Idol(46)
“You know him?” Whips asks.
“I didn’t know him personally,” Rye says. “But I’ve heard of him, sure.”
It isn’t a surprise that Rye knows about Libby’s dad. Whenever we went on tour, Rye would have his nose in some music history book. There isn’t an instrument he can’t play or a musical tidbit he can’t name. And we’ve tried to stump him. Many times. We always fail.
“You guys haven’t?” he asks when we all kind of look blank.
“Not even a little,” Jax says.
“He was a beast guitarist. Could have been a star on his own. But I guess he didn’t want that. Sat in sessions for a lot of huge bands in the late eighties and nineties.”
“That’s what Libby said. He taught her to play.” I glance around at their smirks. “Jesus, would you stop thinking with your dicks. She actually helped me come up with songs.”
“Do tell,” Jax drawls.
I don’t appreciate the look in his eyes, as if Libby is already cheap entertainment. I might have gotten around to telling them about my relationship with her, but not now. Instead I lean back in the booth seat and shrug. “She sings and plays guitar. And frankly, she’s fucking phenomenal.” I pause, considering, but fuck it, these are my best friends. I can’t hide everything. “I asked her to come play with us.”
“What the fuck?” Jax looks at me as if I’ve sprouted a dick on my forehead.
“Don’t worry, she said no.” It still smarts. Because I know she was born to be out there. The same way I was.
“How about asking us first?” Jax says with another look of disgust. “Kill John doesn’t need another member.”
“It was to perform three songs with us as a guest. Shit, Jack White does it all the time, and it’s brilliant.”
“You’re no Jack White.”
“I’d say I’m better, but from where I’m sitting right now, I admire Jack’s willingness to branch out and test his limits. We don’t.”
Rye laughs darkly. “He’s right, man. We need new material.”
Jax is still pouting like I peed in his Wheaties.
I shake my head. “If you want to know the truth, I had no interest in coming back until I heard her. She was inspiring.”
They all look at me for a long moment, then slowly Whip nods. “Happened to me in Iceland. Was wandering around, not really into anything. Then I went to this club. There was this deejay, a mix master. His sounds were wicked hot, like nothing I’ve heard before. I hung out there all week and started working on some beats with him.”
Jax frowns but doesn’t say anything.
“Whip called me up,” Rye puts in. “I flew out to meet him, and we started composing.”
“Let me get this straight,” Jax says slowly, his frown growing. “None of you wanted anything to do with music this past year?”
Heaviness settles over the table. I lean in, resting my forearms on the cold glass. “We might as well clear the air now. Yeah, Jax, we were fucked up.” I gesture toward Whip and Rye with my chin. “What you did threw us all off. I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty—”
“Oh, well that’s a comfort.” He snorts and takes a drink.
“Too fucking bad,” I snap. “It is what it is. And if it took branching out and roaming the world to find our way back, if we all found different sounds and inspirations, well, that’s a fucking boon, not something to bitch about.”
Jax glares at me while Whip and Rye sit quiet but tense. We all stare at each other for a long minute, the club pulsing and throbbing around us.
Then Jax sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” His head hits the back of the booth with a thud, and he blinks up at the ceiling. “I haven’t had some sort of musical epiphany.” His green eyes cut to us. “But I want to play. I need to.”
His urgency is palpable. It freaks me out that he wants to go on for the wrong reasons. But I’m not his dad. I can only support him and do what’s best for the band. “That’s why we’re here,” I say.
With the edge of his thumb, Jax picks at the soggy label on his beer bottle. “It means a lot.” He glances up, faces us. “I’m serious. I know I’ve been an asshole. But… Thanks for coming back.”
Thing is, Jax was never an asshole before. He was the happy one, the guy who got us motivated. I know Whip and Rye are thinking it too. The table goes silent again, and I wonder how we’re ever going to get back to that easy place we lived in for so long, whether it’s even possible.