Prologue
“Remind me again why you didn’t listen to me when I told you to get your
throat checked out?” Rick asked me for the thousandth time that week.
I sighed, stuffing my clothes into a duffle bag. “Because, Mom, I thought it was just a cold and it would heal in a couple of days.
Aston, who was sitting in the love seat by the window, chuckled at our exchange. That was what I needed right now: Aston’s never-taking-life-too- seriously attitude.
“Do you realise the immense trouble we are in right now, and the heat we’ll take if you can’t sing by Summer Fest?” Rick pressed, pacing the room in frustration.
“Yes, Maverick. I do.” I said, reaching for one of the sweatshirts that was hung on a chair. “But do you realise that that is almost three months away?”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, collapsing into the seat opposite Aston’s.
Aston and I exchanged a look, and he smirked. Calling Rick by his full name always got a rise out of him and made him forget whatever else he was mad about. The last thing I needed right now was to be reminded of the pressure we were under, and the fact that at that moment, I was the weak link.
“How long will you be away?” Aston asked.
“I don’t know, three weeks, maybe longer,” I replied hoarsely.
“Think the change in environment will bring writing inspiration?” Rick asked. “I don’t know, maybe. Maybe not.”
They were both silent for a while before Rick stood up to face me. “Dude, is
there anything that you do know for certain?”
I zipped up my duffel bag angrily. “Yes, Rick! I know that I haven’t written a meaningful lyric in months. And that the label is ready to strangle new music out of us. I know that we have tens of thousands of people who have bought tickets to see us perform, and millions more who will stream the fucking event online. I know that you’re angry about me taking long to seek treatment, but you’re not the one whose damn voice has failed him.”
“I’m sorry, man,” he said contritely. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Let me ask you this, do you know how much the possibility of never being able to sing -let alone hit my high notes- scares me to the point of suffocation?
Cause if you need a fucking idea, picture those magical hands of yours too
broken to strum a single chord!”
I choked on the last statement, my throat constricting painfully. My voice had quickly gone from raspy to hoarse, and now vacillated between squeaky and barely audible.
“Let me get you some water,” Aston said, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “No,” Rick said quietly. “Get him herbal tea with honey and mint.”
“What?” Aston and I asked in unison.
We all stared at each other silently before bursting into laughter. It was the first time we had laughed like that since my visit to the doctor. After what seemed like forever, Maverick pulled me in for a hug, and Aston joined the embrace.
“I’m sorry, Riv,” he said seriously. “I know this hurts you more than anything.”
“It’s alright,” I said despondently. “Hopefully, I’ll be out of the rehab centre in a few weeks.”
Aston headed down to the kitchen and Maverick started packing my suitcase. The next few weeks were going to be trying, but I would give it every ounce of effort in my soul. This wasn’t just about me, it was about all three of us. I couldn’t let my friends down, and because the fans had paid to see Psychedelic Rage perform in three months, I would make sure they got exactly that.
