitat. It was obvious to Brad that they were all suffering on one level or another. Yeah, even the toddler. His dad didn’t give him the attention and affection he was starving for. Brad hoped his occasional appearance let them all know he supported them, but he started to wonder why he was tormenting himself.
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