Three Part Harmony (The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024)

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mike

Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder was a fucking misguided crackhead. The passage of time only served to make me angrier and more bitter. There wasn’t an ounce of fondness in this situation. Every day that passed without seeing or talking to Griffin was a day closer to the point where I started spitting nails whenever someone tried to talk me.

Fuck Griffin and fuck everyone else.

That was my new mantra. Maybe I should have it printed on t-shirts and I’d wear it during our shows. That would surely paint a picture of the fractured mess my life had become since he walked away.

I know, I sent him away—or at least I strongly pushed him in that direction. So, in essence I guess I only had myself to blame for being so disgustingly miserable. Maybe this was my burden to bear for being stupid enough to fall in love in the first place. I never should have let that happen but I honestly never figured I’d meet someone like Griffin, either. He made falling so easy. No matter how badly it ended, I’d always see him as a blessing in my life, even for the short time we had together. He taught me how to love with my whole heart and proved to me it was possible. I also learned that feeling love for someone didn’t make you weak—it gave you strength, like a super hero. If that was the case then I wanted us to be Batman and Robin because everyone knew they were gay for each other.

Yep, for Griffin, I’d be willing to wear tights and a cape.

Just saying.

But it wasn’t to be. He flaked and wanted to work with someone else. End of story, and I needed to get the fuck over it.

After about two weeks without seeing him—although I couldn’t be sure exactly how much time was passing because the days had begun to blur together after the first week he was gone. All I knew was we’d been on tour for a few days. Most of that time I’d managed to keep myself at a level of drunkenness to be distracted and not think about Gri—I mean, the man who walked away from me. Why did it hurt to even think of his name?

Was I drinking too much? Probably, but not enough to affect our shows. I’d quit being a musician before I let that happen. I more than showed up and performed to my best ability, but once I left the stage the real partying began and I’d continue until I was drunk enough to sleep without dreaming. The dreams were the worst because they always brought me back to a time when things were so incredibly good with Griffin. I’d wake up and believe for the briefest of moments that the dream was real and Griffin was still happily with me.

It fucking killed me every time.

Fletcher warned me about the booze and said they’d have to get another drummer if I kept on this path of destruction but I was nowhere near the level he was suggesting. Sure, I wasn’t myself and hadn’t been for a while, but I wasn’t falling down or passing out. I was merely drinking to keep my brain from thinking. Under the circumstances, was that such a bad thing?

Drumming didn’t require thinking for me. I didn’t need to be completely in the moment to play in the zone. It just happened, like how your brain knew to make your heart continue to beat even when you were sleeping. It was living life that required a fully functioning brain and that’s the part I was aiming to mask, or at the very least, make it hazy enough to be able to ignore.

So far, I was succeeding at making that happen.

My band disagreed.

Tough luck for them, because this was my life and I would live it as I saw fit. Last I checked we were living in America—land of the free and home of the fucking brave. I promised my band one thing, and that was I would never show up for a show already drunk, and I’d managed to ace that promise. I saved the dirty business of the hard partying for after the shows, same thing went for the groupies. Although I had yet to partake in the gratuitous amounts of hot human flesh that was consistently waiting for us backstage.

I wasn’t ready for that. Even thinking about being with someone that wasn’t Griffin made my heart feel strangled and achy and I wanted to throw up. I couldn’t make that leap and I was in no hurry, but when I did it would be nothing but nameless, emotionless hook-ups and nothing more. I would never again open myself to feelings because it hurt too damn much when they walked away.

Instead I existed inside a vortex all my own, circling the drain and wondering if I’d ever climb back out onto solid ground or if I’d get sucked into the sewer system. But I did my job and fulfilled all the other responsibilities required with it, such as interviews and whatnot. I was always on time and when the lights hit my face, I smiled like I didn’t have a care in the goddamn world. But inside, I was crumbling—hanging by a thread that was fraying more by the day. Fletcher suggested I see a professional therapist to work through my feelings. I told him I had no more feelings left in me, so there was nothing to work through.

About a month into the tour and I barely acknowledged it when Dallas returned from boot camp wearing his sexy dress uniform and surprised Fletcher at one of our shows. We almost had to shut down the show early because Fletcher was rendered so speechless with Dallas behind the stage curtains. I wanted to be elated for my brother because I knew how much he missed his man and how lonely he’d been, but I didn’t have it in me. I left them to celebrate and went to bed as soon as I could sneak away from the after show festivities.

Turned out, after I took off I missed Dallas proposing to Fletch and that part killed me. Apparently, Dallas got down on one knee, offered Fletcher an engagement ring, and then carried Fletcher off stage after he said yes. It was like a scene right out of the movie, An Officer and a Gentleman. I should have been there cheering them on. Instead I was having my own pity party back in my room. Just because I was dealing with a painful breakup didn’t give me a right to shit on Fletcher’s party and his future with Dallas. They managed to make their relationship work and they were thriving. Mine crashed and burned to ash. So fucking what. Life went on, right?

“Let me see the ring,” I asked Fletcher the morning after the proposal.

“You should have been there to see it last night,” Fletcher argued.

“You’re absolutely right. I should have been there and I’m sorry I wasn’t,” I said. “I have no excuse for it, either.”

“That about sums up your attitude for the last month,” Fletcher admonished.

“I know and I’m going to try and do better,” I said.

“You’ve promised that a lot lately, and at this point it’s an empty promise,” Fletcher said. “You seriously need to do better, Mike. Get your shit together and start being present in your own life, and be there for the rest of us, too. This has gone on long enough. Changes need to be made. The Rocktoberfest show is in less than two weeks and you better mentally show up for that gig or we might be parting ways because your behavior since Grif—”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” I nearly growled at him.

Fletcher tilted his head at me. “You don’t see the problem with this? You can’t even listen to someone else say the man’s name, never mind yourself. That’s a fucking problem and you need help!”

“You’re probably right but I don’t even have the will to find a therapist,” I admitted. “I just don’t give a flying fuck about anything anymore.”

“That much is obvious but I’m begging you, Mike. Please find someone to help you work through this.”

I went back to bed after Fletcher’s latest scolding and stared at the ceiling. After about an hour, I grabbed my phone and hit the speed dial button for the one person I thought might actually understand.

“Hey, Dagger. Do you have time to talk?”

“I absolutely do,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“I need help.”

“I’m in room 1501, top floor,” he said. “I’ll let security know you’re coming up.”

“Don’t you want to know what’s going on first?” I asked, doing my best to keep myself from sobbing through the phone to the man I’d come to think of as my second father.

“I know it’s serious enough that you reached out to me, and I respect the hell out of you for doing that,” Dagger said. “I’ll see you in a few. ”

“Thank you, Dagger. I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I didn’t bother changing into something more presentable. Dagger already knew I was a mess, so showing up in stained sweatpants and a t-shirt I was pretty sure belonged to Griffin wouldn’t surprise him in the least. I tucked the room key in the pocket of the sweats and left the hotel room. A couple of minutes later, I was knocking on the door to Dagger’s suite. The door swung open almost instantly and I’d never been more grateful to see someone’s smiling face. Without a word spoken, he tugged me inside his room, shut the door, and wrapped me up in his muscled arms. I knew in that moment everything was going to be okay—I was going to be okay. The simple act of Dagger’s touch had managed to balance me again and ease the ache inside my heart.

“How can I help?” he asked and directed me toward the living room and the couch positioned near the balcony.

I moved over to the couch and took a seat, then drew in a deep breath before I slowly let it out. A beat later, I began to spill my guts and I told him everything. We talked about Griffin, the breakup, and I even admitted I was drinking too much. He listened, asked questions, and consoled me. Best part was he never came off as preaching or condescending to me. Instead, he started to create a plan to get me back on track. I wasn’t thrilled with some of his suggestions, like doing daily workouts every morning with his trainer, but I was committing myself to getting stronger. If this was part of it, then I’d have to suck it up and deal because I didn’t want to wallow anymore. It hurt too fucking much. Dagger even set me up with weekly visits with an AA sponsor—one that could do online Zoom meetings when we were on the road. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic—yet, but the behaviors were already in place. If I kept on this path, I would definitely become one. Knowing that made it easier to be proactive about this and get rid of my destructive habits, replacing them with positive behaviors before this got out of hand.

I’d like to say the rest was history but this would be a life-long process for me. At least I wasn’t concealing my problems from those closest to me anymore or hiding from life in general—like Fletcher said I was doing. He was right about all of it, and he was justified to draw the line he’d drawn in the proverbial sand. In the end, Fletcher pushing me the way he did might have been what saved me. I didn’t know, but I loved the hell out of him for giving me the kick in the ass I needed. I was also grateful for everything Dagger had done and continued to do to keep us all on track. I was just one example of the things that man did for us and it truly made me emotional to think of how one man could change the course of our lives so greatly.

It all led me right to this moment, us driving onto the Rocktoberfest property in the same gorgeous tour bus Dagger provided for us the first time we played here. It almost felt like full circle in the sense we were returning to the stage that launched us. We still had a long way to go before we hit the big time, but it sure felt like we were on our way. And same as last time, Dagger trailed behind us in his own sleek bus .

I knew this show was going to be a challenge for me on every level. It would surely test every bit of resolve I had to stick to my new healthy habits and exercise routines. I’d gained some weight since I quit drinking and started working out every day but it was all muscle. I was looking kind of ripped and liked how I looked in the mirror. My hair was somewhat styled and my unkempt beard was now a trimmed five o’clock shadow. More importantly, I had confidence again and my natural swagger was back, too. But what I was most proud of was that I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in almost two weeks. It was the longest I’d gone without drinking since I was a teenager a decade ago.

But being at Rocktoberfest, where everyone was either high on drugs or drunk off their asses, would be the first time the libations were shoved directly into my face. It would be up to me to say no and then distract myself from the temptation by doing one of my new healthier habits. During our mini club tour, it was somehow easier to avoid the shit because I could stick to myself for the most part, but at Rocktoberfest it would be impossible because the stuff was everywhere you looked. Anything you wanted was ridiculously easy to get but I couldn’t let it blind or distract me. We were here on a mission to prove we weren’t flashes in the pan last year and that our star was continuing to soar into the stratosphere. Where it belonged.

Some of the guys started calling me Mr. Clean and I was okay with that. I’d worked hard to even be considered as “clean and sober,” so why not be proud of the new nickname? And, for the most part, I was as happy as I could expect to be. I still missed Griffin with every fiber of my being and I remained ridiculously in love with the man, too. I realized those things might not ever change.

But life moved on whether we wanted it to or not. Besides getting one text message wishing me good luck when our club tour began, which I responded to with only a simple “thanks,” I hadn’t heard from him. Not one phone call, no text message apologies, not so much as a fucking carrier pigeon flying overhead to drop a message—or a turd on me. Nothing came from him. It was crushing to think of how effectively he had cut me out of his life, which was why I kept myself busy with other things that didn’t allow me to think. Thinking took me to dark places if I let it, so I had to avoid it when I could.

Yep, I had more distractions than I could shake a stick at—something for every occasion, and sometimes it still wasn’t enough to help me forget about Griffin.