Rock 'n' Roll Baby

“Brian. It’s me that is resisting.”

“Yeah, because you should tell him.” He doesn’t say out loud what I should tell him. I’ve still been keeping my mouth shut about the baby. It’s only a matter of time before people will notice. I need to tell him. I know this. I don’t want him to find out from someone else. But now I am feeling shitty about not telling him sooner. I kept digging myself a bigger ditch. I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.

“I know. It’s not that easy.” I swear I feel the stupid tears come rushing to the surface. Everything is a mess. Brian must see me getting upset because he grabs my hand.

“I know it’s not. Don’t get upset. We’ll figure it out. Let’s conquer one thing at a time. We can start with you moving into the trailer.” I know I’m fighting a losing battle when it comes to Minnie and Brian on this subject. I should give in already. Plus it would be nice to have something I could call my own. Somewhere I can call home for now. It will be temporary until Linc gets settled, but it would be mine.

“Okay. I’ll move in,” I agree. I don’t know if it’s a step in the right direction for me, but I know it’s one for my baby.

Chapter Nineteen

Linc

After the last note dies off, I wait for Treat’s response. And wait. And wait some more. Nick, Benjy and I exchange nervous glances. After the beach, we came back and worked for ten days straight. We wrote tracks, topline melodies, lyrics, sang, played, recorded until our fingers bled, our throats were sore and I ran out of words in the dictionary, but we are fucking pleased with the end result. It was still us, but it was more current than the stuff we had been creating.

Between the three of us, I don’t think we had more than five hours of sleep a night. It was better than dwelling on the photos from back home that show Cherry hugging some asshole in a diner. She texted me that she was moving into a trailer, which I thought was great because she’s wanted to get away from her parents.

What wasn’t great was that I spotted the same asshole carrying boxes into that trailer. I didn’t say anything, though, because I’m not there. Someone needs to help her and I’m not going to be one of those guys who is going to make his girl carry her own shit. The sooner the album is done, the sooner Cherry will be able to be with me and the only person who will be touching any of her stuff will be me. That was my driving motivation and it worked.

The studio was rank, too, filled with pizza boxes, Chinese takeout, and cans of beer, Red Bull, and soda. We made a marginal effort of cleaning it up before Treat arrived. Nick sprayed an entire bottle of air freshener and I used a thousand bleach wipes on every surface. It’s definitely better, but it still has a faint lingering odor of sweat and anxiety, which is only getting stronger the longer the silence stretches out.

Finally, he pushes away from the mixing board and straightens. “You really did it, you little shits.”

A feeling of panic whirls up and I’m torn between wanting to face up and puke when a broad grin stretches across Treat’s face. “It’s fucking good.” He slaps me across the back hard enough that I sway.

Nick throws his sticks up in the air and Benjy slides off the chair onto the floor and buries his hands between his knees.

“Let’s get some backing vocals on tracks three, eight and ten and then send the thing off to be mastered.” He checks something on his phone. “It looks like my guy is busy until Thursday so you guys should take some time off and do something fun.” He glances around the room. “Maybe get some fresh air.”

As soon as he leaves, we start yelling. It’s a soundproof room and we need to let off steam. We play the album from start to finish–all ten songs–on repeat until Nick announces he’s hungry. At the apartment, we take turns showering. Nick goes first and when he’s done, he starts cooking. It’s just homemade spaghetti and meatballs, but it tastes better than anything we’ve eaten in weeks.

“You’re going to make someone a good husband,” I joke as I scrape my fork across the empty plate to scoop up the very last of the cheese and red sauce.

“I know. It’s because I’ve got a big dick,” he says.

“No. He’s talking about your cooking,” Benjy corrects.

“In the bedroom. The cooking I do in the bedroom. I mix the batter with my dick.” Nick stands up and makes swiveling motions with his hips, which causes Benjy to throw a wadded paper towel in Nick’s face. Nick retaliates by throwing the last of his water toward Benjy. Before a war can start, I step in between the two with my arm stretched out.