Santiago
Diego called me anhour before we went on stage in Germany. I almost didn’t answer, but seeing his name on my screen pulled me from the headspace I liked to get in before shows. Since I was already off-kilter, I pressed accept and walked away from my band to find a quiet corner to talk to my brother.
“Hey.”
He breathed, in and out, in and out. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
I chuckled, even though I had trouble finding humor right now. “I almost didn’t.”
He hissed in a breath. “I’m so fucking sorry, man.”
“No, no. Don’t. Shit, I almost didn’t answer because we’re about to go on stage,notbecause I don’t want to talk to you.”
Another long breath. “Wow, I am such a dick. I wasn’t thinking, time difference and all. I just got access to a phone and—don’t laugh at me—I needed to hear your voice.”
Lips pressed together to hold back a sob, I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I really needed to hear your voice too. Don’t think we’ve gone more than a day without talking since you barged into my life.”
He let out a short laugh. “No, you’re right. It’s been weird not having you to bounce shit off of. But it’s been good too, doing this on my own.”
I pressed my back against the wall and let myself slide down, my knees bent. “Are you still there?”
“I moved into a sober house this week. It’s like rehab-lite. I think I’ll be here a month or more, until I’m less shaky with real life.”
Iwas fucking shaky. The hand that held my phone to my ear was practically vibrating.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t even know. My head is clear for the first time in a long time, but I feel like a pile of trash. It’s hard to explain, feeling physically better than ever, but mentally like the inside of my skull has been scraped clean with sandpaper.”
I nodded again and again. “That painted a pretty good picture, man.”
“I need some time to wrap my head around everything before we start talking about it.”
“I’m not in any rush. Knowing you’re okay, getting better, it’s what I needed.”
When I saw him, I’d ask where I went wrong, how I missed every fucking sign, why he didn’t come to me when he realized he had a problem, why he hid how much pain he was in. For now, this was enough. It had to be.
“Me too. I gotta call Pops and Alicia after this.”
I winced. I didn’t envy him. “They’re worried.”
“I know. Being in rehab, hearing other people’s stories...I’m lucky I have people who worry about me. When some of them get out, they’re on their own. No one left to worry or care if they stay sober.”
“That’llneverbe you. No matter what.” He’d spent the first ten years of his life in tumult, alone a good deal of the time, and no doubt scared shitless. No way would I let him feel that way again. Until my dying breath, I’d be there.
“Enough about my bullshit. Tell me about the tour. Who do you have on drums?”
My insides shrunk into a tight ball. This was another moment I’d been dreading. I had no idea how fragile he was right now, or how his replacement would make him feel.
“You remember Maeve O’Day?”
He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a choke and a laugh. “Do I remember Maeve O’Day, the girl I wrote a song for and named our band after?”
“Yeah, her. And co-wrote.”
“Co-wrote. Fine. Why?”
“She’s a drummer.”