Write Your Own Song

Chapter 6

"Jack, man, I'm really sorry, but we gotta do what's best for the band. We'd wait for you, but you know how these things go down. Once the deal's on the table you gotta take it before it disappears."

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but the guy on the other end of the phone didn't bother to pause to take a breath. He was nervously rambling and practically shouting, fighting to be heard above the racket behind him. The sounds were so familiar - the disjointed notes and chords and run-throughs as the band warmed up and practiced. He hadn't realized how much he missed his music until he heard a couple of bars of a familiar melody pour out in the background. A melody he had helped write.

He rolled his right shoulder, feeling the tightness of the muscles and the pain that shot down his arm, following the path of the damaged nerves. The worst was the numbness and tingling in his fingers and how clumsy he was with just the simplest things. His physical therapist told him he was improving but he was tired of the minuscule improvements, the baby steps, he just wanted to take a giant leap and get back to his life.

The guy on the phone was Mark - the lead singer of The Spares, the band Jack played lead guitar for. Scratch that, Jack thought wearily, the band he used to play lead guitar for.

Mark had just spent the last five minutes explaining why Jack had been replaced by the person who had been filling in for him while he was recuperating. Turns out his fill-in was pretty awesome on lead guitar and the band had been booking show after show this last month. Naturally, a record producer happened to be at a show, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Jack had a hard time believing the new guitarist was any better than he was - he just didn't look nearly as hot in a skirt as Ash did. And that was like the final nail in his coffin, his replacement was some chick. Some chick who barely knew her Keith Richards from her Slash and thought Sid Vicious was that guy in the Harry Potter movies. Some chick who thought that shortening her name from Ashley to Ash somehow made her rock and roll.

She'd been part of the bar scene in New York just as long as he had, only she drifted from band to band, never finding a good fit - not like the one he had with The Spares. An image of her on stage flashed through his mind and he could see why the guys were ditching him.

She looked the part - there was no question about that. Hell, Jack had even been drawn to her, engaging in some extra-curricular activities with her that were more than memorable. But she was just surface - an act. The guys would realize that eventually. Meanwhile, he would be slowly turning into the world's youngest shut-in, anchored to the couch, the remote control permanently fused to his hand.

He was beginning to think he had the worst fucking luck in the world.

"Who pissed in your daisies?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room. Jack hung up the phone, dropping the receiver with a little more force than necessary.

"No one," he said quietly, tracing his fingers over the tattoo on his arm, wondering if it would be too hard to change "Spares" into "Spared". He was beginning to think that fit more with how things were turning out anyway. He'd been spared, but shit lot of good that was doing him at the moment.

"Hey, if it'll cheer ya up, I'll let you wear my jacket."

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Bobby, I'm not twelve anymore - I don't care about your Redwings jacket. Plus, I'm pretty sure the sleeves would be too short for me now anyway."

"You think you're fucking funny, huh?"

"Yeah."

"We could test your theory. I bet Ma kept the coat."