Something to Believe In

Nine

It took band, manager, and crew alike only three more shows–including the one in Cincinnati on the third–to realize that the rest of the tour was gonna have to be canceled. When Rob wasn't on his painkiller, his hand–especially his thumb–hurt too badly for him to play, but being on it impaired him too much. Or instead of impairing him too much, per sé, it'd make him so drowsy that he'd sit on the couch in the front lounge and fall asleep with his guitar or bass still in his lap.

        During their show in Columbus on the fifth, they'd tried having him and Lyric swap places since she'd proven to be such a virtuoso. They all figured that if they switched places and he was playing piano for the Night, that'd go a lil better for them, but unfortunately, no dice there, either. He'd to use his thumbs so much for a lotta the notes in his piano riffs that he managed to keep up better, but was in even more pain afterward.

        Not only were they running into problems left and right from Rob's broken hand, not to mention having an infant that kept his parents hopping all the Time, but CC's cocaine problem was getting even worse. Even the young woman barking at them to cut it out all the Time–even going so far as to use her man's idea of quite literally slamming their heads together–got him and Bret to cut it out. But the last straw for even their manager was when they'd gotten into it and the young woman'd gone to break it up–only to take punchesta both her cheek and throat. She'd quite the shiner blooming around her left eye and across her left cheek mere minutes afterward, and she sounded like she'd been sick for months after getting punched in the throat.

        There wasn't a doubt in any of their minds that Bret and the guitarist felt horrible about hitting her, considering that neither'd meant to, but enough was finally enough. If they were willing to get into a fight like that–with each other, or some combination of their rhythm section–and even accidentally hit a woman, they were so determined to fight, they needed to be separated. However, the only way to truly separate them besides sending one to his bunk and making the other stay in the front lounge–kill the tour early. None of them truly wanted to, 'cuz they loved what they did, but there were too many deciding factors all piled together.

        "I'm not letting ya nitwits keep getting into fights like that," Howie snapped, having finally called a band meeting so he could put his foot down. "Not only're ya gonna really hurt yourselves, but you're gonna hurt Bobby by making him feel like he's to jump in to protect his girl."

        Rob couldn't help a warning growl as he hugged said girl, the action looking equal parts protective and possessive to the trio of blondes and all their crew.

        "And that's just gonna make me get even more violent when I've to step in again to defend him once he fucks up his hand to the point that he can't really defend himself," she managed to croak.

        "Guys, they're right," the drummer sighed. "We've pretty much been tripping over each others' nuts and our own for four Years straight–it's past high-Time we got away from each other for more than a couple weeks or months."

        "The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Bret snapped.

        "Not that we should disband, if that's what you're thinking," he answered. "No, more like we need a longer break between the End of a tour and getting back in the studio. After that, I think we should try a shorter tour–maybe a Year instead of two, and definitely with longer breaks between each leg, if we're going overseas."

        "Capitol idea, Rik," Lyric chuckled, her voice still sounding off. "But that's something that can be thought over and discussed later."

        "She's definitely right." Even their manager nodded. "'Cuz while it's always good to think ahead, we can't get too far ahead of ourselves, here."