Stupid Dream

Recording was easier this go-around. Jim and I were sharper, more confident. We knew the material inside and out—nothing like the chaos of recording the first album.

By the end of day one, all the drums and bass were done. I texted Stan the update. He was ecstatic. Said it felt like we’d finally found our way back.

Day two went quickly. I spent most of it layering guitar parts—building depth with harmonies on Hate Me and Chasing Ghosts to lift Scott’s vocals. The solos felt effortless. The Firebird I used this time had a warmth and bite that the old Jackson never gave me.

Scott crushed his vocals by the end of the day. A House of Cards was especially sharp—his voice still had that broken beauty to it. The harmonies on the other two songs added something raw, almost mournful.

We’d get the masters back by the 18th, but I sent early mixes to Stan for feedback. I figured I’d get a one-liner or maybe a thumbs-up.

Instead, he called.

“Wes—I’ve been listening all day. Where did this come from?”

“I started writing after the tour. Jim and I spent the fall pulling it together.”

“I sent A House of Cards to Tony Black. Wes, this is a leap. It doesn’t even sound like the same band anymore.”

“You think there’s a market for it?”

“These are all bigger than Darker Days. You’re not just finding your sound—you’re building a legacy. And setting yourself up for a hell of a solo career.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

“I can’t wait to hear the masters. See you soon.”

He hung up.

A text came through.

Tony Black

Hey kid. Stan played me the new tracks. Talking to the label about you opening for X-Mass this summer.

I stared at it. Then I started crying.

Mrs. Largent looked up from across the room, brow furrowed. “Wes, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “Never better.”

“You sure?”

“It’s nothing bad—I promise.”

She didn’t press. Just nodded, like she knew that sometimes even the best news hurts.

I was proud of what I’d built—of how far I’d come. But the cost of what I’d lost… and the price ahead… that was something else entirely.

***

I found Skye and followed her into the bedroom. I didn’t want to perform—I needed to talk.

“I think I fucked up,” I said, voice low. “I don’t know.”

She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Talk me through it.”

“The new music is good—maybe too good. Stan thinks it’s what’ll push us to the next level. You might even have a top-40 hit to your name.”

“Okay,” she said cautiously, “so where did you go wrong?”

“I talked to Stan in Tulsa,” I admitted. “I made a verbal deal. After the second album, I’m leaving the band to go solo.”

She blinked, processing. “And why do you think that was a mistake?”

“I’ve done awful things to the people in this band. And still… they came back to me. Like I was forgiven. Like they were trusting me to deliver on a dream. And now I’m planning to walk away—to leave them to die when it’s convenient.”

“Wes,” she said gently, “if you don’t think that’s the right call, then don’t do it. But you’ve got time. Years.”

She was right. But it didn’t settle the feeling gnawing at me.

“I think it is the right decision,” she said. “You three… you can’t stop hurting yourselves. Or each other. I don’t know if you’d all survive if you kept going.”

I didn’t argue.

“I guess I thought maybe a solo career would give me peace.”

Skye gave a small smile and leaned her head against mine.

“I just want you to be happy,” she whispered. “And I want to be happy, too.”

“I’ve been so lost lately,” I said. “Is there anything you want to talk about? I know I’ve been selfish.”

She kissed my forehead, then pulled away, her eyes heavier than before.

“I guess I’ll share some of the weight so we’re even.”

Her voice was soft. Careful.

“This whole time I’ve been trying to figure out who I am—how I’m supposed to fit into this world. I grew up with an addict for a dad and a touchy uncle. When I was violated, people said I’d get over it. That I’d find a way to live a normal life. Be a normal girl. Find love with a guy like my dad or my uncle.”

She turned to look at me. I was already crying.

“Then I met you. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever known. You didn’t push. You changed for the people you loved. And I wanted to see if I could become one of them.”

She took a shaky breath.

“You were dating the only real friend I’d ever had. It killed me to hurt her. But when we hooked up that first time… and I was handled with care for once…”

Her voice broke. I pulled her into my arms. She sobbed, but she wasn’t done.

“Feeling loved for the first time—it stirred something sick in me. Like a hunger I didn’t know I had. I craved touch. But it was always you. Every time you leave, I worry you won’t come back. And I’m so scared to end up alone. Broken. Like I was back then.”

I held her. Tighter than I ever had. There was nothing I could say that would undo her past. But in that moment, all I wanted was to be a reason she didn’t have to relive it.

“I didn’t tell you this to be saved or validated… I just needed you to see all of me.”

Our eyes met. We were holding hands.

“Thank you, Skye.”

“I’m whole knowing you felt like you could share that with me… I love you.”

“I love you, Wes. No matter what you do with the band—I’m not leaving.”

We fell asleep holding each other.