Sweet Ache

“You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “Well …”

And as much as I’d love to blow off the upcoming fund-raiser, take a weekend for myself and get lost in a cabin in the High Sierras to clear my head, I can’t be that hypocritical by abandoning the cause so near and dear to my heart.

“Family comes first, Hawkin. Always.”

And it’s the way he says it that causes the pang in my chest. Family. “Well that depends who you’re talking about since you guys are more my family than …” I let my voice trail off and pause a moment before I continue. “I know with where my priorities are right now it doesn’t seem like it, but you are….” That’s all I can say because it’s been a shit day and fuck if I want to think about how someday I know Hunt will be in jail and my mom will be gone but the guys—Vince, Rocket, and Gizmo—will still be here.

Life and reality suck sometimes. I learned that the hard way a long-ass time ago and it still kicks me in the teeth on a regular basis regardless of how much success comes my way.

“I know. We know.” The resignation in his tone is an echo of how I feel.

“Hunter has to get help, see a therapist, something. I made that a stipulation to all of this.” That’s as close to a confession that I’m going to make in regard to taking the blame for my brother’s stupidity the night I was arrested.

“Uh-huh.” And that inherent part of me that’s always ready to defend my brother bubbles up before I rein it in. Yet Vince deserves to be skeptical after the numerous fallouts he’s had to deal with over the years. “Dude, if kicking him out of the band didn’t sober him up, nothing’s going to. Shit, it’s almost worse now. Him being high, missing a rehearsal, being too coked out to perform is one thing … but now, it’s like he has a vendetta against you to fucking take you down too, except he knows he can’t get to us, so he goes after everything else he can,” he says.

The urge to punch a wall returns; my hands fist, and jaw clenches as I’m reminded of the fallout years ago before we became successful. The decision the band ultimately left up to me when it came to my brother. The choice I made that still eats at me, still causes guilt, and that my brother uses every chance he gets to remind me of it. To try to pay me back for kicking him out of Bent because he couldn’t control his habit and was risking our chance at a record deal.

One of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made was whether to push him away or try to help him and at the same time save me in a sense. I close my eyes momentarily, Depeche Mode’s lyrics to “Halo” running through my mind: You wear guilt like shackles on your feet, like a halo in reverse. The words serve as a reminder that the one constant in my life, besides music, has been guilt.

And then I look at my other constant, Vince and his unwavering friendship. “Man, I’m doing the best I can.” I blow out a breath, staring at my hands for a beat, knowing I’m going to say the words and Vince isn’t going to believe them but I need to say them anyway. “I told him he has to set something up and follow through by next month.”

Vince just meets my eyes with a disbelieving nod. “Whatever you say, Play.”

“Fuck, I told him if he didn’t, I’m going to Ben and telling him what happened that night….” My words drift off as I realize what I just said. The combination of Quin and the fight with Hunt and the alcohol and … just fucking everything had scattered my thoughts and it took its toll on me in the form of a semiconfession.

Vince’s eyes flash over to mine, the I fucking knew it written all over his face, but he doesn’t say a word. He just twists his lips in thought and takes a deep breath as he digests the admission that he already knew. I know he wants to chastise me, get in my face over what he deems is my stupidity, but he knows me so well, knows that this was a slip I never intended to make, understands that I’ll shut down and take the fuck off for a while so that I don’t have to deal with everything, so he bites back the bitterness on his tongue.

Little does he know at this juncture I’ve fucked myself to the point that if I do change my story, there will be repercussions—perjury—so I just keep my mouth shut. The giant wave of guilt crashing into my conscience once again.

“I promise man, I’m not going to let his shit affect me or the group.”

Vince sighs and the room falls quiet for a moment, only the second-hand click of the clock hanging on the wall breaking through the silence. “You don’t go back on promises and we believed you when you told us that Hunter’s bullshit won’t come into our house again. I don’t know how you’re going to do that man but we believe you will.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, lying back down and bending my arm over my eyes, wanting to shut this all out. Wanting to shrug out of the responsibility that fell on me at much too early an age to take care of my mother and Hunter.

It all flashes in my memory like it was yesterday—his voice, his words, the images. My dad’s grown-up rant to my nine-year-old ears. How love makes the strongest person weak, can ruin them, make them lose their way. I remember my confusion, not understanding what he meant, why tears were streaming down his face as he told me over and over that love would make me weak.

That he was weak.

I can still hear my voice asking him how love can make you weak when Mommy loves him and he wasn’t weak. The tears came harder then from him and me as he knelt down in front of me and looked me in the eyes, made me swear to take care of them because I was the strongest of all. He went on to make me promise that no matter what, I’d do all I could to protect them because weak people made stupid mistakes and only brave men—me—could try to help them.