

Blinded

by the Sun

Adam Salomon

Copyright 2011 by Adam Salomon

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing by the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment through Smashwords and may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

To my wife and family for their support and the musicians

I've had the privilege of working with.
Chapter 1

Though the humid air was starting to cool down as the sun set over the PNC Bank Arts Center in Holmdel, New Jersey, the energy that filled the amphitheater was only heating up. Dever, whom I had been a founding member of, had just taken the stage to a thunderous ovation which only intensified as the band relentlessly tore through each song, sending the crowd into a frenzy as mosh pits formed and fists pumped high in the air.

As I looked out at the crowd rocking with the band from the side of the stage, I could not stop the memories of everything we've been through from rushing back to me. I never expected life to become such a roller-coaster ride; it felt so exhilarating when things were good, as if we were living on a constant high and had the world in the palms of our hands. We could do anything we wanted and knew we would get away with it. But when my depression set in, it felt as if demons somehow found refuge in my head and began to tear away at everything that made me who I was until I only wanted to curl up in a corner and die.

"What is the purpose of life?" I used to ask myself as I stayed up late at night, lost in thought from the band's Brooklyn apartment. "Does having a passion in life want to make us become better human beings and fully understand ourselves? Or does it just drive us mad deep inside?" I truly felt alone but did not want to admit it to anybody. Instead, I would just watch the traffic below and the lights of Midtown Manhattan glimmer in the distance while wishing for answers to my questions. From far away, the city looks so tranquil and peaceful. No one knows of the suffering. No one sees the pain.

When viewed from street-level, the perspective of the city transforms into an ugly beast. The streets are constantly congested, while an impatient crowd waits for the J, M, or Z trains on the elevated tracks above. The old man picking through garbage is a fixture sitting on the stairs of the Lorimer and Hewes Street stations, drinking out of a bottle wrapped inside of a brown paper bag, while children kick bottle caps left lying on the sidewalks in front of corner grocery stores below. And through it all, Puerto Rican music blasts from passing automobiles on their way to Graham Avenue, a few blocks away, while drug deals are made on the side.

And so went my every day, fighting my way through Williamsburg, walking past the crumbling, graffiti-ridden tenements with busted windows and drunken bastards sitting on the front steps. If you looked at them the wrong way, they'll stare a hole right through you, if you're lucky enough not to get attacked. And the cops down at the around the corner have never done anything about it! At the time, I'd be willing to bet that some of those drunks were off-duty cops who did the same thing behind their desks at the station. I couldn't help but laugh when viewing the headlines in the _New York Times_ that read, "Brooklyn Cop Shot," while walking past the vending machine on the street corner. I had no respect for them simply because they didn't have the guts to do their job and patrol the streets or protect the innocent children playing around the corner in Sternberg Park or in front of my apartment building on Boerum Street.

As for my music, it showed my daily life and my disgust for everything around me. It told of the girls I brought up to the apartment and conveyed small children getting shot because some cop's gun accidentally went off. This harsh reality was enough to make even the happiest of people depressed. After a long day, all you could do was sit back with a couple of your closest friends, have a cold one, roll a joint or two, and try to express our experiences through music. This place was hell, but I never wanted to trade it for anything in the world!

I didn't need some small town where everyone knew my business – I preferred not knowing who my neighbors were and what they're up to. The only people who truly understood me and actually cared were my roommates, whom I played with in Dever, "Little" Joe, Mike, and James.

Little Joe played a killer double bass drum and could out-drum the great Vinnie Paul of Pantera and Hellyeah fame! His hard-hitting style and tempo changes were the foundation of the band's sound and enabled me to express myself in a way I never could before I met him. His energy when he stood behind his drums, his hair flying in every direction, pounding the crap out of them with everything he had, easily transferred to the crowd.

Joe first started playing the drums after attending his first concert, Slayer and Lamb of God, at Manhattan's Roseland Ballroom. He thought he could let his aggressions out in mosh pits but wound up getting kicked around one too many times and figured it would be better if he was on stage pounding the skins rather than being pounded on. Musically, he was into a mix of nü metal and hardcore bands like Hellyeah, Sepultura, Killswitch Engage, Slayer, Shadows Fall, Down, Avenged Sevenfold, and Black Label Society, to name a few.

As confident as Joe was behind the drums, off stage he was a completely different guy and had "insecure" written all over his narrow face that he tried hiding behind long, jet black hair which flowed past his shoulders. If it wasn't for his goatee, people would have thought he's too young to go clubbing or drinking with us. Even though he's hyperactive and fidgety, his personality limited him in that he barely spoke a word and just went with the flow of things. If Mike and I wanted to drink, he'd say, "Sure, count me in," with his squeaky voice. If we wanted to smoke joints, he'd make sure there was extra rolling paper for him. What little else he did say was barely worth the effort. Even if he couldn't pick up a prostitute if she paid him for the night, he's still one hell of a great guy who I've respected and whose musicianship I admire.

Mike, the guitar virtuoso of Dever, had the grooves of Downset's Ares, the melodic sounds of the late, great Criss Oliva from Savatage, and the crunching riffs of the "Cowboy from Hell" Dimebag Darrel and old-school Pantera. This guy's got the crowd head-banging in unison numerous times by only playing a single note while bobbing his head up and down while his long, brown hair waved in every direction. He's always known the classics, like Maiden, Priest, and Mötörhead, will never go out of style, and his blistering solos were enough to leave Eddie Van Halen stumbled and exhausted. Not only that, Mike held his liquor as well! He was great to party with and possessed the charm to enable him to walk out of any bar with the phone number of every girl inside with ease, if not spending the night with a few.

Most of all, he knew what herbs did the trick and was looked up to as the medicine man. Nobody in the neighborhood messed with Mike because he supplied the locals, who were probably involved with various gangs. However, he knew enough not to mix work with pleasure and never, under any circumstances, invited his clients to parties or shows. In addition, nobody messed with Joe, James, or myself in the streets at night simply because everyone knew we rolled with Mike.

James had the underlying thunder of Dever all to himself and was the best bassist I've ever heard! Forget about Lemmy Kilmister or the late Cliff Burton and his song "Anesthesia-Pulling Teeth"! They have never played a distorted bass line while a dual solo was being performed! James had the thunder to rival Mike's rage and Joe's aggression. Then again, he had a personality that could rival that of the most aggressive person. One wrong look into his dark brown eyes would easily send a person running for his life. He hated everything and was never without his anarchy shirt. One could always hear Black Flag, The Misfits, Dead Kennedys, Sex Pistols, Rise Against, and Suicidal Tendencies blasting from his room, and his music oozed with the stylings of Megadeth, Avenged Sevenfold, Stormtroopers of Death, and early Metallica. Since he was always bashing authority, I was at times worried that one day he'd say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Then again, no one had the guts to get into arguments or political debates with him. A bartender by day, he knew the recipe for any killer drink that would knock one off their feet!

As for myself, I first got into heavy metal around the age of eight, when I heard Guns N' Roses on the radio for the first time. Since my mother was never home, she didn't know what was going on inside my head or what I was up to at our apartment; I don't even think she cared. A few years later, I stole my first guitar and pretended to be Slash, even though I didn't know a single note at the time and couldn't imagine Slash playing a blue Yamaha guitar. I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for Guns N' Roses' diverse musical style which helped me through nights I was so wasted that I don't even remember the wild parties I threw or where my depression had gotten the best of me and just wanted to be alone.

The booming alternative and hip-hop music scenes didn't hold me back – they only made me realize my dream. I was still in high school when I got my first job working at the corner record store. I blasted heavy metal bands that were still coming out with good music just to get a rise out of the fans who were buying Oasis, Bush, Offspring, and Limp Bizkit discs. I felt that bands like them didn't deserve to be played at all. The manager thought otherwise and decided to fire me because of my attitude, or lack thereof.

Word got around school that I got fired because of my dislike of the scene that had a stranglehold on rock music. I was labeled an outcast for wearing Metallica, Maiden, and Sabbath shirts. I couldn't care less, as I knew who would easily win a fight if anyone started with me.

After a while, I realized I wasn't the only one who still looked up to the Mötörheads and the Sabbaths and hooked up with Joe, Mike, and James to form Dever. The name literally means "pestilence," and that was exactly what we were to some - four punks paying tribute to our heroes.

After a couple of weeks, I got a job selling guitars at Ron's Music on Bushwick Avenue with the sole purpose of getting paid to learn some new techniques from the musicians I was trying to sell to. I even learned how to work the switchboards found in many studios by playing around with them when no one was around, which led to my next job as a sound engineer at Pier 42, where I learned even more from the many musicians who performed at the nightclub near the Williamsburg Bridge in Brooklyn.

I eventually picked up my own style of playing that melded well with Mike's aggression and Joe's unique drumming. I learned the undistorted, melodic styles of Criss Oliva to ease my pain, the furious licks of Zakk Wylde, the hard-hitting riffs of Slayer's Kerry King to let my aggressions out, and listened to bands like Avenged Sevenfold, Bullet for my Valentine, and Blind Guardian for examples on how to put it all together.

The guitar was the one true constant in my life since everything else wound up letting me down. I often suffered through stints of depression, wanting to end it all. To me, it was just a normal part of everyday life. If it wasn't for the girls we brought up to the apartment, I'd have nothing to live for. And, if it wasn't for the music we wrote, I'd have nothing to die for. At times, I felt like I was just taking up space in this overcrowded city.

Instead of thinking about the negatives that could have been, Mike, James, Joe, and I would sit on our terrace, eleven stories up, and snort heroin or smoke marijuana as we watched the sun set over the Manhattan skyline. On a warm, humid summer's night, the twilight was a breath-taking sight. The drugs would make us see the world from a positive perspective and realize how beautiful life really is. As a result, we would forget the shootings and corrupt cops in the surrounding neighborhoods. The colors and designs of the clouds during the sunsets would just put us at ease. And once the sun had set over the skyline, the first star always appeared over the distant Empire State Building.

Chapter 2

If there was one thing that kept me going other than the mind-expanding evenings and the concerts, it was the parties that we threw. Mike would bring the herbs, James, the drinks, I'd supply some of the tunes, and the girls who found their way to our place supplied the food and everything else that was missing from a good time. All of those elements would keep Mike, James, and myself going all night long. As for Joe, who knows what kept him going, although he seemed to dig everything.

We never drank or took drugs because it was the 'cool' thing to do. It was the only way we could escape life's wrath in this city, since there was no other way out. The drugs also seemed to give us the one thing that we longed for - a sense of balance and hope. It wasn't just the four of us who dabbled - everyone who stumbled up to our apartment took an active role in the drinking, the drugs, and everything else.

Raven was a neighborhood girl who we all knew through Mike long before Dever formed and was the first person to pass out flyers for the band. She even created our original website. Her warm smile and outgoing nature instantaneously attracted people, and she began telling others about us, who then spread the word and created a buzz. She saw the potential that MySpace and Facebook could have in terms of reaching more people, and as our friendship grew, she became invaluable.

Raven ran into this guy, Tommy, while passing flyers out after a concert at Pier 42 and gave him a copy of our EP. Little did she know, he happened to run a website dedicated to the New York metal scene and took pictures at every one of our concerts. As time passed, they helped each other promote various groups and eventually started dating.

Tommy and Raven were a dynamic, yet troublesome duo. If we were throwing a party, they were always the first to arrive. Together, they would start games such as spin the bottle, which often ended up with people participating in various sexual activities, as did poker, which wasn't just for stripping. The winner would involve himself with any girl of his choosing. And, if a girl won, some random guy would suddenly become very lucky. Games like these were the reason some of the girls came in the first place.

Every so often, I needed to get some air and usually grabbed a beer before heading out onto the terrace. At one of the parties, I remember walking out only to feel the cool, late September breeze on my face as it gently blew through my hair.

"It's beautiful out tonight, Scott," a soft-hearted voice said as I closed my eyes and took a hit off my joint.

I opened them to find a girl leaning on the railing with a bottle of Bud in her hand.

"The view of Manhattan is beautiful," she continued as my eyes ran up and down her toned, slender figure with perfect curves in all the right places. Her long, brown hair blew with the breeze and glowed from the reflecting lights of the city.

"Yeah, I guess it is," I replied, looking out towards Midtown. I then turned around and noticed her beautiful brown eyes. "What's your name?" I asked as I slowly put my arm around her.

"Just call me Jen," she softly replied and gently kissed my cheek.

After talking for a couple of minutes, she said that she was getting a little chill. I raised my beer up and said, "I'll get a blanket out of the closet."

"No," she replied, "that's all right."

I couldn't help but look into her gleaming brown eyes as she stared back at mine. I put my arm around her once more, and before we knew it, our lips slowly met. She let out a playful giggle as if she seemed happily surprised by the turn of events, though we both knew what our true intentions were. I quickly took her arm and led her inside. My eyes were fixated on her breasts as we stumbled through the living room, which was littered with empty beer cans, broken taco shells, and torn pizza boxes that looked like someone had begun to write song lyrics on them. Those who were playing poker seemed to be making up the rules as they went along because they were too drunk to figure out which cards to play.

We finally made our way into my bedroom, which was lit only by the amber glow from the lights outside, and sat on the bed facing the window. I ran my fingers through her long, brown hair before putting my arms around her and sneaking them under her shirt. One thing led to another, and within a few minutes, she was on her back.

I awoke the next morning to the usual sounds – James stumbling around in the kitchen looking for a slice of pizza, elevated trains passing on the tracks near the apartment, horns blaring from the streets below, and sirens from the fire engines pulling out of the 90th precinct piercing through it all. I stared at the ceiling for about fifteen minutes, hoping my head would stop throbbing and still felt a slight dizzy sensation that subsided when I carefully closed my eyes, drowning out the sounds I loved.

When I finally got out of bed, I opened the shades and saw nothing but gray. The Manhattan skyline disappeared in the low clouds, and in the opposite direction, the borough of Queens vanished in the autumn rain that was coming down at a steady rate. As I put some clothes on, I noticed a bra and a couple of used condoms sitting on my bed. My head throbbing even more from the thought of how much alcohol I may have consumed, I headed to the bathroom and took some pain relievers out of an open bottle that was on the sink and popped them in my mouth.

As I passed through the foyer on my way to the kitchen, the pungent aroma of coffee was enough to wake me up. "How you feeling, man?" I asked James, who sat at the dining room table, smoking his first cigarette of the day with some girl by his side.

"Lousy, man," he replied, shaking his head from left to right. "I took some of those pain relievers earlier this morning that you bought, and this damn headache won't go away!"

"So take some more!" I snapped back. "That's what I bought 'em for. They usually help me with my hangovers. If you're gonna complain, buy your own and stop taking mine."

I then grabbed a pack of Marlboros with some coffee from the kitchen counter. After pulling a cigarette out, I walked over to James and his girl.

"Oh, this is Sara," he proudly mentioned as I lit my cigarette.

It was too early to be talking to people, and I really wanted to enjoy my cigarette in peace. Forcing myself to wake up, however, I nodded and sipped my coffee. Noticing a newspaper on the other end of the table, I reached over and immediately turned to the concert listings to see where various bands were playing.

"Do you wanna see Collage down at Pier 42 tonight?" I asked.

"Damn, they're an awesome cover band," he replied as he put his hands around her.

"I wish I could go with you, but apparently, I promised Sara that I'd hang out with her tonight."

I then turned in Sara's direction. "You ever hear of a band called The X Factor? They're also gonna be there."

"Never heard of them," she quickly replied, sensing I was trying to get them to go with me. With that, she took James's arm and pulled him outside for a smoke.

That night, as I walked down Broadway under the elevated tracks, the mist started to fall again like diamonds suspended in the air, and the lights from cars and corner grocery stores reflected on the wet pavement. The creatures of the night started stirring as well, despite the weather. Fat girls dressed in tight jeans, leather, or half-skirts leaned over opened windows of cars stopped at traffic lights. I tried to get over the feeling of emptiness and depression that the weather had brought. To keep my mind occupied, I thought about the songs I expected to hear.

I almost lost it when some of the girls came over to me; I wanted to tell them what they can do with themselves, if not make them physically feel what I felt emotionally. I ignored them and my urges and continued walking. The feeling of emptiness returned, however, and I couldn't shake it. Something was missing from my life despite having everything I could ever want – drugs, girls, guitars, and a great family in the band and fans.

Once I reached Washington Plaza, by the foot of the Williamsburg Bridge, a crowd was standing outside waiting to get into Pier 42. The air was thick with anticipation, and an infectious energy charged through the rowdy crowd, which struck me immediately when I saw Tommy talking to a few people wearing Dever t-shirts. What little depression was left vanished when Raven ran over and hugged me, and together, we passed out some flyers and promoted some of our up-coming gigs.

I took a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it as I entered the club. Since Tommy and Raven went their own way, I found a seat at the bar and ordered a Birch, a mix of Red Bull and vodka. After a few minutes, The X Factor hit the stage running, as each member was extremely animated while ripping through each song. The crowd easily fed off the band's energy and was moshing and headbanging from the first second until Collage was set to hit the stage, at which point I left the bar and joined everyone in front of the stage.

A few songs into Collage's set, they played a cover of Godsmack's "Alive". A majority of the crowd screamed the lyrics back as they waved their fists high in the air. I found a small mosh pit and let loose. It almost felt good knowing my fist made contact with so many faces.

Spinning in circles, my limbs flailing in all directions, I thought I was seeing things out of the corner of my eye. I looked again, and she was still there. She had flowing, long, fine, dark blonde hair past her shoulders and appeared to be alone, as there were no guys with their hands around her, grinding to the music. Though she had a pink drink in hand, she didn't strike me as the type of girl who would be at Pier 42. She looked humble by the fact that she wore no make-up and wasn't out to impress anyone. She almost appeared angelic in her jeans, white shirt, and denim jacket, glowing from the reflection of the stage lights, which made me wonder why no one was with her. If her sad, yet luminescent smile spoke volumes about her, I missed it by wanting to take her to bed with me. For the first time, I felt torn over a girl, as I could not bring myself to talk to her. Maybe I was scared of hurting her like I had every other girl I've been with. My knees became weak and my palms started sweating. I carefully stepped out of the mosh pit, my hands trembling, and watched her smoke her cigarette, hoping she would see me and make her way over to where I was. But every time she looked in my direction, I turned away as if blinded by the sun.

After the show, I walked out of the club and saw it had stopped raining. I got myself under control and thought about what I would say as I waited for her by the exit. After staying for quite some time, I thought, "Why get all worked up over some random girl? There's millions in this city, and I can get any one of 'em!"

The girls in the streets that night had bodies one would die for and were enough to keep my mind off the girl at the club. If it weren't getting close to one in the morning and I wasn't so tired, I would have spent the night with one of them.

Back at the apartment, James was watching television with Sara in his lap. His arms were wrapped around her waist as he kissed her neck. "Hey Sara," I said.

She replied, "Hi, Scott," as James simultaneously asked, "'Sup, man? How was the concert?"

"It was all right," I replied as I walked past Mike's room, and he was in the middle of writing some lyrics. When he heard I was home, he opened the door and called me in.

"Whattaya think about this?" He asked, handing me a torn piece of paper with barely legible writing.

"I'm too damn tired, Mike," I replied. "I just wanna get some sleep."

"James and I are still working on it, but just take a quick look," he insisted.

I took the piece of paper and started reading it:

"I wanna lay to rest any preconcepts that you hold toward me

If you can make the time, I'll make it worth your while to rid you of hostility

You see in color, I see what's wrong and right

Fuck what you've thought and your foolish pride

Wipe that smile right off your face

Walking so proud, what a disgrace

The more you focus on your own race

The further apart we grow in this time and space

I call your black jack and your Russian roulette

You'd better shut up now and stop spewing your shit

You wanna talk the talk and give us reason to hate?

I got news for you brotha, we don't wanna relate

To your race card, stop spewing your shit

Fuck your race card, go burn your own bridge"

"Sounds good, Mike!" I replied as I closed my door, neglecting to think about how deep the lyrics were. James later told me it was about the Latisha Williams incident in the South Bronx. She was fatally shot by police for trying to run them over after a routine traffic stop, which sparked outrage and violent protests within the minority community across the tri-state area. One could easily see this wasn't an issue of racial tension, as the officer, Diego Gonzales, was only trying to protect the other officers, who found stolen merchandise and loaded weapons in the car.

During the days and nights that followed, I became increasingly depressed and didn't feel like hanging out on the street corner with the guys. I couldn't care less about watching the girls pass by. All I cared about was the music, the drugs, and the booze, which I started using on a regular basis.

By the time Halloween rolled around, the drinking and drugs had taken their toll on me. Halloween was my favorite holiday because we usually threw huge parties at Pier 42. From there, everyone would pour into the streets or move to other nightclubs in the area. For some reason, I didn't feel the natural high that came with the holiday this year. I thought it was because Nick, one of Pier 42's owners, was afraid of things getting out of hand like the previous years and cancelled the party.

That didn't faze us; we invited all of our fans up to the apartment and threw a party of our own, blasting all types black and goth metal bands. A few girls brought rum candies and made hash brownies and beer bread cupcakes. At first, I pretended to have a good time due to my reputation of picking up girls, drinking, and getting high. After all, I didn't need anyone thinking something was wrong with me.

I started feeling better after a few shots of vodka in chocolate shot glasses. Then someone had the bright idea of drinking Buttershots out of them, and I followed suit. After downing a few, I was back to my old self, flirting with girls and bringing them to my bedroom while Jen and Sara were smoking on the terrace.

Chapter 3

We started writing new material at a place we called the warehouse in the beginning of November. It was an old, abandoned building on South 6th Street, by the river, one of James's former girlfriend's father owned. She told the band we could use it whenever we wanted. Once she found out he was screwing other women though, she started acting crazy and got nasty about us using the space. Her attitude only made us want to use it out of spite, and as long as her father kept receiving our checks, there was nothing she could have done.

The space was ideal for practicing, and it was big enough to house Joe's double bass drums with more than enough room for us to move around. It had the perfect atmosphere for writing new material or practicing songs we've played for a while, as the bricks and cement floor were neutral shades of gray on the inside, and the windows toward the ceiling were big enough to let plenty of light in during the day.

We often stayed up until two in the morning for weeks, trying to get songs to work. Being perfectionists, we sometimes pushed ourselves to the limit, which was the case while working on "Infallible."

"What do you think you're doing, James?" I yelled.

"What do you mean what am I doing?" He screamed back.

"For the song to work, you've gotta play it right," I replied. "It's supposed to have a raw, thrash metal feel to it, and you're not keeping up with the rest of us!"

"Fuck you, Scott," he responded as he got up.

I should have known better than to get into an argument with him, but I was ready to take everything he had. He put his bass down and slowly walked over to me as his eyes turned red. "Jesus Christ, Scott! What's with you, man," Mike asked, trying to hold James back.

"I played the damn song just as you told me to," James snapped. "And now you're saying I fucked it up?"

"I don't care who messed the damn thing up," Mike yelled. "You're both drunk as hell!"

Joe was quick to chime in, "Come on guys, let's just take a break."

Looking in Joe's direction, I replied, "Ya know, that's the first smart thing you said all night. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting some air."

"Good, get outta here!" James yelled as I slammed the door.

I'm sure everyone put their two-cents in about my walking out, but I didn't care. My thought raced angrily as a tear rolled down my cheek. My head drooping down, I took a breath of the night's crisp air as I walked down Broadway, under the elevated tracks. I was too pissed to look the world in the eyes, but every so often, I managed to look up at the stars flickering above like guardian angels and begged desperately for advice. They only answered in silence, and my tears began to fall like rain. "Why is everything so fucked up?" A voice yelled inside my head as I covered my eyes to hide the tears and leaned over, my elbows on my knees, craving cocaine.

I awoke in a better mood the next morning to the usual sounds and stared at the bustling city below. Once everyone was awake, I crawled out from under my rock and joined them in the kitchen.

"Hey, you okay, Scott?" James asked.

"I'm fine, man," I replied.

"It's not like you to get all bent out of shape like that," Mike added. "You sure you're fine?"

"Yes, Mike," I replied, trying to hide that I felt halfway over the edge, as I grabbed a box of half eaten fried rice from the fridge.

"If you're fine, what happened to you last night?" James asked.

"I don't want to fight with you," I calmly replied.

"Who's fighting?" He asked. "It's just a simple question; what happened to you?"

Deep inside, I wanted some drugs to get my mind focused but settled for a cigarette. "Nothing," I replied as I lit it and inhaled. "I just needed some air."

"Damn right you did," Mike quietly muttered as if he couldn't keep it to himself.

"Listen," I said as I took the cigarette out of my mouth, "I just want to apologize for whatever I did to piss you off. We're all under a lot of pressure because we want to get these songs right. But I don't want to be pissed at anybody, especially you guys. I know I probably deserve your fist in my face, James..."

"What are you talking about?" James replied. "It's all cool."

"Hey, so we're still on for Pier 42 tonight, right?" Mike asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh yeah, definitely!" James replied. "Icarus is gonna open for us. Word has it they're killer live."

"Yeah, I've seen 'em once before," Mike said.

"What time's sound check?" James inquired.

"Six," Joe replied.

We rehearsed on and off during the day, and by the time 6:00 rolled around, we were on stage at the empty club finalizing the set as the sound engineers scurried to get the mix perfect. After running through "Doing My Time," I turned to face the band and said, "I think we gotta do this song first. And about four songs in, we can do "Surefire." Then, Joe can do his drum solo, which can lead into "Wild Card."

"And then, we can do "Mental," leading into my guitar solo," Mike suggested.

"All right, sounds cool," Joe replied.

"So, we're good to go!" I called out as I walked off the stage, lighting a cigarette with the rest of the band in tow.

Electricity filled the air as the rowdy crowd began pouring into the club at 8:30. The louder they got, the more pumped up we became. James suggested we do a pre-show celebration with Icarus and found a way to get some Budweiser backstage.

When Icarus went on, the crowd went crazy. Deafening screams and chants filled the club. Fists waved high and heads banged in unison as they played their unique blend of nü and power metal.

About midway through their set, I began walking around the club, looking for the girl I saw at the Collage show. I remembered those beautiful, dark blue eyes, long, flowing hair, and angelic glow. Although there were tons of babes there, she was nowhere to be found. I didn't think much of it because it was still early and returned backstage.

As soon as Icarus finished their set, Joe helped Tony Owens take his drums down, and he returned the favor by helping Joe set his up. Meanwhile, I picked up my guitar and put the strap around my neck. James and Mike frantically played with their electric tuners, making sure their guitars were in tune.

Chapter 4

We suddenly heard some fans chant, "Dever! Dever! Dever!," over the music playing on the PA system between sets. Once we received the green light from one of Pier 42's managers, Joe, Mike, and James ran onto the stage to a chorus of screams. Once Joe started his aggressive drumbeat to get the crowd going, chants of, "Hey, hey, hey, hey..." filled the club in unison. James then supplied the underlying thunder with his bass while bobbing his head up and down. After a few seconds, I ran onto the stage, waving my right arm up and down to incite the crowd even more, and Mike started playing the heavy, downbeat power-chords of "Doing My Time" as his hair flew in all directions. I finally joined mike, playing some power-chords of my own before getting behind the microphone and singing.

"Hey!" I called out after playing a couple of songs and watching Joe's drum solo from the side of the stage, "I need something really heavy right now, how 'bout you guys?"

The crowd shouted back as fists raised high in affirmation. Looking in Mike's direction, I added, "This is a new one our guitarist wrote for us after seeing some things go down in the streets; it's called 'Wild Card'!"

Even before we decided to play it live, Joe and I were afraid people would find the lyrics too abrasive. Mike only hoped the song would go over well, and James wanted nothing more than for it to stir controversy. "The more controversy, the better," he expressed as we rehearsed the song earlier in the day. "It's bullshit when people get together and sing 'Kumbaya,' only to play the race card in the end. Besides, stirring things up would only help us in the long run."

James played the bass notes as Joe joined with his rapid-fire double-bass drum beat. I stepped away from the microphone, my hair flying in all directions, and played the opening riff with Mike, who sported an EFÄR (Equality for All Races) cap that somebody threw on stage. The moment we saw fists pumping and mosh pits forming in the center of the club, we knew it was an immediate hit with the fans. I looked back and smiled at Mike, whose fingers flew across the fretboard, before stepping towards the microphone to sing.

Though the song sounded tight for it being written only a few days prior, I was still uneasy about a lot of things, including James and Mike's intentions of using "Wild Card" as an anthem to elicit equality. I never envisioned us being a political band, but I'm glad they were able to express their disgust constructively.

Since we had a commitment to the fans, we made our way through the crowd after the set, shaking hands and talking. "Oh my God, that fuck racism song you did was awesome," one fan commented after another. After a few minutes of repeatedly hearing this, I only wanted to see those unmistakable blue eyes staring in my direction but didn't as we made our way through the club. My hands began trembling, and I was in desperate need of a shot or two.

"You okay, Scott?" James asked as he followed me to the bar.

Before I could answer, a voice from the bar called out, "James! Over here!"

"Sara! I was wondering where you were," James responded as he picked her up off the stool and hugged her.

"I can't believe how awesome you guys were tonight!" She expressed before their lips locked.

After a few minutes, James ordered a beer as I downed a shot of Grey Goose and chased it with an Aftershock Red.

Joe and Mike then found us at the bar, followed by a barrage of fans that hung out and drank with us for a while. Still thinking that she could be inside the club somewhere, I looked around for that angelic figure once more, but she was nowhere to be found.

"Who the hell are you looking for?" James asked.

Feeling great from the shots, I smiled and replied, "Just lookin' at the girls." A few guys laughed, and Sara chuckled as she playfully punched my shoulder. I then took a cigarette out of my pocket and carefully placed it between my lips. After lighting it, I looked around once more and said, "I'll meet you guys in the back. I'm gonna get some air."

As I walked toward the exit, a few girls came over and said this was one of our best shows before handing me napkins or flyers to sign. "Thank you all for coming out tonight," I said to each one as I returned the autographed papers. I then heard voices of a few more girls coming up behind me. When I turned around to return some more signed items, I was in the presence of two gorgeous girls trying to ask questions, but I did not hear a word they said. I only pictured myself in bed between them.

"Can I buy you ladies a beer?" I asked as I admired their breasts.

"Sure, I'd love a beer," one of them replied. Looking up at her, I suddenly noticed her long, thick, jet-black hair and dark brown eyes.

"I'd better not," the second girl innocently responded before whispering into the ear of the first.

"You know you do," I smiled, looking into her striking, hazel eyes.

"Come on, Amy," the black haired girl pushed as we made our way to the bar, "Just one little drink before we leave. That's it."

"If you want one, that's fine," Amy replied.

"You sure? It's on me," I added as I took a few dollar bills out of my pocket.

"I'm good," she responded. The more she said no, however, the greater my intrigue grew at how such a beautiful girl could not want something from the bar. As we walked toward the bar, I admired her shiny, shoulder-length light brown hair and baby-smooth facial complexion.

"What are your names?" I asked.

"I'm Monica," the girl with the black hair replied.

"And I'm Amy," the other responded.

When we got to the bar, we sat next to Mike, James, and Sara, who were finishing their beer.

"Who are these lovely ladies?" Mike asked.

"This is Amy, and this is Monica," I replied, pointing to each.

We all began talking about the show as we drank, until James noticed Amy wasn't drinking. "Is something wrong?" He asked. "Don't you want a beer?"

"No thanks," she quickly replied. "I'm all set."

"Suit yourself," he responded.

"Hey listen," Mike said as he looked at Monica, "We're throwing a party at our place next weekend, and I was just wondering if you'd like to come."

I gently took Amy's hand and put it in mine, adding, "Yeah, you're both welcome to come."

Amy looked into my eyes but was hesitant to answer. "Sounds great," she slowly responded as if she was flustered.

"Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fun," Monica replied before Amy pulled her aside for a second.

"Hey James, have you seen Joe anywhere?" I asked while the girls talked.

"I dunno," he replied as he looked around. "I think he went in the back."

"Yeah, you know he hates hanging around after the shows!" Mike interrupted.

"Well, could you go to see if he's back there?" I asked. Before James could reply, Sara volunteered to check.

As she walked back stage, she saw him standing against the wall. "What's the matter, Joe?"

"Nothin'," he replied. "I'm just waiting for everyone to pack up so we can get going, that's all."

"You know, James, Mike, and Scott are having a good time out there talking to everyone. Why don't you join them?"

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, do you at least want me to get you something to drink?" She asked.

"Afterburner," he said softly.

"Excuse me?" she asked with a puzzled expression.

Slightly annoyed that she had never heard of the drink, he replied, "When you go to the bar, just ask for an Afterburner."

When she returned to the bar, we were still talking about the party. "Is he back there?" James asked.

"Yeah, he's in the back," she replied before asking the bartender for an Afteburner.

"Oh my God, that's not for Joe, is it?" James asked.

"This is what he wanted," she replied, inspecting the shot glass the bartender handed her, trying to figure out what was in it

"It's Aftershock and rum," I explained. "As quiet as he is, he always could hold his liquor."

"Does Joe always hide in the back after shows?" Amy asked.

"That's just Joe for ya," I replied. "He's usually all right back there."

"Well, don't you guys think you should make sure he's okay?" Amy responded.

Nobody answered, as we all knew that was Joe's way of dealing with the post-show activities. He always wound up hiding in the back for reasons unknown to us. If he did emerge, he'd get something to drink so he could talk with fans without freaking out.

Chapter 5

During the days that followed, I spent a lot of time with Amy, and the rest of the band went down to various clubs and befriended numerous bands, inviting each to our party over the weekend. Even though people started coming up to the apartment as early as seven, we had already begun drinking a few mixed shots. Amy and Monica arrived a short time later with some food. Monica joined Mike, who showed her how to roll joints, while I grabbed a beer and sat on the couch with Amy, running my fingers through her soft hair as she rested her head on my chest, listening to my heart beating.

I looked up for a second as Jen walked through the door and immediately took my arm away from Amy, who didn't think anything of it. Jen's face turned fiery red as she walked towards us.

"What the hell is this, Scott?" She yelled. "Is she your new sex toy or something?"

Before I had a chance to even acknowledge her, she added, "No, wait! She's probably just a dumb slut you found on the street!"

"Whoa, hold on!" I yelled back, pulling away from Amy. "It's not like that at all, and you know it!"

People began laughing under their breaths and uttered, "Busted!"

"No one even invited you here," I continued, "so why don't you just leave?"

"Fine, I think I will!" she shouted in a huff. "Just watch yourself, girlfriend," she added, looking into Amy's eyes, "he'll do the same to you, just you see!"

With that, she turned toward the door but reached across the coffee table and slapped my face as hard as she could before slamming the door behind her as she left.

"What was that all about?" Amy asked as she gently put her hand on my face where I was hit.

I honestly didn't know what to tell her but replied, "Just a very jealous ex-girlfriend who can't get over the fact that we broke up."

"Oh, I'm sor...," she attempted to reply.

"Don't worry about it" I smiled, interrupting her.

"Are you all right?" Monica asked as she ran over to us.

"Dude! She got you good, bro!" Mike laughed from across the room.

I grabbed Amy's hand and gently pushed it away from my face, yelling, "Will you all stop worrying already? I'm fine," before slamming my empty beer bottle on the table while getting up to get another.

Amy was distraught and didn't know how to react. Monica rushed to her aid and sat next to her, putting her arms around Amy, whispering, "Shhh. It's gonna be all right, hun. I'm right here. I'm not gonna let anything happen, you hear me?"

Amy nodded in response, sniffling as she fought back her tears. Removing myself from what I had caused, I grabbed a piece of fried chicken in the kitchen before making my way back into the living room as if nothing happened. Since Mike had a couple of joints in his hand, I grabbed one, placed it between my lips, and closed my eyes as I lit it and inhaled.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Scott." Amy softly said as if it were her fault.

"It's okay," I replied as I took another puff.

"Sometimes I try to watch over everyone and forget that people can take care of themselves," she confided. "God, I can't begin to tell you how many times Monica's told me to back off from certain things. She's definitely more of a free spirit than I am."

"Well, do you want to try this?" I asked as I took the joint out of my mouth.

Before she could answer, I placed it between her fingers. We all watched as she slowly placed it between her lips and inhaled its goodness before spastically coughing. "That's strong stuff, Mike," she uttered between coughs, and gave it back to me. I looked at Mike, who was beaming from across the room, as Amy drank some of my beer to clear her throat.

"I'll get you another beer if you want," I offered.

"No thanks, Scott. That's all right," she replied. "I just want a Diet Coke and some more pizza. Can you get me a slice?"

I took her plate as I put the joint back in my mouth and walked into the kitchen. Making my way through the maze of people a few minutes later with her food in hand, I felt a slight vertigo sensation but shrugged it off.

"Are you all right?" Amy asked with concern written all over her face as I sat back next to her.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I replied. "As you said, Mike's got some pretty strong shit." I then called out to Mike over the blaring music, "Hey, what did you use in those?"

"Nothing but the best, man!" He smiled back.

Just about everyone in the apartment had at least one shot and others were either smoking pot or snorting coke. Mike was flying high, and even Monica dabbled a little. Amy was one of the only people who actually took it easy, although she enjoyed talking to everyone.

It wasn't until one joint and a few shots later that I started feeling the effects. The living room was spinning before me as the stereo blasted a song called "Ashes to Ashes" which increasingly echoed through my head as it played. I couldn't take it anymore and stumbled towards the terrace door.

"Where ya goin'?" Mike asked with a puzzled look on his face, hoping I would smoke one more joint with him.

"Out to get some air," I slurred back, accidentally kicking over an unfinished bottle of Jack Daniels that was on the floor. Behind me, people rushed to save what was left in the bottle.

It was nearing midnight when I finally got the terrace door open. The cold breeze felt good as it hit me in my face and blew through my long hair. Taking a deep breath to get the fresh air through my system, I noticed some people making out in the far corner of the terrace. As I looked straight ahead, the lights from the moving cars eleven stories below only added to my lightheadedness, and I quickly became unsteady. Desperately trying to attain some leverage, I quickly lunged forward and grabbed onto the guardrail in front of me.

Horror filled every fiber in me as the girls on the terrace screamed, "Oh my God! Do something!"

Another screamed in terror, "He's about to go over! Grab his legs! Grab his legs!"

One of the guys outside with the girls quickly got up and grabbed my left heel as another grabbed my right. Upon hearing the screams, Amy ran out to see what was going on and screamed in shock. Joe and James stumbled out, followed by many others who helped Amy and the guys pull me back into the apartment.

I don't recall what happened afterwards, except for somebody putting me on the living room chair, where I leaned back in a limp manner for a while and stared at the ceiling. "Oh my God, what happened?" People continued asking, trying to look over others' shoulders to get a glimpse.

I could hear girls in the apartment starting to put their two-cents in, "He should never have gone out like that," and "Amy should have been watching him." Amy did her best to ignore them while comforting me, but I could not ignore the fact that everybody was crowding around me, preventing much needed room. I only wanted to say, "Get away from me so I can breathe damnit," but I didn't have the strength.

"Shh, it's gonna be all right," Amy whispered as she gently ran her fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead.

"What are you doing, Amy? Why are you doing all this? It's not gonna be all right. Don't you understand?" I mumbled as I only became angrier at her and the crowd congregating around me.

"I love you and I want to be here for you," she said, still feeling the effects of Mike's joint. "I know things are going to work out, you'll see. I'm just relieved that nothing happened."

"Well, maybe I wish I _had_ gone over the railing!" I yelled back.

"You know you don't mean that, bro," James said as he pushed Amy back a little. "We all had a lot to drink, and Mike tried something new when he rolled the joints earlier.

"I really don't care what Mike used tonight," I mumbled. "It ain't the joints!

I looked over at Amy, who had started crying again before running over to Monica on the other side of the room. Monica put her arm around her and took her into the kitchen to calm down.

"Let's go get some air," James quietly said as he tried lifting me out of the chair. "Do you want to get some air?"

I shook my head, and with Mike's arm around me for support, we slowly began walking onto the empty terrace. My head was pounding, but breathing in the cool night's air seemed to calm my nerves as we sat on the rickety chairs.

"Can I tell you something?" I asked as I leaned back and closed my eyes.

"Sure, man. What is it?" He replied.

"I don't want you to repeat this to anyone. You understand?"

"Of course. What is it, Scott?"

"Do you find Amy's personality annoying?" I inquired.

"What do you mean?" He asked with a puzzled expression.

"Well, she's always looking out for me, and it's getting to the point where it's annoying the hell out of me," I confided.

James just looked at me and waited for some more explanation.

"She's got this happy-go-lucky attitude that's just annoying as hell,"

"So tell her to fuck off, bro," James suggested.

"I can't," I replied. "For one thing, I don't want to get between Mike and Monica."

"Who cares?" James replied. "Mike'll get over it."

"It's not just that," I responded. "I mean, for once in my life there's someone I can trust and that actually gives a shit about me. Why, I don't know, but I don't want to hurt her or anything and just feel like I am hurting her with each joint I smoke and each shot I drink."

"Where is this all coming from?" He asked.

"I just feel like I'm some kind of charity case who she can help sober up. And I feel like shit about it."

"You really think she'd want to be with you out of pity? You're nuts, man," he laughed, and after a pause added, "Listen, everybody probably went home for the night, and you should get some rest. Besides, you'll feel better in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I sighed.

I spent the following night at Amy's apartment despite the talk I had with James. As we lay in bed, Amy thought I seemed a little quiet. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," I replied. "Why are you always worrying?"

"I know something's on your mind. You don't have to apologize for what James did; I already know that he spiked all of the soda. But that aside, you should know that I really meant what I said when I told you I want to be with you."

"It's just that I can't help but think about last night," I confided. "I mean, yeah, I got drunk. But I still had a good time and didn't need anyone ruining it for me.

"I'm sorry if I was worried about you."

"I just don't need anybody feeling bad for me, that's all. I know I've repeatedly screwed my life up, but it's how I choose to live. Making music is what I do, and I enjoy the lifestyle that goes with it. My mother didn't agree and that's one of the reasons we lost contact."

"Aww, I'm sorry. I didn't know," She responded.

"Don't be sorry!" I yelled. "I'm not. If anything, my life is a whole hell of a lot better without her. Listen, what's done is done. And there isn't anything that can be done about the past. I'm just living life on my own terms."

With that said, she looked in my eyes with a gentle stare, but I knew she had something else to say and was holding back.

"Hey listen," I said, trying to break the silence, "We're playing at The Terminal tomorrow night, do you want to come?"

"There's something you should know," she responded. "I'm not the type of person you think I am."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Ever since Jesus Christ walked into my life, I've seen the world in a different light," she responded, brushing her fingers through her hair. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not really into the nightclub scene."

"So what made you go down to Pier 42?" I demanded to know.

"Some of my friends turned me on to bands like Decyfer Down, Kutless, and Skillet," she responded, "and I really like them. Monica didn't have anyone to go with, and since I'd never seen a rock band play in person, I wanted to see what it was like."

My eyes grew wide and wondered if I was just wasting my time. She took my hand and put it in hers before continuing, "I mean, your band wasn't bad, Scott, but I just don't think the nightclub scene is for me. Monica loves it, and I didn't want to spoil it for her. I guess what I'm trying to say is I just don't want to see my best friend get caught up in the drug or alcohol thing. It kills me to see someone crumbling on the inside because of it."

She looked into my eyes and saw I had mixed emotions; I didn't know whether to be pissed or warmhearted in my response.

"I know you probably don't know what to think, Scott. And, that's fine. Monica's brother died of a drug overdose about a year ago, and that changed my life. I only wished that I could have stopped you the last night before it went too far."

My heart was in my mouth, and the only thing I could do was stare into her hazel eyes. My body became limp as I thought of how to respond.

"I'm sorry to hear about Monica's brother and everything," I said. "I didn't mean to put you through all that last night."

She stared me in the eye and said, "Listen, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

My heart sank, as nobody had ever said that to me. I slowly leaned over, putting my arms around her, and closed my eyes as my lips met hers.

On my way home from her apartment, I felt bad that I kept bringing her down. The more I thought about it, the worse I felt, and I didn't know what to do. I've slept with countless girls, and it suddenly hit me that the only reason why they cared about me was because I was a rock star to them – someone they looked up to. It gave them something to brag about. But to Amy, that didn't mean anything. It confused me that someone could love me for who I was – not what I was.

Though she wanted me to quit, my wounds increasingly begged for drugs and alcohol. When I returned to the apartment, Mike and James were on the terrace, snorting heroin and watching the city lights. I grabbed a beer and met them outside.

"Sup man?" James asked as he turned around to greet me before taking another hit.

"I need some of that," I replied as I rubbed my eyes and sat back on the patio chair. I couldn't help but laugh when I revealed what Amy told me.

"The girl is just jealous that you're living the life," Mike said.

"Yeah, she's probably making that shit up to scare you, man," James added.

"I dunno," I replied, raising the bottle up to my lips. "She did seem pretty worried and shit."

"Women always complain and worry," Mike explained. "It's in their nature to find something wrong with us!"

"Yeah, don't sweat it, man," James said. "Just give her what she wants and she'll shut up."

"She ain't like that," I replied. "She's like...I dunno. It's like she actually gives a shit."

"All girls want just one thing," James said as he turned to me and put his beer down. "That's a man to give her some good sex."

"Now if only Joe could understand that, he'll be all set," Mike said as he burst out in laughter.

James and I erupted in laughter as well.

"Seriously though, "James concluded, "If she's looking for something more, let the girl go."

Chapter 6

As cold as the nights were that followed, I found myself sitting in the chair next to my bedroom window, which was opened all the way. Staring at the traffic below, I looked for signs of hope until I realized I was wasting my time. I took a few joints from Mike's room and smoked them to clear my mind. I knew Amy wasn't like the other girls I'd been with, but I didn't know what do or how to treat her.

When I wasn't looking at the city lights, I hoped the stars above would lead the way. But thoughts still raced through my head. I felt a huge void inside of me and was scared to mention it to anyone – especially Amy who solely put it there. I've never been one to keep a journal, but the only thing I could do was write about how I was hurting Amy with every breath I took.

" _She wants to see me get better, but if I was left in her world alone, I know I'd be sure to die. I don't even know how to act with her around when I'm in her world! I feel as if I'm the one dying on the inside while I'm eating away at her wounds. I just want this feeling to end. When will this all end? She doesn't deserve to feel my pain like this. Please, just let this come to an end."_

Other times, I couldn't help but sit in front of the window without kicking the nearby radiator or punching my makeshift desk as hard as I could in fits of rage before crumbling nearby papers, some of which with lyrics written on them, and throwing them against the wall.

On most nights, however, I found myself storming out of the apartment wearing only a light jacket, looking for signs of hope on every street corner as a cigarette hung from my mouth. The inspiration and reassurance I was looking for never hit me. All I saw were Hispanic girls doing their thing in the middle of the street, swaying and dancing in front of on-coming cars, but I was too angry and depressed to pull them aside and give them what both of us wanted. After all, I just wanted to be alone, and the coldness of the streets fulfilled that.

Before I knew it, the streets were lined with Christmas lights, and decorations were suspended from windows, overhangs in front of stores, and atop tenements. Snow flurries occasionally fell and sparkled in the street lights like diamonds as carolers placed themselves on every street corner, singing their little hearts out. Although the cold, crisp air was filled with joy, I somehow felt left out. The t-shirt I wore at a few of our shows in November said it all, "Your smile is pissing me off." I hated myself for not being in the Christmas spirit and wished everyone would just go away as I gazed toward the stars for signs of hope.

An eerie feeling came over me every time I looked at the sky. As the amber clouds rolled past, reflecting the city's lights, I felt the gentle stare of a guardian angel looking down on me. I couldn't help but feel that something was wrong, however. In my twisted mind, she must have been in some kind of pain. Why else would she allow me to feel such utter confusion? I gazed at the sky repeatedly and prayed this pain would end. I only hoped my guardian angel was all right.

I spent the following nights in my dark bedroom smoking and letting my thoughts race. I overheard everyone talking about where they were going to put the Christmas tree this year and how they were going to decorate it. I had no interest in the tree or what they were going to put on it. I picked up my guitar and played it acoustically to drown out their annoying voices. As lyrics began pouring into my head, I immediately wrote them down and started singing them under my breath so nobody would hear:

" _The air is crisp with freshly fallen snow_

Stars shine bright above as guardian angels know

That lurking through the darkness and through the fallen snow

An angel's in distress with nowhere to go

The wind blows through her long blonde hair, her blue eyes filled with tears

Her mind remains scarred after suffering all of these years

But on this night it all came out, bursting from inside

At what cost will it serve when all it can do is hide"

During the days leading up to Christmas and New Year's Eve, I became increasingly frustrated and depressed. I found myself drinking and using drugs on a regular basis and needed them to get through a few shows. Since Amy was never at the after parties, I slept with a few girls, attempting to numb my pain, and I knew I could get away with it since Mike did the same when Monica wasn't around. Though Amy loosened up and stopped going to her church group meetings, I didn't have the heart to tell her it was over. After all, it was me she lost her virginity to, and when I was sober, I didn't want to blatantly rob her of anything else. It was between Christmas and New Years Eve that I came up with the chorus to "Lost."

" _Lost, is how I feel when I'm with you_

Lost, my soul's grown cold around you

At what cost, am I living my life

Lost, 20 years of my life lost and gone forever"
Chapter 7

New Year's Eve was the ultimate excuse to drink, and though I lost count of how many shots of whiskey and vodka I had, it still wasn't enough to numb me of my pain or cool the anger brewing inside of me. I only remember walking around in a fog and getting into scuffles with everyone over nothing. As the evening wore on, every little sound became magnified and echoed as if I were in caught in a never-ending tunnel. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three...," everyone screamed in unison with drinks in their hands ready to make a toast once the ball dropped. I was suddenly overcome with a feeling of nausea and stumbled towards the bathroom, dropping my shot glass along the way, before the ball had officially dropped. Some guy was being serviced by a couple of girls as I opened the bathroom door. The girls quickly ran out screaming in horror and were in disbelief that somebody opened the door on them. I shoved the guy out of my way so fast that he had no choice but to put his pants back on in the hall.

I quickly closed the door as the cacophony of screams grew in intensity. The small room began spinning around me faster and faster with every passing second until I could no longer stand. I attempted to grip what I could for leverage but fell to the ground when my hand missed the towel rack and struck empty beer bottles left on the sink, which fell to the ground, shattering around me.

I didn't know how to react when I woke up and found myself curled up beside the toilet with shards puncturing my skin. Both of my hands were in the chunky water, while the room and my clothes were covered in vomit. It amazed me that alcohol could make a person sick as I slipped on the chunks in a light-headed daze trying to get back to my feet. After hitting my head on the wall a few times during unsuccessful attempts, I finally stood on my own and grabbed onto the sink for dear life.

I quickly became nauseated once more from the stench as my stomach turned upside down, and heaved into the sink until nothing came out. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the figure in the mirror staring back at me. He was still drooling, and orange chunks were drying onto his face and in his uncombed hair. Looking into his blood-shot eyes only made me angry that I let myself get to this point and only proved I was a failure. " _If only I drank just a little more,"_ I thought, _"Maybe I could have killed myself and gone out a hero like Bon Scott or John Bonham."_

My blood boiled as people began knocking on the door to see if everything was okay. "Are you all right in there?" they asked.

"Leave me alone!" I replied. But they continued knocking and asking until I kicked the door and yelled, "Fuck off, already!"

"Scott, it's me," Amy said as her voice innocently stood out above the others. "I just want to know if you're okay in there?"

"I'm fine, Amy. Now, get outta here!"

"Come on, that's not fair," she replied. "We can talk ab..."

"Talk about what?" I interrupted. "What part of 'get the hell outta here' don't you fucking understand?"

As I kicked the door once more, I heard a random voice say, "All right. He wants to be alone. Let's give him his space," which was the best thing I heard all evening.

The feeling of vertigo only worsened as time passed, and I had to get off my feet. I slowly sat myself back down on the bathroom floor in what was left of my vomit and draped myself over the toilet in a limp manner. I took a cigarette out of my back pocket, and after a couple of failed attempts at lighting it, I smoked it, hoping to get the sour taste out of my mouth.

After some time had passed, I found my way to my bedroom and slowly closed the door so no one would notice. As I lay in bed, staring at the walls, I overheard Amy telling someone, "I should have let him go over the railing right then and there the other night. Why didn't you stop me from grabbing him?"

I woke up a little before noon the next day to the sound of Monica screaming in the living room, "I can't believe he could do such a thing to her. Amy doesn't deserve to be treated like shit! He went too far this time, Mike"

"He just had a little too much to drink," Mike barked back. "I'll talk to him when he gets up."

Wake him up right now!" She responded. "He had no right to do what he did last night, and I'm pissed!"

"I know you're pissed," James said, "but just control yourself! You're not being any better than him right now. He will be dealt with, and he knows better than anybody else not to get on my bad side. Do you understand that?"

"If you don't wake him up right now," she hollered, "I'm gonna go in there and do it myself."

Mike put his arms around her and softly said, "I'm just as pissed as you are about this whole damn thing. Just settle down though. If James says he's gonna take care of it, he'll take care of it."

"Aren't you gonna do anything, Mike?" She replied.

Mike must not have responded as quickly as Monica would have liked, and she got up and started walking towards my bedroom, only to be grabbed by James as she tried passing him.

"Let the stupid prick sleep," James yelled. "He's gonna get what's coming to him."

After hearing the conversation, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude that my family was willing to stick up for me, as I knew they were only trying to calm her down. _"That's right,"_ I thought as I laid in bed, my head pounding from a massive hangover, _"keep telling her you'll take care of the situation."_ We've all been through this too many times to count and had a pact with each other to continue living up to Mike's famous words, "Bros before hoes."

I finally rolled out of bed after hearing enough of the conversation and lit a cigarette while opening my bedroom door. Monica immediately ran in my direction like a screaming banshee.

"It's about damn time you got up!" she yelled as she pounded on my chest.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Monica?" I asked.

"What's wrong with me? She replied. "Ya know, you're a real piece of work, Scott!"

"What are you talking about?" I responded, blowing smoke in her direction.

"You know damn well!" She hollered. "Why the hell have you been treating Amy like crap?"

"That wasn't cool what you did, bro," Mike joined in.

"Well, happy fucking new year to you too," I replied as I took another puff of the cigarette.

"You just don't get it, man," Mike replied. "Monica and I were stuck taking her home last night. She was a fucking mess. And quite frankly, I don't think she wants anything to do with you."

I was more relieved than anything else. But Monica wasn't done. "You really do have no shame," she continued. "Look at you with all the puke still in your hair. And you act as if you could care less."

I sat down across from where she stood and quickly replied, "So, your point is...?"

The band backed off as Monica continued her tirade. "She was there for you, but you pushed her away!"

"Listen," I replied, trying to hold back. "Everything I did seemed wrong to Amy."

"You know, she loves you more than anything," Monica replied as she sat on the couch.

"Why?" I responded as I got up and made my way to the hall closet. "How the hell can she love a person like me?" I grabbed my jacket and a box of Marlboros before continuing, "You know what? I don't need to hear this." I quickly put a jacket on and walked out the door.

I lit another cigarette as I walked out of the lobby. The mid-day's air was crisp and dry, and it smelled like it was going to snow; it was certainly cold enough. The clouds hung low and had that puffy, milk-white texture as if a storm was imminent. As I walked down Lorimer Street, it was a depressing sight, watching everybody take their holiday decorations down.

"But, what the hell was happening to me?" I thought, trying to ignore everyone. For once in my life, I actually felt sorry for the pain I put someone through. Turning left onto Meeker Avenue and walking under the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, I thought about what I had done, and came to the conclusion that the least I could do was offer my apologies to Monica.

Mike was still settling things with Monica when I got back, and James and Joe were enjoying one of Mike's concoctions on the terrace. I threw my jacket over the back of the loveseat and sat down.

"Look," I said as I slowly inhaled. "I'm sorry for what happened last night. I'm just going through a lot right now that's kinda hard for me to explain. That's what I've been writing about the past couple of days. And, if Amy doesn't want to see me, I completely understand. Besides, I know she doesn't deserve everything I threw her way. That's why the least I can do is offer my apologies."

"I'll tell Amy," she replied, holding back the anger I sensed she still had. "But if you were any kind of a man, you would tell her yourself."

"You're right," I responded, though it wasn't what I expected to hear. "You're absolutely right." As I got up and grabbed a ginger ale in the kitchen, I added, "I'll tell Amy," before going out on the terrace with James and Joe to watch the snow start falling. I thought about how the city looked so peaceful while watching the cars travel on the slick roadways that were beginning to turn white.

"I think you did the right thing by getting rid of that girl," James said, interrupting the silence.

"You think?" I replied.

"She was only asking for trouble anyway," he responded. "Besides, you probably saved _her_ from doing something she'd regret."

"Thanks, man," I replied as the weight of the world suddenly lifted from my shoulders. "I needed to hear that."

Seeing as how no one was out that night because of the snow, all four of us decided to walk down Broadway, toward the Williamsburg Bridge, and see what was going on around the neighborhood. The streets were abnormally quiet, and the usual creatures of the night were nowhere to be seen. Even the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway was desolate, with barely a single car passing below us. The only sound we heard came from the sporadic elevated trains passing above.

I felt more alive that night than I have in a long time for a number of reasons. Record companies were beginning to come to our shows, and I could now solely focus on Dever instead of some chick that was constantly bringing me down. Without a care in the world, I smoked my cigarettes with the band as we made our way toward the East River, occasionally picking balls of snow off the ground and throwing them at each other, laughing hysterically.

We passed Pier 42, which was eerily quiet. The windows were dark, and there was nobody hanging out in the small courtyard next to it. We then crossed Kent Avenue and went to Williamsburg Bridge Park, across from the club, and continued throwing snowballs.

I took a moment to look across the river, toward Manhattan's Lower East Side. The water reflected the lights from the bridge as the snow silently fell. I thought about how beautiful and quiet the city was and how Times Square must have been a ghost town, in stark contradiction to the night before. The snow on the trees and on the ground glistened in the silence, and there was not a sound to be heard except for us laughing and throwing snowballs.

Chapter 8

The following days brought nothing but melting snow and disgusting brown slush, helping the trash-lined streets rear their ugly faces once again. At least I was glad Amy wanted nothing to do with me and hung up the one time I tried calling. My sense of freedom was back, and there was only one place I wanted to enjoy it – Pier 42.

Since James bartended at the club, he knew everyone who worked there and was able to mix his own drinks, even on evenings he had off. Joe and I usually followed him down, as we couldn't resist free drinks. Monica and Mike sometimes joined us as well.

"Tell me what you think, man!" James proudly called out as he handed us glasses filled with his own concoctions.

"What's going on, bro?" I answered as I banged my empty glass on the counter. "You're getting a little stingy with the vodka! Fill 'er up!"

To James, this was a fate worse than death, as he took great pride in his drinks and always made sure they were perfect. I never meant to be a hard-ass, but I was always one to need an extra kick in my drinks.

Being the good bartender he is, James always obliged his customers, and I was no exception. I was able to smell the alcohol as he poured the Absolut and proudly exclaimed, "Now that's a drink," as he handed it to me.

Lifting the glass to my lips, I noticed two girls sitting next to me, one behind the other. The girl in the back had wavy, shoulder-length dark brown hair and wore a powder blue shirt to keep her alabaster skin from appearing too pale. The girl directly next to me had long, straight brown hair, with streaks of blonde highlights and a pink shirt, accentuating her slight tan. After drinking and making eye contact with both of them, I said, "You gotta try this stuff."

"Oh my God, what is this?" The girl next to me responded after taking the drink from my hand and sampling it.

Then the other chimed in after her sample, "It's awfully strong, but it's good."

"Nothing but the best for some beautiful girls like yourselves," I happily replied before turning toward James. "Can we get two more over here for the girls?"

"Coming right up!" He smiled back.

"I haven't seen you two down here before," I said after taking another swig. "Do you come here often?"

"When there are some good bands, we come down and hang out," the girl in the blue shirt replied.

"What are your names?"

"I'm Tanya," she responded before resting her arm on the pink shirt in front of her. "And this is Sabrina."

"So what's your name?" Tanya asked, peeking over Sabrina's shoulders and looking at me with her big, brown puppy dog eyes.

"Scott." I replied, gazing at her wavy brown hair and luscious, glossy lips. "And that's James, my bassist, making the drinks."

"Oh, you're in a band?" Sabrina asked as her eyes lit up and started checking me out. "Mind if I ask which one?"

"Dever," I replied while lighting a cigarette.

Tanya nearly jumped out of her seat and put her arms around Sabrina. "We just saw you guys at L'Amour a couple of weeks ago!"

Though the buzz from James's drink was starting to kick in, the night was still young, and I sensed Tanya and Sabrina's night was only beginning as well. "Can I get you ladies another drink?"

Seeing that James was occupied by a few girls on the other side of the bar, I called Ryan, the other bartender, and ordered a Sex on the Beach for Tanya and a Midori for Sabrina. After a few minutes, he appeared with the drinks and whispered, "Nice catch," as he placed them on the counter in front of us. I had no idea what he meant, but I'm sure he'd seen it dozens of times.

It wasn't until we got back to the apartment that I felt the full affects of James's drink and figured it out. _"If they lived that lifestyle, why did they even want to come home with me?"_ The thought quickly left my mind when I saw them making out on my bed. With not a second to spare, they grabbed me and took my pants off _. "This has got to be the best night of my life!"_ I thought as the fun began.

I awoke the next morning and found myself between Sabrina and Tanya with a used condom still on me. I quickly took it off and tried throwing it in the garbage pail but missed. I only wanted to enjoy the moment and I didn't want to wake the girls by getting up, so I gently ran my fingers through their hair as they slept. Tanya was the first to get up about a half hour later and was all over me. Within a few minutes, Sabrina followed suit. Out of spite, I wished Amy were there to witness my rite of passage.

James, Mike, and Joe all knew something was different, as they hadn't seen me wake up with a smile in a long time. Monica, on the other hand, was suspicious and stared me down as if to say, "I'm gonna find out what you're up to," but cracked under her own pressure.

"I know you're up to something."

"Just because I'm happy don't mean nothing," I replied. "James just made one hell of a drink last night. Why do you gotta be like Amy...questioning every smile I have on my face?"

At that moment, Sabrina and Tanya made their way out of my bedroom and into the living room. "Oh my God! It's the rest of the band," Tanya whispered in Sabrina's ear as their hands trembled in excitement and eyes grew wider.

I didn't know what to say, but the excited look on James's face only confirmed Ryan's comment. Noticing Monica's eyes growing more violent, I thought it would be best if I walked the girls out before she started shooting flames at everyone. So I took their hands and walked them down the hall to the elevators. "I had a great time with you girls," I said, putting my arms around their shoulders.

"We had a wonderful time with you as well," Tanya replied.

"I just wish we could have met the rest of the band," Sabrina added.

"Soon enough," I responded. "Monica's a freakin' nutcase though, and I don't get what Mike sees in her.

"To each his own," Sabrina said as we walked into the elevator.

"Yeah, I guess," I sighed. "That's why I don't get between them. It just pisses me off that she's gotta put her two-cents into everything I do."

"At least you're showing you're the better person, Scott."

"You're right, Sabrina. You're right."

"We should do this more often," Tanya exclaimed as the elevator door opened.

Taking both of their hands, I responded "Yeah, I had fun," while walking them into the lobby. "I'll give you girls a call, and maybe we can hook up at Pier 42 or something."

"Sure! Sounds great," Sabrina replied. I hugged the two and gave each a kiss before turning around and heading back upstairs.

While in the elevator, lyrics started pouring into my head with no end in sight. I had to write them down, even if that meant locking myself in my bedroom and ignoring everyone when I got back to the apartment.

" _Another beer, another round, another day to hit the ground_

Another girl, another hurl, another evening will unfurl

The bands are on, the music's good, the girls are ready to go

You bang your head, they'll do the rest, another evening will explode

I can't resist the temptation, the girls provide motivation

As I walk to you, the feeling is true, you want a beer and I just want you

It's on me, you drink the beer, I'll pay for everything

It's on me, another night will live up to its dreams

We'll spend the night and hold each other tight, love until dawn's early light

As the parties get hotter, the music paves the way

We'll all get high together to get us through another day

And as the sun begins to set, the sparks turn into flames

And babe, don't be surprised when you hear me begin to say it's on me

But in the morning before I go away, I'll make sure that everything'll be ok

So don't you worry babe when I vanish without a trace

I'm living in fast-forward, I'm living at my own pace"

I was so excited when I finished the song that I rushed into the living room to show the band. Since Monica was out getting some air on the terrace with Mike, I didn't have to deal with them.

"You've gotta see this, guys!"

"What? What is it, man?" James asked.

I handed him the lyrics, and he immediately called Mike back in. Within seconds, Mike was standing over James's shoulder as they took a look.

"That's freakin' great!" Mike said. "I love it!"

"That seems to sum up last night pretty well!" James laughed.

"What? Let me see it," Joe squeaked before James passed it to him.

The band suddenly found itself in writing mode once again, and we began turning out song after song. We made the writing process fun by inviting all our friends to the warehouse as we worked on new material.

The songs sounded better after each joint we smoked, and the lyrics reflected the new high we found. I even took some personal shots at Amy in the songs "(You're) Mental":

" _Straight outta the jacket and now you're on the loose_

Out on the prowl seeking fresh meat for your noose

Hook, line, and sinker, falling for your trap

One look in your eyes girl and there ain't no comin' back

You're mental, you're mental, I can't believe you're mental..."

and "Break the Mold":

" _This is where I come from, this is where I call home_

This is my religion, my love, my soul

All the wants you wish are all that you can't have

If you can't understand this, then take the other path..."

Mike's solos were dead on, and our guitar harmonies never sounded better. My riffs were faster and a bit heavier than in the past, and Mike's shredding licks complimented them perfectly. Joe's aggressive drumming and my heavy, yet melodic vocals remained true to our sound. It excited us that our fans were also a major part of the writing process, as they told us which songs rocked and which should be scrapped.

It didn't take long for our writing / listening sessions to become legendary parties. Word spread like wildfire, and we were forced to create a lottery system over our website due to limited space. Roughly 50 lucky fans got to hang with us during each session. The only down side was they had to bring their own alcohol.

Apparently, it wasn't just music fans who caught wind of the parties, as I found out while on my way to Lorimer Liquors to pick up some drinks for James.

"Hi, are you Scott Ferrara?" A female voice from behind me asked.

I glanced back to find a chick with a pen and pad in her hand. My initial thought was she was a fan and wanted my number, but her small, rectangle glasses told me otherwise and screamed, "I'm from the Village," a place that's more welcoming to the arts and alternative culture than heavy metal musicians.

"I'm Laura Harrison from _The Brooklyn Press_ ," she cordially said.

"Yeah, I know who you are, Laura," I responded. Until that point, I'd only seen her name in print. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Dever."

"I'm on a tight schedule," I replied, "but you can come with me."

"A lot of bands come from Brooklyn, but yet you seem to have a different aura. Why do you think that is?"

"Lyrically, we're different in that we're conscious of social issues, but our lifestyle comes through as well. We don't write music to attract fans. We stay true to ourselves. And because the fans see that, they will stay true to us in whatever we do."

"And, what sets you apart musically?"

"Well, all of the record companies seem to feel that smaller is better. We don't buy that, and neither do the fans. We give them what they want – a good live show. And, if it makes them want to pick up the guitar and learn how to harmonize, then we've done our part. We're sick of the bands from the Village getting signed and singing about how terrible their life is. They claim to be all about the music. If they're gonna say that, they should learn how to play their instruments first."

"Wow, those are strong words, Scott."

"Yeah. Well, we don't come from the same place, Laura. The people who Mike, James, Joe, and I look up to are musical heroes and virtuosos in their own right. Bonham, Slash, Lemmy, I could go on. Look around you. There are no heroes anymore. And those who might be seen as heroes are screaming 'my life sucks' in no particular key."

"Do you see yourselves as heroes?"

"It doesn't matter what we see ourselves as. We are just drawing from our influences and are playing what's in our hearts. James loves punk, so we've got some punk fans. Joe likes hardcore and emo-core, and we're all into various nü metal bands."

"Some people have said your music sounds like a cross between Sevendust and Avenged Sevenfold's _Waking the Fallen_ without its growls. Do you think that would be an accurate description?"

"Musically, I'd say it's pretty accurate, though I don't think I sound like either vocalist. Like I said, when we come together, all of our influences show through, which is why we've got such a diverse fan base coming to our shows. We're just a collective unit, and that's the way it should be."

When we got to the front of the apartment, the interview came to an end. Before we went our separate ways, I reached into my pocket and handed her a couple of free passes to our up-coming show at L'Amour later in the week. She said she would be there to take some photos. I was flying high, as we were finally going to get some props in the only newspaper that mattered in the world of Brooklyn art and music.

The band was well on its way to hitting new peaks, as the fans were digging the new material, and we were anxious to bring it to the masses at clubs all over the city. After playing L'Amour in Staten Island, we booked shows at Downtime, Acme Underground, the Continental, Avalon, and B.B. King's in Manhattan, along with Pier 42 back in Brooklyn. With more shows came more accessible drugs, which helped us concentrate and took us away from reality.

Aside from the band's increased drug use, I was having problems of my own due to the mounting pressure of everything taking shape around us and wanted to be left alone. The issue of _The Brooklyn Press_ , featuring the band, came out in the middle of everything. Representatives from record companies wanted to see what the buzz was about after reading the article and came to the shows. And fans looked up to us that much more because we got some press and caught the attention of a few major labels.

The one thing which stuck out in my mind was I didn't see myself as the hero I made myself out to be in the interview. I was just being myself while explaining our passions. With each passing concert, the fans increasingly viewed us as local heroes, and as time progressed, we were larger than life to some.

I was just as excited as everyone else to see our fan base growing, but at times, the rapid pace seemed overwhelming. I loved seeing familiar faces and feeling as if our shows were huge parties where everybody knew each other. We didn't have to prove ourselves to anyone. This was all beginning to change, as we weren't playing to our core audience anymore. Our new fans could just as easily turn their backs on us as fast as they bought our EP or tickets to our shows

The more I thought about what a "hero" actually was, my sense of self-failure grew, and I was only afraid I'd let everyone down somehow. Though everything seemed okay when I saw Tanya and Sabrina after the shows, the solace I found with them was only short-lived. When they weren't around, I kept myself busy with other girls. There were plenty to go around who were willing to escape reality with us.

Before I knew it, I found myself reaching for drugs even when there was nobody around, and in my intoxication, I felt the presence of the guardian angel once more. I actually saw her blonde hair waving in the gentle breeze while she stared at me with a warm, gentle gaze, as if to say, "You don't need the drugs to help you find solace in your life." Her dark blue eyes offered the hope and reassurance I needed, and once I started believing in her, I reached out to grab her hand but was greeted by empty air and laughter. These visions and hallucinations prompted me to write "My Enemy."

" _I call your name, but you're not there_

No one hears, and nobody cares

My voice just echoes through the long, cold night

Trying to find the end of an endless plight

My lonely soul walks these streets till dawn

Trying to find hope in this city foregone

Unknown faces point to worlds apart

Empty spaces fill an empty heart

My own conscience is my enemy

Chasing me the wrong way down this one way street

My eyes red like fire, my ears, they ring like hell

Visions of things I desire, and the thoughts you try to sell

As the sun rises over the mountains and the moon sets over the sea

Inside my head, thoughts race angrily

Pulling me under, I can't even keep my spirits down"

I felt much better after writing the song, almost as if some of the demons found another place to go. My body, however, didn't want to let go of the drugs. Before our gig at Pier 42, all I thought about was my next joint. It wasn't out of the ordinary for the rest of the band to feel that way either. So we just enjoyed ourselves the only way we knew how, by drinking, smoking, and partying. I was excited about the concert, and the more I thought about the band, the more I knew something big was about to happen. I didn't know what, and as long as I was high, it didn't matter.

We purposely got to the club early in the evening so we could have a couple of drinks and hang out with the opening bands. As the night rolled on and each band played, the crowd grew until the bouncers couldn't squeeze another person in.

"Do you fucking believe this?" James yelled, looking out at the crowd in amazement.

"Man, it's gonna be one hell of a night." I replied. I then looked over toward Joe to see if he was all right, since James got him drunk earlier.

He looked up at me and yelled, "Let's do this!"

As I turned back around, a voice screamed over the P.A. system, "Ladies and gentlemen...DEVER!"

"It's show time," I yelled as we stormed the stage in front of a thunderous crowd. I took the microphone and walked around the stage as if I owned it, making eye contact with everybody in the club. "What's up, Pier 42?" A flood of screams swept the stage in response.

"My, my, we have an energetic crowd here tonight," I replied as the boisterous crowd yelled back. A smile lit my face, and I continued, "Some of you's might know this. It's a new song...'You're Fucking Mental'!"

Joe started playing the aggressive beat, and the crowd instantly became animated, pumping their fists high in the air and banging their heads as if in a trance. A mosh pit grew in the center of the club, and I noticed some stage-divers out of the corner of my eye, who went on to crowd-surf to the back of the club. The entire show was pure magic, as the fans were as fanatical as I've ever seen them. Surprisingly, it wasn't the crowd we got the biggest kick out of.

When the show was over, we met the fans by the bar and got some drinks for ourselves. After a few minutes, the bar was mobbed with people who wanted to greet us, and we obliged each and every one of them.

As we downed a few shots, the crowd parted, and two men in suits suddenly walked down the center, spreading their arms and pushing everyone out of the way while yelling, "All right, give the guys some space, give them some space," They tried whisking us away to the back of the club, but in an attempt to continue hanging with the fans, James and I called Ryan over to order a few more drinks.

"My name is Kurt," one of them said once he realized we weren't leaving the bar. "And this is Dave. We're from Synapse Records, and you are...?"

"Scott."

"James."

"Mike."

"Joe."

"I really have to say that we were impressed by what we saw tonight."

"Yeah, the fan reaction was phenomenal," Dave joined in, "And everyone seemed to be into the music. I don't have to tell you guys that's what it's all about. The music."

Kurt quickly added, "The fact that you played whatever the fans were shouting out was also great, so we're..."

"Whoa, slow down, big guys," James interrupted, sensing everyone's disapproval over Kurt and Dave's rude interjection. "I got a question for you; Ripper or Halford?"

"What does this have to do with anything?" Dave asked.

"Just pick one and answer the damn question." James calmly declared, placing his empty shot glass on the bar.

Since the two seemed puzzled, I decided to play the game. "Do you even know who Ripper is?" After pausing to let them think about it, I continued, "Okay, um, what about Blaze Bayley? I take it that doesn't ring a bell either."

"Look Scott," Kurt responded in a huff. "We're here to offer you a record contract, not play games. With the right backing, you could be giants like Nickelback or Staind!"

I looked around at everyone's eyes bulging out of their sockets before laughing hysterically with the rest of the band. Once I got myself back under composure, replied, "All right, Kurt, why don't you at least tell us who the hell Tommy Thayer is. Everybody here tonight knows you know this one. He's only in the biggest fucking band."

"Answer the question if you want us to consider cutting a deal," Mike called out.

"Again, we don't have time to...," Kurt tried explaining.

Taking a step forward, Mike calmly said, "Now Kurt, I'm gonna ask this only one more time. Answer the question if you're serious about signing us."

In an uneasy voice, Dave answered, "Halford."

Somebody snickered under their breath, "I don't even think these guys know who Priest even is," as James turned to Kurt.

"...And you, what about the other questions?"

"Look, we're not leaving here without some kind of agreement," Kurt responded. "If it's money you guys want, name your price!"

James walked toward the two and stood eye to eye with them. "All right, you want some kind of agreement? First, learn about what we do and let us know when you're serious about a fucking deal! In the meantime, get the hell outta here – Now!"

With that said, the fans chased Kurt and Dave out of the club as James, Joe, and I followed close behind. Those still in the club cheered and banged on tables as if the Giants had just won the Superbowl, and Dever chants began to ring out through the chaos.

Mike climbed on top of one of the tables, beer in hand, and called out, "We're here to stay, and we ain't gonna let no one tear us down! It's you, the fans that make it happen, not the executives lounging around in penthouse suites!"

Always looking for an excuse to cause a scene, James climbed onto the table next to Mike's, raised his beer, and exclaimed, "This calls for a celebration! You're all welcome to hang with us and party back at our place!"

The Dever chants suddenly grew louder, filling the entire club before spilling outside once people began leaving.

Chapter 9

When we arrived at the apartment, people were parking their cars or getting off motorcycles with their girls. After hanging out in front of the building for what seemed like only a few minutes, we headed upstairs with as many people we could squeeze into the elevator with us. I quickly downed a shot of Grey Goose with a red-head before helping James set up his liquor in the dining room. Mike, Joe, and a few fans sat in the corner as everyone enjoyed themselves, reliving the evening's turn of events.

The smack I was smoking put me in a calm trance, and I was at peace with everything. I was alone in a world where pain was non-existent and my mind was free to wander, though I was high in my own right. It felt great knowing we were the creators of our own destiny and that nobody but us had the guts to toy around with record company executives.

Though we were all psyched beyond belief that the band reached a level it had never seen before, the following days seemed like a blur, as one party led into the next, intensifying my drug-induced highs. When I came down, it scared me to wonder what would happen next. _"What if I woke up and this was all a dream?"_ Or, _"What would happen if this momentum suddenly stopped?"_ I simply didn't know what to think and let the drugs take control of my fears.

Then it all became clear to me as I looked out at the audience during our next concert. As I grabbed the microphone stand, I thought I was seeing things when I saw those familiar, radiant eyes I first noticed 4 months prior staring at me from my left. I couldn't help but gaze back. As beautiful as she was, her nearly perfect curves swaying to the music while waving a beer, she had a sad smile. Almost as if she had to put all of her energy into it. When she did smile, however, her eyes lit up, and her entire face glowed. Every time I felt a sense of insecurity on stage, I looked in her direction, and everything seemed okay. I didn't feel the need to smoke during my solo, and I didn't feel the need to drink during everyone else's solos.

While everyone went to the bar after the show, I walked over to where she stood. I was only afraid of freezing up like I did when I first laid eyes on her, or more importantly, what she would say to me. So much so that I failed to pay attention to where I was going as she tied her hair back into a ponytail, exposing the nape of her neck, and stumbled into people and bar stools along the way.

As I got closer and looked into her sapphire eyes from close up, I saw something I've never seen in anyone else's before. My life flashed before my very eyes as I gazed into eternity. She smiled at me, trying not to laugh, until she couldn't hold it in any longer and covered her mouth to hide it.

I couldn't believe I made myself seem like such an idiot in front of her and was ready to grab a drink at the bar to drown my embarrassment when she looked at me and said, "You were pretty good up there tonight."

"Obviously, I still need some practice down here though," I quickly replied, trying to catch my breath. I swallowed as I thought about how cute the playful rasp in her voice was. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I would love one," she responded.

"I'm sorry, I've never seen you here before," I said, still catching my breath. "What is your name?"

"Amanda," she answered in a sweet, friendly manner.

"I'm Scott Ferrara."

"I know who you are," she giggled back. "I've seen you guys here a few times, and I saw your article in the _Brooklyn Press_."

As we walked to the bar, I couldn't help but think something was different about Amanda and was almost surprised at how down to earth she seemed. She spoke to me on a personal level and saw me for who I was, not what I was, which was a quality that stood out in my mind since other girls appeared to be stuck up or had the mentality of a groupie.

The band had slept with plenty of them in the past and heard their stories of how they followed musicians everywhere. Some were highly competitive with each other and wanted to see who could sleep with the most musicians, which was all fun and games to us.

After talking for a while, I realized I was sick and tired of hearing the same old crap every time I met a girl. "I love you and want to be with you, Scott" only meant "I'm just sleeping with you so I can add you to my roster of musicians I've been with."

After everyone left the club, Mike went in the back with Monica, and James went outside to pick up girls. Joe disappeared as usual while Amanda and I spent the rest of the night sitting on the edge of the stage. She began asking questions like how I first got into music and why I started the band, which I answered as we both lit a cigarette.

"How about yourself?" I inquired as my eyes ran up and down her petite body, curiously exploring every visible contour and wondering about those hidden under her white, unzipped jacket. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

" _Where do I even begin?"_ I thought, wanting to know everything I could. "What makes _you_ tick?" I asked before realizing that didn't make any sense. "I mean, do you work, or are you still in school?"

"Well, I was going to school for a little bit, but I couldn't afford it and dropped out," she replied. "Now I'm just working at a corner store here on Driggs."

"What were you going to school for?"

"I was just taking a couple of business classes, but I don't know," she responded, shaking her head. "Everybody thinks they know what's best for you when they don't even know you at all. You know?"

"That's why I just say screw it. Life's one big party, enjoy it!"

"Exactly! My brother doesn't think so, but I don't care..."

"Hey, there he is!" Mike screamed, interrupting Amanda, as he walked towards us. "That was one hell of a show tonight, huh?"

"You know it!" I replied before turning around to find Mike drunk out of his mind, hanging onto Monica for leverage, as Joe quietly stood behind them with a drink in his hand.

"Looks like you got a head-start on next week, bro," James laughed.

"Just celebratin', man!" Mike mumbled back.

"What's next week?" Amanda asked.

"We're throwing a party at our place next Friday," I said, "and it would be great if you can make it."

"You gotta come!" Monica said, putting her two-cents in. "Nobody throws a party like these guys!"

"Word has it they're legendary," Amanda replied. "So of course I'll be there!"

With that, the introductions had been made, and Amanda and Monica hit it off with their own conversation about various parties they've been to, solidifying the fact that she was my kind of girl. James came walking in a couple of seconds later with some girl who said her name was Nikki, who was also invited.

We spent the week playing gigs at B.B. King's and Terminal 5 in Manhattan. When we weren't performing, we spent our down-time trying to relax, but there were always girls looking for a good time and friends hanging around the apartment. And of course, we were always more than happy to oblige. Even though booze flowed like a mighty stream and drugs were within easy reach, it wasn't the type of atmosphere in which one could easily mellow out.

As Amanda and I sat on the terrace one evening, watching the sun set over Manhattan, her eyes began to gleam in a way I hadn't seen before. I continued smoking my cigarette while various scenarios played in my mind. _"She doesn't want me to take her to my bedroom, does she? Nah, she doesn't seem like that type of girl. And if she wanted a drink, she'd just ask. What the hell could it be?"_ After a few minutes, I couldn't take it anymore and blurted out, "Something's on your mind; I can tell," as James joined us on the terrace.

"I was just thinking..."

"What were you thinking?" I playfully replied as she paused.

"What if you guys had an acoustic gig – possibly here at the apartment? People can come and hang out with you, but the music would set a different mood and would probably calm everyone down."

"This girl's a genius!" James yelled, looking in my direction. "I'll tell Mike to stock up, and we'll get some more incense and all that shit.

"What songs are we gonna play?" I asked.

"Who cares, Scott? We'll just do it on the fly!

"Why don't you guys do it on Saturday, since everyone'll be here anyway?" Amanda suggested.

"Saturday, huh?" James replied as he placed his cigarette between his lips. My hands began to tremble as he inhaled, and both of our eyes grew wide until the cigarette popped out of his mouth. "I fucking love this girl!" He yelled before running inside to tell the others.

My arms immediately flew around her, holding her tight, as we stood nose to nose. Staring into her sapphire eyes, I felt as if an angel had fallen into my arms as my heart raced out of control. My eyes slowly closed, and as our lips were about to meet, the terrace door flew open.

"You really suggested an acoustic set?" Mike asked as Amanda turned toward the door. "I've always toyed with the idea of doing one, you know, for shits and giggles."

"What the hell?" I yelled.

"Sorry man," he replied, oblivious to the fact that he interrupted what would have been our first kiss. "I just wanted to come out and tell you how awesome I think the idea is. I've seen other bands do it at Sound Design Studios on Bushwick Avenue, and they sounded pretty good. I'm gonna go down and meet with T-Roc right now!"

"Who's T-Roc?" Amanda asked after Mike went back into the apartment.

"One of his suppliers," I responded.

After a few hours, the excitement had drained me, and I was ready to go to sleep. Amanda followed me into my room, and I closed the door. As I took my shirt off, Amanda asked, "Did you ever think about your dreams or what life is really about?"

I wasn't ready for a question that intense and was shocked that she would even ask something like that. "I thought you were tired, babe," I replied. "Where'd that even come from?"

"Just curious."

I didn't feel like answering such an in-depth question and slowly laid my head down as my eyes closed.

"Well?" She asked.

"You first," I replied, hoping to fall asleep as she spoke.

"I always felt that life is what you make of it," she said. "Personally, I'd like to finish college someday. But I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do and who I want to become before I go back. I'm just living life before it's too late, you know? I gotta party while I still can. I'd love to follow a band around the country and take everything in, but who can do that with a career? And, I dunno, but for some reason, I can't picture myself staying out late at a Black Label Society concert and waking up early the next day to go to work as some office manager."

"I hear you," I sighed, realizing I wasn't going to sleep just yet. "I think it would be great to drive around the country wherever the wind takes me. And it's finally starting to happen to some extent. We have friends who invited us to play shows as far south as Atlantic City and as far north as New Haven. At this stage as a band, I think that's pretty awesome. I mean who would have ever thought we'd have A&R guys coming to our shows? I never imagined being in a heavy metal band playing gigs around the city with a solid fan base at each show."

"Why not?" She replied. "You guys are awesome and deserve everything that's coming to you."

"As a kid, I used to walk the streets trying to find myself. Sometimes, I still do and have to remind myself that this is real. We've been compared to A7X, Dark New Day, and Sevendust, and that alone has made us attract fans from every end of the rock spectrum."

"How did you guys meet?"

"I met James and Joe a few years ago at a karaoke bar. They were drinking with a few friends, and I was singing 'Seasons of the Abyss' by Slayer. James came up to me afterward and said he was trying to put a band together. At that point, I never thought of singing, just playing guitar. I just kinda fell into it and found out a few days later that we went to the same high school. I met Mike while sitting in the principal's office where we started talking about music. Turned out, he was also looking to put a band together."

"What do you do aside from the band?"

"Dever is my blood, sweat, and tears. But when I'm not with the band, I'm a studio sound engineer, which sucks because I've gotta put up with bands that don't care about the music they write or their fans. They just don't get it. I try to give them some pointers, but I sometimes feel like a hypocrite. I'd hate for a music engineer to tell me how to play something or a producer to tell me how something should sound. Maybe one of these days, I'll have my own studio so the band can come in and jam whenever they want. And we wouldn't even have to worry about what anyone says."

"It must be hard trying to please everyone rather than adding your touch to the music."

"You have no idea, even though it's not my music to fuck around with."

"I do," she replied. "I was in a band a few years ago..."

My eyes grew wide as I turned to her. "You? In a band? You don't play any instruments."

"I didn't have to. I sang."

"No way! I never pictured you in a band."

"When I was little, I loved Lita and Doro Pesch. I thought I can do the whole Warlock thing. The guys I played with didn't want a female singer though, even after I suggested sounds similar to Lacuna Coil, Halestorm, or even Benedictum. One of my biggest regrets was that I let myself give up."

I didn't know what to say and was too tired to think of a response. I just wanted to see her smile before I closed my eyes. "I'm sure you're a good singer, Amanda. And it wasn't you who gave up. They didn't know talent when they saw it."

"You're sweet," she replied in a tired, yet excited voice. The next thing I knew, her silky hair gently brushed against my face as her soft lips slowly met mine.

The days slowly passed as we anxiously waited for Saturday to roll around. Once Friday arrived, time itself seemed to stand still as we set up candles and incense to enhance the mood. Joe placed few bongo drums along with a tambourine and maracas in the middle of the living room during the day, and I set up microphones and connected them to a 16-track digital recorder.

As people made their way up the following evening, the air grew increasingly thick with smoke, and the smell of various drugs and spiced incense permeated the apartment in no time. Mike's drugs had done the trick yet again, as I felt at ease and knew something magical and euphoric was about to take place.

After the sun set in the western sky, everyone gathered in a circle in the living room. The lights slowly dimmed, and the room became silent as we grabbed our acoustic guitars and played the opening chords of "Cold-Hearted Lover".

Though we reworked portions of the song and rehearsed it countless times, I never expected it, or any other of the 12 songs we played, to take on a completely new life in front of everyone. The typical heaviness of my voice during the set was gone, only to be replaced by surprisingly calm melodies and enhanced by James and Mike's during a few verses and choruses. The acoustic riffs, maracas, and bongos also created an energy that kept everyone entranced and wondering how the next song would translate from its original sound.

"Wild Card" was a definite standout for everyone, as the anger in the lyrics was magnified and breathed a life of its own over the new musical arrangement.

"If you want people to truly get the underlying meaning of the song, you should release it like this," one person said after the performance.

"The anger of the music only hides what the song is about," said another. "This song has the potential to become an anthem if it's accessible to everyone, not just metal fans."

It was worth considering – or at least lessening its thrash sound a little. Overall, it was amazing what only a couple of days worth of work could do to a song, let alone twelve, and we couldn't believe how much of a success this turned out to be. The recording even came out better than I expected and immediately brought it to the studio to have it mastered.

Meanwhile, Raven posted some audio clips and a video collage Tommy put together on our website, and its activity spiked overnight. The momentum only grew as the week continued, and we played to a full house the following weekend at Terminal 5. Since the club was near Times Square, a number of industry suits made their way in before the bouncers closed the doors. Word had it one of them was chased out of the building by some fans during the set, which James and I found hilarious after what happened at Pier 42.

"You guys were pretty good up there," one guy said after the show. "I was especially impressed with the fan interaction."

"Thanks man, we appreciate it," I replied, looking him in the eye before greeting everyone who gathered around us.

"I'll be up in New Haven on Wednesday and look forward to seeing you at Toad's," he added before being held at bay by some fans who noticed him taking a silver plated business card holder out of his pocket.

"Is it me, or was that guy some kind of crackpot?" I commented to James.

"I dunno, but if you ask me, I think he's from a label."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"They sometimes walk up to you and try to work their sweet talk in when they're really after you," Mike said. "Why else would he travel all the way up to Connecticut to see us?"

"Just fucking great!" I thought. "Now we have to look forward to putting up with this guy again!"

"He looked like he was about to give you guys his card," one fan remarked.

A horrific look of shock came across Amanda's face. "You really don't think..."

"He probably was. All these guys care about is getting your attention so they can go back to their cushy offices and work out a plan to snatch you," Mike scoffed.

"You guys don't really care about getting signed, do you?" Amanda responded.

"Rockefeller shit like that guy don't care about musicians," James replied. "They just look to suck you dry and keep the profits for themselves."

"It's not that we don't want to get signed, I added. "The industry is changing, and the climate is a lot different now than it was a few years ago. We've gotta do what's best for the fans and ourselves. What it comes down to is that we'd rather keep growing as a band than just have one song all over the radio before being put out to pasture."

When we returned to the apartment a few hours later, James and Joe grabbed a beer, and Mike brought Monica to his room and closed the door. As tired as I was, I sat on the couch with Amanda, and we all talked about the gig.

Once Amanda finished her cigarette, she leaned over and put her head on my shoulder before closing her eyes.

"Man, you look beat, bro!" James commented. "Your eyes are rolling back! Do you want me to get you a Birch?"

A muttered voice from my shoulder slowly asked, "What's a Birch?"

"You know, a Red Bull and vodka," I replied.

"Oh."

"I'm all set," I responded. I'm just gonna put Amanda to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

When we woke the next morning, James and Mike were in the living room taking stock of our liquor. Since Amanda wanted to shower, I decided to help them sort through everything and get ready for the party that night.

When she came out about 15 minutes later, her long, dark blonde hair was still wet. She looked so beautiful in her light pink shirt and tight jeans I couldn't help but run over and put my arms around her. Not only did she look like an angel, I quickly got lost in her intoxicating aroma of sweet jasmines as I closed my eyes.

"Alright you two love-birds," James interrupted, "Break it up already before you make someone sick."

"Hey, if you're hungry," Mike added, "A few girls brought us up some breakfast. It's in the kitchen."

Amanda grabbed a bagel, and I peaked under the foil of an aluminum container, revealing fresh, homemade pancakes. After eating two out of the container, James called out, "I'm going down to the liquor store and may need some help."

"Sure, we'll go with you." I replied.

James lit a cigarette as we made out way out of the lobby, and I took a deep breath before lighting mine. The air was crisp, and the gray clouds hung low as if it was going to snow.

Amanda put a black knitted hat on as we turned down Lorimer Street. I always had a thing for girls wearing hats with pom-poms in the winter, as it always made them look amazingly cute, no matter how ugly they really were. I couldn't keep myself from grabbing Amanda's pink and black pom-pom and playing with it.

"Will you stop?" Amanda yelled with a slight laughter in her voice.

"I'm not doing anything," I innocently replied.

"You've got a devilish glare in your eyes, and I don't trust you," she responded through her bright smile.

After a few minutes, I started playing with her hair, but my fingers eventually found their way to the pom-pom again.

Lorimer Liquors, our usual one-stop liquor shop was conveniently located a few blocks away on the corner of Lorimer and Messerole Streets, and when we got there, I was easily distracted by the plethora of spirits. James and I were like two kids in a candy store, and Marco, the store's owner, always gave us good deals on anything we purchased. We ended up getting a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label, Kahlúa and peppermint schnapps for the ladies, and a few bottles of Absolut and Jack Daniels in addition to the beer.

"Is it me, or is it starting to snow?" I asked after exiting the store.

"It's just you, man!" James replied.

"No, I think he's right," Amanda echoed. "It is starting to snow!" After a long pause, she asked, "Now what are we gonna do about the party?"

I put my left arm around her and replied, "Don't worry, babe, everyone's still coming!"

James raised his eyebrow and looked at me as if to say, "What did you just say to her, man?" He knew I never used the word "babe" unless I was really interested in a girl for reasons other than sex. "Snow's never kept 'em away," he replied.

In fact, it only made the parties that much better. Everyone stayed longer, and as a result, they drank more. Additionally, the girls loved it when James gave them Snugglers, spiking their hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps.

By the time we got back up to the apartment, the snow started coming down at a steady rate. Mike and Joe quickly took the bags out of our hands and inspected them to see what treats we brought home. After their short inspection, James placed their contents among the other bottles, making sure nothing was out of place so people could quickly get their drinks. Amanda and I placed the cases of beer in the fridge before sitting on the couch.

As the snow piled up outside, we hung out with girls who made their way to the apartment and ate the food they brought for us. James and Mike then got them drunk with Snugglers or Kahlúa

People began coming up to the apartment in droves with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. Drugs of all kinds, including LSD, crack, and marijuana, were going around, and Amanda and I got high with a few others on the terrace, who also had a few shots while watching the snow fall.

Amanda and I both lost count of how many drinks we had. Since everyone was too messed up for their own good, Amanda wanted to leave, and I figured I'd walk her out. As we made our way towards the door, we noticed Mike had passed out on the sofa, and James was on the floor behind the makeshift bar with two girls. Joe took a bottle of Jack, which was left unattended, and finished it off alone, in his room.

As we exited the building, I figured we'd hug and she would walk toward her place. Somehow, our hands never let go as we stumbled out of the building in fits of drunken laughter. Staggering through the snowflakes, we wound up across the street at Sternberg Park and found our way to the swings. As I started swinging, she said, "I bet I can go higher than you!"

"Oh yeah?" I replied, rocking back and forth, gaining momentum. "Beat this!"

I felt I was the luckiest man alive just by being alone with her in the park. She looked like an angel with her white jacket, snow in her hair and the glimmer in her eyes. She then unexpectedly jumped off the swing, and before I could follow suit, a snowball landed on my face. By the time I realized what happened, she was already running away in hysterics.

I chased her through the park for a while, and when I finally caught her, I couldn't help but tightly wrap my arms around her and gaze into her glistening, deep blue eyes. I then slowly closed my eyes and leaned forward. When our lips met, a magical feeling – one I had never felt before – came over me. Time itself stood still as the world began revolving around us. Though a strong energy consumed me, my knees became weak as I ran my fingers through her long hair, reflecting the city's lights.

The city was never more peaceful and beautiful. The amber snow glistened in the streetlights as we continued walking around the block, eventually finding our way back to the apartment. Since Amanda looked like she was about to collapse from exhaustion, I took her hand and put it around my neck as we staggered down the hall and into my bedroom, where she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

I couldn't fall asleep though and only thought about how beautiful Amanda looked as I sat on the chair by the window. Reaching over, I quickly grabbed my guitar and started playing some broken minor chords while staring down at the snow-covered city until eventually dozing off.

Chapter 10

The next morning, I awoke to find the sun shining bright over the glistening snow-covered city as it came back to life. The streets had been plowed, and children were already playing in Sternberg Park. I couldn't help but think that the previous night was just a dream. Then someone blasted the radio.

"The Long Island Expressway is a parking lot, and the Grand Central's no better, due to a roll-over on the Van-Wyck near Citi Field tying things up all the way over to the Whitestone Bridge, but who cares? It's a mess out there and you shouldn't be driving anyway!"

" _Man, it's gonna be one killer day!"_ I thought as I looked back at Amanda, who was starting to wake up. I didn't know what it was – the high from the drugs had long since worn off, yet I felt exhilarated. We walked out to the living room where Joe and Mike were rocking out to the radio, and I asked Amanda if she wanted to hang out with us while we rehearsed. "I'd love to," she replied.

After a breakfast of leftovers, we quickly threw the stacks, guitars, and drums in the van and headed over to the warehouse to rehearse. "Well, this is it!" I proudly called out to Amanda and Monica as we entered the building and met a few girls waiting for James.

We quickly showed the girls around before setting up our equipment. After warming up and playing a couple of scales, we went over some new material and ran though a few older songs. A little over an hour into the rehearsal, James and Mike wanted to take a break and go out back for a smoke. I needed to moisten my throat with a beer anyway. Mike immediately took a joint out of his pocket and lit it as we exited the back of the warehouse. We started passing it around, and when it came to Amanda, she took a small puff before handing it to me. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes to intensify its effects before passing it over to Joe. I finished my beer a couple of minutes later and threw the bottle over an adjacent fence and into an alley where it shattered on a brick wall and fell onto the snow.

I grabbed another beer and wondered what Amanda was like as a singer as I put the bottle up to my lips. "Tell me about your band, Amanda," I said, putting my arm around her.

"You're in a band?" James screamed, almost dropping the joint, before she could answer. "Ain't no way, man!"

"No offense," Mike added, "But I can't picture you in a band."

"Well, I _was_ in a band," she replied. "It didn't last too long though. Nobody wants a female singer."

"That ain't true!" Mike responded. "Lacuna Coil, Meridian, Flyleaf, and Kittie are doing pretty well for themselves. Halfcocked was awesome! And, Benedictum's kick-ass!"

"All right," James said as he turned to Amanda. "Let's see what you got!"

Mike's eyes grew wide, as he never expected James to issue such a challenge. "You sure about this?"

"Hell yeah," James answered. "Aren't _you_ curious to see what she's got?"

Caught off guard, Amanda walked towards me in a panic. "Are they serious?" She whispered in my ear. "I can't do this!"

"Yes you can," I replied. I _know_ you can, Amanda. I'll be right here."

"What if they think I suck?"

"Big deal," I responded. "Listen, James doesn't even know what the hell he likes. He thinks Holyhell is cool but hates that whole opera thing. He thinks Flyleaf is okay but keeps comparing their singer to Courtney Love because of the Barbie-doll lyrics. At the very least, _I_ get to hear you sing. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," She sighed.

I grabbed my guitar and put the strap around my neck and looked back at everyone to make sure they were also getting ready. I then ruffled through a small pile of papers, glancing at the lyrics written on each, trying to find something for Amanda to sing. "What about 'My Enemy'?"

"Can I see that?" Amanda asked.

I walked over to her and placed the piece of paper in her hand. She looked at it as I grabbed the microphone off the stand to give to her.

"I know this song. I've seen you guys perform it a couple of times."

"All right. 'My Enemy' it is," I said, handing her the mic.

With that, Joe hit his sticks together, counted, "1, 2, 3, 4," before we all jumped into the song.

I looked back at Amanda as we played the intro. A couple of seconds into the song, James suddenly stopped playing. "Wait! Wait! Wait!" He shouted.

"What? What's wrong, James?" I asked.

Before he could answer, Amanda turned to James with a petrified look in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I totally missed it."

"All right, let's try it one more time from the end of the intro," I replied.

Joe counted again, and we were off. Amanda slowly brought the mic to her lips and started belting the lyrics out right on cue.

I couldn't believe how heavy her voice was and how well it lent itself to the song. She sang with such an edge and didn't even bother to emulate my vocal style, which caught us all off guard. She reached the high notes with such stellar performance that we all looked at each other in amazement.

When we finished the song, she slowly took the microphone away from her lips and smiled with a sparkle in her eyes. The room was silent, and Amanda stood frozen, unsure of what we would say.

"Holy shit!" James said with a crack in his voice. "That was fucking amazing!"

"Yeah, what the hell was that?" Joe asked as he almost fell over his drums.

"That was crazy, man!" Mike added as he turned to James and nodded.

"You really think so?" she asked.

"Of course!" I assured, putting my arm around her. "Just look at the awe on their faces. It was almost like that song was made for you."

There was another squeak from behind the drums. "Hey, maybe she can do a song with us tonight."

Mike's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah, what about it, Scott?"

"Sure," I replied. "I, I mean we'll see how it goes tonight."

"Who knew such brilliance would come from behind those drums?" James quickly added as he walked over and jokingly punched Joe in the shoulder.

We spent the following hours rehearsing and finalizing the set and figured it would be best if Amanda and I shared the vocals on "Doing My Time", alternating between verses and singing the chorus together. After rehearsing the song a few more times, we stopped and got a bite to eat before heading to Pier 42, a few blocks away.

Aside from Amanda singing with us, the night was going to be special, as it was a home-coming of sorts because we were making our return to Brooklyn after playing several shows in north Jersey and Long Island. James also got our friends in the power metal band Steel Warrior to open for us.

Steel Warrior initially got the crowd going with their anthems "The Battle" and "Inquisition" while we drank and smoked joints backstage. By the time we went on, adrenaline flowed through the club like a raging river, and the excitement from the crowd only fueled our fire. Heads were banging and fists flew high in the air from the first kick of Joe's double-bass drums, and once Mike played the first note of "I Have Seen", a small mosh pit formed, quickly swelling in size.

As the crowd grew wilder, we equally increased our intensity and performed brutal songs like "Shotgun", "Lone Man", and "Prophetic Destruction". The night was pure magic, and halfway through the set, I wasn't sure if we were feeding off the crowd's energy, or if they were feeding off ours.

After performing "Wild Card", I looked out at the packed club as I tried catching my breath. "At this time, we'd like to do something a little different," I called out. "We've been pounding the pavement for a few years now, playing empty bars and being lucky enough to fill any opening slots. Let's turn the lights on for just a second so we can see you all."

The lights slowly turned on, illuminating the energetic crowd who began chanting, "Dever, Dever, Dever!"

"Take a look around," I responded. "You don't know how good this makes us feel. You guys are all part of something special, something larger than life. And we just want to thank you all for sticking with us through the years."

Whistles pierced the thunderous response as everyone yelled in excitement.

"As a special thank you, please help me welcome AMANDA CAMPBELL!"

She raised her arms up as she walked onto the stage, and wolf-whistles immediately rang out from the guys in the club who found her attractive. I handed her a mic, and we immediately delved into "Doing My Time" before anyone could figure out what was going on.

Heads started banging, and a mosh pit rapidly consumed the entire floor in front of the stage as Amanda slowly put the mic to her lips and belted out the first verse, taking everybody by surprise with her surprisingly heavy, melodic voice.

"Holy shit!" James shouted in my ear. "She's giving you a fucking run for your money!"

As I watched her work the crowd with her hand movements and the way she stalked the stage, I knew I had to work that much harder to compete. I quickly became more animated, motioning to those standing in the back of the club to join the mosh pit, and I sang with such intensity that I started feeling hoarse as we both sang the last chorus together.

Amanda seemed so confident and at ease as she performed – almost as if she craved this kind of attention her entire life, and now that she was getting it, she was eating it up. She knelt down and reached her arms out to slap the hands of those in front of her while Mike shredded through the closing solo. She then stood back up and raised her arms. We raced toward her after the song and shadowed her as if we just conquered the world.

"Give it up for Amanda Campbell!" James yelled into one of the microphones.

"Thank you so much for coming out tonight," I added as deafening Dever chants filled the club and the house lights came on. "We'll see you all soon."

Amanda quickly learned the feelings of invincibility and anonymity abruptly vanish when you're off stage, and everything suddenly becomes real and tangible when you're face to face with your dreams. "That was insane," one fan said as we made our way to the bar. "Yeah, where'd you learn to sing like that?" Said another. Her eyes sparkled and had a childlike innocence as she put her hand in mine and thanked them, not realizing our lives were about to forever change.

"Oh no, here comes trouble," I muttered to the band. "See that guy walking towards us? It's like he's stalking us or something. I've seen him at every show we've played since the Starland a few weeks ago."

"So?" Mike asked. "Maybe he just likes the music."

"I don't think so, man," James replied. "I don't know what it is, but it's like he stands out above everyone else. I mean, look at the way he's looking at us."

"You don't think he's from a label, do you?" Amanda posed.

I put my arm around her to comfort her as the man got close enough to have a conversation.

"That was absolutely incredible," he said, turning to Amanda.

"Thanks, man." Mike replied as if to brush him off and keep him away from Amanda.

"Are you in the band? I don't think I've seen you before."

"What's it to you, bro?" James snarled back.

"Do you guys have a manager?"

"No, we..." Mike replied.

"My name's Tony Morris," he interrupted, extending his hand to each of us, "and I'm from Black Mark Records. We've got a couple of people back at the office want to meet with you. You've got extraordinary potential, and I know you guys can hold the world in the palms of your hands."

"Listen Tony," James interjected. "Let's cut the bullshit, okay? We've seen your kind come around here before, and even though we've seen your bands promoted everywhere, we don't need you or your sweet talk."

"This is for real; we want you on our label," he asserted. "I know you guys probably hate me and think I'm corporate shit. But I've made my way through the industry like you guys are doing."

"Oh, is that so?" Mike countered, putting his hand up to his chin and clenching his fingers.

"I was in a metal band back in the '90's and saw all of the corporate bullshit that went on in the industry. Bands getting shit on because of their sound, others wanting to leave because they weren't getting the promotion they needed. I've seen it all. I was one of them."

"I hear Dave Mustaine wants to call it quits because his label's dicking him around," Mike added. "Why don't you go after him?"

"Man, I'd kill to have Megadeth on Black Mark!"

"Holy shit!" I thought as Mike and James continued torturing him. "Maybe this guy is the real deal. He actually knew who we were talking about!"

James then mentioned that Amanda was part of the band, which only confirmed what the rest of us were thinking. Amanda froze in disbelief and didn't know how to respond. It was then that James went behind the bar and made a couple of Irish Carbombs to celebrate and keep her mind off the excitement. Once Tony had his drink, I hit her glass with mine and dropped the shot glass in. "Welcome to the band," I exclaimed as I raised it to my lips and downed its contents.

"Tell ya what," Tony said. "Here's my card. Why don't you come by the office on Wednesday around noon to discuss a couple of things?"

"Sure, you got it!" James replied as he clenched his fingers and gave Tony a fist bump.

The world seemed like it stopped turning for the weekend and into the beginning of the following week, and all we thought about was what was going to happen in the coming days through the tunnel-vision of liquor bottles. The outside world meant nothing to us. We only cared about the masses of people who heard the news through our website and came up to party with us. Free food and liquor mysteriously found its way to our apartment, and when we ran out, more suddenly arrived. We found out late Sunday night that it was Tony who provided us with the essentials for our five days in heaven and figured that if we signed with Black Mark, this would only be a small sample of things to come.

Even though I was with Amanda the whole time, my eyes wandered across the room to this girl, Lauren, who I slept with on a number of occasions. She had long, red hair, brown eyes, and perfect alabaster skin. By day, she kept her head dry and out of trouble and worked as a secretary in a Midtown law firm. By night, she was secretly everyone's sweetheart over the internet. On this rare occasion, I was more interested in the former. Besides, James had already claimed "Luscious Lauren," as she was known, and was getting her drunk.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Just came by to wish you guys well. I heard the great news and had to celebrate with everyone!"

"You still workin' down at the law firm with what the hell's his face?"

"Who, Chuck Maldano? Yeah, I'm still there."

"Do you think you can get him to come with us down to Black Mark on Monday to look over the contract? I mean, I know it's short notice..."

"James already asked me, and it shouldn't be a problem," she replied. "I'll talk to him and tell him to meet you down there. Besides, he owes me for a few favors anyway."

With the types of favors Lauren was known for, it was no wonder Chuck kept her around. But, I just left it at that and grabbed another drink as James whisked her into his room and shut the door.

James called Lauren late Monday morning, and she said Chuck wanted to meet us at his office the following afternoon to give us some pointers and tell us what to look out for. I had some experience dealing with record companies and contracts from when I worked at the music store selling guitars, so I was starting to doubt whether we even needed an attorney. Musicians told me how their labels screwed them out of royalties, and I had a pretty good idea of what to look out for after seeing partial contracts. "Never let your label use your name and likeness for their benefit," I repeatedly heard. "And, never let your label control your musical direction. We were signed because we wrote music that meant something to us, and now the label wants to us to put crap out to fill their pockets."

One could tell where label politics came into play down at the studio, as recording budgets had to be determined for musicians. Bands that weren't given that much money didn't have the production their music deserved. Amanda also had some background knowledge of math and business management from her days at high school and before she dropped out of college, and we figured that would help in negotiating royalty rates and advances.

Amanda and I thought we knew it all. But, after meeting with Chuck, who was surprisingly young for a lawyer and in his high 30's or low 40's, I was happy we decided to seek advice. He presented a sample contract and had us look over a few pages to see if we could understand any part of it. To my surprise, I couldn't follow it at all. When he showed us the rest of the 35+ page contract, my head started spinning, and my stomach nervously twisted in all directions. "Thank God Chuck knows what he's doing," I said as we walked out of the building.

"Yeah, no shit," Mike echoed.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, my nerves finally settled. We met Chuck at his office to get some last minute advice before taking the subway to Black Mark's office on 7th Avenue. We never thought we'd find ourselves thanking a lawyer, but we were ready to tackle Tony and his label cronies. To us, they were the greater of the two evils. Our game faces were on as we rode the elevator with Chuck to the 24th floor and walked into the office, which was strategically decorated with a few gold records and promotional posters of up-coming releases by the label's bands. There was a glass table to the left with copies of _Hit Parader_ , _BW &BK, Revolver_, _Kerrang!_ , and a few old copies of _Metal Edge_ and _Metal Maniacs_ on it, surrounded on three sides by black leather couches. We were greeted by Kayla, a young, sweet brunette with wavy, shoulder-length hair who wore a pentagram necklace that showed through her v-neck top.

"Look, but don't touch," Chuck quickly muttered as if he knew exactly what each of us was thinking.

"Yes, daddy," Mike mumbled back.

"Welcome to Black Mark. You must be Dever," she said. "Tony will be with you in a few minutes. Please sit. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?"

"Can I have a beer?" Mike asked.

Kayla looked as if she was ready to get one for all of us when Chuck interjected. "We'll all have some coffee." She came back a few minutes later with the drinks and found us ripping the magazines out of each other's hands. Chuck looked like he was about to have a heart attack from the way we behaved. Kayla just walked back to her desk without saying a word. I'm sure she was used to seeing this type of behavior; she didn't even look up when Mike yelled at Joe. "Dude, you spilled coffee all over my magazine!" The halos quickly returned when we heard footsteps walking towards us from down the hall, and we immediately put our game faces back on.

Tony came out from around the corner and greeted us with a huge smile and firm handshake. It was odd seeing him with a suit and wearing his hair in a ponytail after partying with him just a few days before. Chuck was taken aback by the fact that he didn't even mention the mess of spilled coffee and ripped magazines on the table. After greeting everyone and introducing himself to Chuck, he cordially said, "Come with me," and led us down the hall and into a small conference room where we met Rick Shapiro, the label president.

Before sitting down, I reached across the table to the pile of papers in front of Rick, and wanted to see what kind of offers would be made. Chuck immediately tugged at my arm and firmly said, "Just sit."

Tony and Rick rifled through the pile and started reading off terms and conditions in a manner which we would never understand them. All we heard was "$250,000 advance with a 9% royalty rate." That didn't sit well with Chuck though, and he was going back and forth with Tony and Rick for a while working out a good balance between an advance and royalty rates. Amanda knew it wasn't a good deal, and the rest of us kept quiet and let Chuck do his thing. But, deep inside, we thought, "$250,000! Let's take it! Where do we sign?"

"All right, we'll give you a higher royalty rate, but you're going to promise us more records. The option of another release is off the table," Rick mentioned as he amended his paperwork. "We'll also give you a deal with our publisher since you write your own material. And Scott, since you seem to know the boards, it doesn't make sense for the royalties to be 'all-in'. But we'll talk about that later."

"I also don't like the fact that you have 'any other sums due under this agreement or any other agreement between the parties' in here," Chuck added. "Let's keep it against the royalties if we're going to talk about publishing or producer deals."

The meeting continued for another couple of hours as Chuck fought to keep our commitment to the label as minimum as possible and made sure that proper marketing actions be taken once the album is recorded and released. Tony and Chuck agreed seeing as how our music was making waves across the New York area and figured it wouldn't be that much of a risk to the label. Numerous other amendments had been made to the contract as well, and we all felt like we had a good deal, especially since label support is usually reserved for more established bands. We all signed the "unofficial copy" of the contract and were ready to party after being cooped up in the office.

Tony had other plans though and took us to a late lunch at a cafe near Rockefeller Center. We were seated in the back corner next to a window that overlooked the ice rink and were easily distracted by the girls skating in circles. I was going stir-crazy after only a few minutes. "I gotta use the bathroom," I said as I got up and walked around the corner, following the signs to the restrooms. I managed to find my way to the bar instead. Since the cafe wasn't that busy, the bartender came right over to me. "What can I get for you?"

"We're all sitting in the booth in the corner and would like to start a tab. You got an Irish car bomb?"

"Coming right up," he smiled.

Before I knew it, I was joined by James. "Better make it two."

Within no time at all, two turned into four and then six. Amanda even joined in when Chuck sent her to look for us, but we quickly retreated back to the table so Tony or Chuck wouldn't suspect anything. It was too late though, and the second I sat down, Chuck turned to me and whispered, "You guys reek like alcohol! Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah! You want me to get you one?" I replied.

The look of disgust on his face said it all, as he was obviously still trying to get us to impress Tony. But, there really was no need to. All we had to do was relax and have fun. And, we were doing it the only way we knew how. Mike and Joe soon joined in and disappeared for a few minutes.

Tony grew a little suspicious when he realized that we were only nursing our beers but didn't say anything. To keep him occupied, we pretended to make our objectives as a band known and repeatedly mentioned that we were going to throw some fuel on the suffering music scene. And with a tentative contract already signed, we passed the first hurdle with flying colors. In addition, Tony believed in us and knew we'd be marketable because of our take-no-prisoner attitudes. Chuck, on the other hand, figured it was the alcohol talking and was only worried that he'd have to help Tony pay for the sirloins we all ordered.

"Don't worry about it," Tony laughed back. "It's on me."

"Wait till he gets the bill," Mike muttered under his breath as we all cracked up.

"Yup. Here she comes now with it," I mentioned as the waitress gently put the small, black leather folder with the check inside on the table in front of Tony before placing a mint in front of each person. Tony took one look at the bill and signaled for the waitress to come back.

"Excuse me, but this can't be our bill. There is no way we spent this much in liquor alone."

"Let me take a look," she said as she took the bill from Tony. "I'm afraid so. You had a running tab at the bar."

That was all we needed to hear before bursting into laughter. But staying true to his word, Tony picked up the tab and asked no further questions. To this day, I still don't know what the final bar tab was.

Two days later, we got a phone call from Tony saying that the final contract was ready for us to look over and sign. We immediately went down to Chuck's office, where we were greeted by Lauren.

"What the hell did you guys do to Chuck the other day?" She asked. "When he came back, he seemed like he was going to have a heart attack or something. He was driving the whole office crazy."

"All we did was sign a contract and go out to eat after. I swear." I replied.

"How's this guy hold up in court if he can't even hang with us?" Mike asked.

"You guys owe me one for setting this whole thing up. How about we call it even if you don't drive him nuts?"

Before we could reply to Lauren's stupid deal, Chuck came out of his office with a big smile on his face. "You guys ready to make this official?"

"You know it, man! Let's do it!" Mike replied. Chuck then grabbed his coat, and we headed down to Black Mark.

We immediately felt at home the moment we entered the office and saw a Dever promo poster hanging on the front of Kayla's desk. James couldn't keep himself from yelling out of excitement, "This is freakin' awesome," and then kissed Kayla on the cheek. I put my hand in Amanda's, as we both couldn't believe we were actually making it official. Everything we worked so hard for during the preceding months and years was finally coming to fruition. After waiting for a few minutes, we were called into the conference room, where we were met by Tony and Rick, who handed each of us a copy of the contract as we sat down. "Do you have a pen?" I eagerly asked.

Rick took a sip of his coffee and answered, "We'd like to go through the contract first and make sure that all of the addendums and amendments have been included and are laid out exactly as we had talked about on Wednesday." That only meant we were going to be stuck in the office for some time comparing the original contract and its scribbled notes with the new contract's wording. As painful as it was to us, Chuck was thorough in his comparisons and made sure every point was addressed. Then came the last and final page, and pens were handed out faster than dollar bills at a strip club. Within the blink of an eye, the contracts were signed, and we were officially with Black Mark.

We celebrated by going down to Pier 42 and were surprised that Chuck wanted to come along. We were glad he did, because we owed him a couple of drinks on top of his fair share for putting up with us and for making sure the contracts were exactly the way we wanted.

It was late afternoon by the time we got to the club, and we expected the place to be empty. However, the bar was packed with familiar faces which seemed to grow more boisterous as each of us walked through the door. "What the hell are they all doing here?" I asked under my breath.

"Good news travels fast, man!" James answered as he looked at all the women inside.

Then from out of nowhere, a voice seemed to ring out above all of the others, and we saw Nick come out from behind the bar. "My boys!" he proclaimed like a father so proud of his children that he could hardly keep it in. "My boys! What can I get you to drink?"

"Blue Label for this guy right here for making this all happen," I replied as I pointed towards Chuck.

"What's that?" I heard him ask above the noise.

"Nothing but the finest Scotch whiskey," James quickly replied. "It's on us, man." He then turned to Nick. "Jäger bombs all around!"

Once we all got our drinks, Nick made himself a Jäger bomb and proudly held his glass above his head for all to see. "To Dever!" he shouted. "May you have all the success in the world!"

That said, the club erupted with excitement as we downed our shots, and within the blink of an eye, Mike hopped up on the bar. "You all are part of something special," he called out. "This means so much to us, and we will never forget this moment! You guys freakin' rock, man!" Ryan then handed him another shot as he stood on the bar, and with one gulp, that too was gone.

"Where'd Chuck run off to?" I asked, figuring we probably scared him away.

"He's in the corner by the booths," I someone replied. Sure enough, that's where I found him enjoying his drink with two chicks all over him and a big smile on his face.

"We found daddy's vice," I called to the rest of the band, who smiled back once they saw him in the corner.

We also knew it was time to get down to business, and we spent the following days down at the warehouse rehearsing. We had no idea exactly how we were going to use Amanda's vocal talents, and the more we thought about it, the more it scared us to death.

"All right, here are our choices," Mike said. "We can have Amanda sing some songs and have Scott do others. Scott and Amanda can each sing a couple of lines in each verse and one of them can do the chorus like we did at Pier 42. Or, Amanda can sing the verses, and Scott can sing the choruses."

"Aren't there a million bands that do that though?" James quickly replied. "I just heard Nightwish the other night, and I think Lacuna Coil also does the same thing."

"Yeah, but Amanda's got a heavier style of singing," I chimed in, "which would give any song a totally different feel." I waited for a response while I took a puff of my cigarette. "We can try it though to see how it works. You up for that, Amanda?"

"Yeah, let's give it a shot!" she eagerly replied before delving into "My Enemy", "Mad World", and "I Have Seen". I couldn't believe how incredible the songs sounded with her singing. She had such an amazing voice that worked so well with the music. I fell in love with her all over again by the way she handled herself vocally and swayed with the music. Vocally, she was a cross between Veronica Freeman, of Benedictum, and Doro Pesch. I've always been a hard person to please, but I knew the crowd would instantly fall in love with her and couldn't wait for the fans to hear our music.

A couple of new songs also came out of the rehearsals, including "Live for Today", "Black Jack", and "See the Light". When we started writing these songs, the intention was for me to sing them. "Hold on a second," Amanda suddenly said as we were ready to start playing "Live for Today".

"What's up?" Mike asked.

"I was thinking about what James said about there being a million bands with female singers who only sing the verses. What if Scott did the verses on this one and then I did the chorus? I think that would be something different, don't you?"

I couldn't help but put my two cents in. "I can't even begin to tell you how intense the songs sound with you singing the verses. I haven't heard anything like that in years!"

"Scott's right," James said. "I mean, all the bands that have chicks singing with someone else all sound the same. You can't tell Nightwish apart from Lacuna Coil or Evanescence. I never thought I'd say this, but you've got a gift. You've got something different."

I looked down at the lyrics written on a tattered pizza box on the ground and thought about what Amanda said.

" _I see you running but there's nobody there_

I see your hopes vanish in thin air

I feel your dreams and your silent screams

Live for today, don't worry what tomorrow brings..."

"I think Amanda's got something here. Her voice would have more of an impact if she were to sing the chorus, at least on this song, since she's got a higher range than I do"

"Let's give it a shot, guys," Mike called out. "From the top. Ready, 1, 2, 3..."

Musically, Amanda's input made sense once we all heard what it actually sounded like. Never one to be proven wrong, James quickly commented after we finished the song, "This girl's a fucking genius, man!"

From then on, we were quick to make sure we knew exactly what parts Amanda and I were going to sing whenever we wrote a new song. Amanda also added a new dimension to our songwriting process, and her spark of energy and input helped to lay the groundwork for our songwriting formula.

The following week, Tony had us in studio recording songs for our first full-length CD. Even though he knew I had production experience, Tony wanted to hire a producer from the outside. "Absolutely not," I fired back once I heard the news at Black Mark's office. I was so pissed off and was ready to take anyone out who even stared at me the wrong way. Seeing that my face had turned fiery red, James and Mike took it upon themselves to hold me back while Amanda didn't know what to do or say. "Listen Tony, and listen good," I said. " _I'm_ the one who's taken the raw tapes of our rough apartment and warehouse recordings to the studio and turned them into gems when nobody else would. And you know I've been producing bands for years."

"Oh yeah? Who have you produced?" Tony asked.

"Steel Warrior, Cypher, and X-Factor to name a few."

"And, why haven't I heard of any of them?" He sneered back.

"Steel Warrior was the band we were playing with when you saw us at Pier 42. Anyway, it doesn't matter."

"Hold up, Scott. Let me get a sentence in here," Tony said as he tried to calm me down. "You can certainly co-produce the album, and if it sells well, then it'll be all yours from there on out.

"What Scott means is just let him produce one song," James interrupted. "We'll send you the mastered recording of the song, and you can reassess depending on how it comes out."

"Come, let's go out for a few minutes," Amanda said, noticing I was ready to pound Tony and James.

"I can't believe that guy!" I mentioned as we walked out of the lobby. "He's got balls telling me that I can't produce my own music!" Before Amanda could respond, I picked a snowball up and pegged a no parking sign. Not feeling satisfied enough, I then threw some more snowballs at passing trucks kicked a few garbage cans down the street before lighting a cigarette.

"I don't think it's _that_ unreasonable what Tony is asking for. I mean, we just got signed for Christ's sakes, and he wants someone that people are familiar with to produce the music so it sells. Producer name recognition is another way of marketing the music."

"What's gotten into you, Amanda? We even talked about me producing the music just last week. Now, that prick is going back on his word."

"You're being completely irrational, and you know it! You're about to grab the world by its balls, and you're only worried people are coming with you for the ride of your life."

I couldn't believe what was spewing from her mouth. That wasn't the Amanda I came to know and love. Then again, I wasn't the same either, and as I was finishing my cigarette, I realized it was me who was bringing this out of her.

"All I'm saying is when Mike, James, Joe, and I started this band a few years ago, we had nothing else to live or die for. Our music is our blood, and it means the world to us. We had a vision of what our music would sound like and never thought in our wildest dreams something like this would happen. It just kills me to see some suit take control of our music like this." I took one last puff before flicking the cigarette on the sidewalk. "Maybe I'm being a control-freak, I dunno."

She put her arm around me and whispered, "Everything will be all right. Things have a way of working themselves out. Let's go back up and try to work this out."

James, Mike, and Joe continued to back me up and work on Tony, as they knew I had a definite sound I was looking for from hearing our recordings. It took a bit of persuasion, but after a few days, Tony finally heard some of the demos I put together and agreed to let me produce the band. I told him exactly what I wanted, which were cymbals so clear that you could hear all of the imperfections, bass drums that suck the air out of you, bass guitars that are in your face, and guitars that hit so hard and heavy, the listener's head would start moving back and forth from listening to the crunching riffs and harmonics.

We always figured it would be better to go into the studio with more material than we knew what to do with. This way, we could choose what songs would make the cut rather than be forced to write filler material. And with three years worth of songs under our belt, that wasn't a problem. "Prophetic Destruction" was first on the list to be recorded. It took a while for us to get into the "studio mindset", as James called it.

I've helped numerous bands get into this mindset, but it was the first time I've actually experienced it first-hand. Instead of all of us playing at the same time as we were used to, we had to grow accustomed to recording one instrument at a time. The drum tracks are recorded first, then the bass and guitars. The vocals are the final track to be laid down. "Prophetic Destruction" went pretty smooth considering we were still feeling our way through the process. Having alcohol in the studio and smoking marijuana outside between takes also helped. Before we knew it, we were hitting a groove and were pumping out music at a steady rate.

Overall, the studio was a busy place during the day, as people were always either making their way in or out. The small lounge in the back was the room that saw most of the action during the day. James set up a mini bar in one of the corners, and there was a black leather couch against the wall that saw plenty of action at all hours of the day or night depending on who was recording their tracks. Opposite the bar, were two electronic dart boards hanging on a wall, which looked like it had seen its share of missed shots, kicks, and punches.

James, Mike, and I updated our website and networking pages every three or four days and sent out weekly e-mails to those on our mailing list, which Tony soon picked up on. He wanted to start spreading the word about Dever and sent the updates to hard rock and heavy metal news sites. It seemed to be working, as we started receiving more and more e-mails from both male and female fans from across the country who visited our website and listened to samples on MySpace.

John in St. Louis, Missouri wrote, "Dude! Your singer is hot, and I can't wait till you guys go on tour!" Likewise, Michelle from Youngstown, Ohio sent us a note that read, "I googled your band after seeing you on _Metal Wire_ 's website. I've been playing guitar for years but was never taken seriously. It's great to see more women getting involved in heavy metal. I'm so excited!"

When we were about three-quarters through the recording process, we received a phone call from an ecstatic Tony, who was also receiving similar e-mails. "These songs are sounding great, guys, and I love what I'm hearing! I'm sorry I doubted you as a producer a few months ago, Scott. You're doing one hell of a job with the mixing. The reason that I'm calling is this. I've been getting a million e-mails inquiring about the band, most of them asking what you sound like. I've been sending them to your site, but we've gotta put some up on ours as well so we can start showcasing you guys." Without hesitation, Amanda sent some mp3's over to Tony so he could post them on Black Mark's website.

"Looks like you've found your niche," Tony ecstatically told us as he received more positive feedback and the release date of May 8th drew closer. That date meant so much to everyone, and we were all excited it was almost around the corner. To me, it also meant many late nights alone in the studio putting the final touches on the music while everyone else went back to the apartment and drank or partied.

I've always thought I was creatively at my best when left alone, giving my mind had a chance to freely wander without outside interference. That is what prompted me to add a haunting piano and strings to "Between the Lines," which gave the instrumental the life it needed.

Even though I didn't mind everyone else was doing their own thing, Sound Design Studios was a lonely place at night. The opened bottles of Grey Goose or Jack Daniels screamed to be finished, to which I eagerly answered their call to take the edge off. I also found myself picking up the guitar and writing a lot of random lyrics and personal thoughts. One of these thoughts was the title for a song called "Blinded by the Sun", a power ballad, which took on a more personal meaning as time progressed.

Amanda felt bad that I was spending all of my nights at the studio putting the finishing touches on the CD and would sometimes return to keep me company. If I was still up, I'd set my thoughts aside and mix Grey Goose and Fresca for her while I finished a bottle of Jack. On most nights though, I collapsed on the leather couch out of exhaustion before Amanda came without even caring what kind of stains were on there from earlier in the day. I'd awake the next morning to find Amanda lying next to me with her arm wrapped around my stomach and a few empty bottles on the floor next to the couch. Although I never told her, it meant the world to me that she came down to keep me company.

Tony thought it would be best if we kept the CD self-titled and constantly said, "My advice to bands putting out their first release is for the music to do the talking. If the music is good, it doesn't need to hide behind a CD title," he responded. Tony hadn't steered us wrong yet, but James was hell-bent on calling it _Mind over Madness_. We all agreed, since we felt the music was about keeping yourself sane in a world gone astray, and Tony finally caved. He came down to the studio around mid-March to show us the cover art for the CD.

"That's killer," Mike screamed as Tony unveiled the image of the band's red and white logo in front of a black and gray background.

Excitement immediately filled the room, and some of our friends that were hanging out with us grabbed their cell phones and took pictures of us with Tony as we held the cover art. We all migrated to the back room, where Tony found a bottle of champagne and shook it so it sprayed over everybody as he opened it.

Once the bottle was empty, James screamed, "Shots for everyone!" I immediately called Chuck and told him to come down to the studio and join the party. He showed up as it was starting to wind down, but not without finishing one of James's special concoctions.

Amanda then went online to post the day's events on our website and noticed a number of e-mails that were already in response to the cover art Tony uploaded from his Blackberry while we partied. All of them were pretty positive, and more came in with each passing day. Our final day in the studio was March 20th, and we were all eager to leave our home for the past few months. Once our equipment was packed up, we ran to the computer and sent our final e-mail from the studio.

"The CD's officially done, and we handed the masters over to Black Mark. As much as we eagerly await the release date of May 8th, it's spring and it's time for us to break out of the studio and play some shows again! Party with us on the Breakout of the Studio Tour starting April 5th at Pier 42 in Brooklyn for our unofficial CD release party! We'll also be heading through Staten Island, Manhattan, Farmingdale, Philadelphia, Atlantic City, Asbury Park, Newark, White Plains, New Haven, Hartford, Springfield, and Worcester to name a few cities! Advanced copies of the CD will be on sale before it hits stores. We appreciate all of the support you've given us while in the studio, and we can't wait to see all of you on the road!"

When April 5th finally arrived, life as we knew it seemed absolutely surreal. Even though this mini tour of the northeast was short, it was different than all of the other string of road shows we've played. First and foremost, these were Amanda's first shows with the band. As much as I loved her voice and vocal delivery, I had to get used to not singing as much. Instead, I started noticing the audience more and quickly caught on to the fact that there were a lot of girls who dragged their boyfriends to the shows. A lot of them liked the music so much that they'd buy the CD and take other girls with them to the next concert, a process which seemed to repeat itself over and over.

Since our van was on its last legs, Tony coaxed some business associates into letting him borrow two brand new vans to travel and haul our equipment in. Booze also seemed much easier to get, and those who were backstage with us got all of the free alcohol they could handle. Naturally, we loved that all of the girls from the audience seemed to show up backstage after the concerts. The lucky ones got to hang out in rooms that were designated as "private", and our two roadies put "do not disturb" signs on the doors once we went in with them. Other girls (and their boyfriends) wanted to meet Amanda, so she spent her time backstage talking to them. Most importantly, we enjoyed being on tour while the label flipped the bill for everything from partying to taking in some of the sights that the cities had to offer whenever we had free time, like Mardi Gras in Springfield, Massachusetts and the Gold Club in Hartford.

However, Tony found a way to take the fun out of that. "You guys need some promo shots if we're going to book you on some major tours when the CD actually comes out. And since you're going out on the town anyway, we might as well get some photos with local landmarks for the next time we come around."

"Gimme a break," Mike and James yelled almost in unison. I wasn't too keen on the idea either, and even Joe wanted to go back to the strip clubs. Amanda, however, thought it made sense and figured it was a way for us to visit places we wouldn't normally see. Despite everything Tony and Amanda said to talk us into the idea, we figured it would be best to show up drunk to the shoots, the first of which was in Brooklyn with the Manhattan skyline behind us. Our second shot was on the Williamsburg Bridge in front of the graffiti-ridden steel girders. We also did some at Independence Hall in Philly, one with the Boston skyline behind us, and a couple on the beach of Atlantic City, with the hotels and casinos on the left and the ocean to the right.

Since the first single, "Black Jack", already hit radio, Tony hooked us up with local stations that were playing our songs to build momentum. Overall, the song took a while to catch on with mainstream rock stations, but we gained a lot of exposure on the national underground scene when the independent and college stations played "It's On Me", "Rules Get Broke", and "Wild Card". We visited these stations during the tour, and we had fun doing interviews and hanging with the disc jockeys. We talked about everything from our background to our lifestyle, making sure to mention the up-coming shows and parties before performing a few acoustic songs.

The party started a little early in Boston at Northeastern University's radio station, where we were greeted by Beth, one of the DJ's. She had long, dark, slightly wavy hair and crystal blue eyes that seemed to put a spell on Mike and James, who lost what little concentration they had the moment they saw her and heard her sweet, innocent voice.

"So what do you do for fun up here in Boston?" Mike asked off the air as "Wild Card" played.

"Hang out at bars, go to concerts, you know."

"Where's your bathroom, Beth?" James then asked.

"Down the hall and to the right."

He then got up and walked down the hall. "Hey, there's a fridge back here," he called out. He opened the door to reveal a 24 pack of Sam Adams. "Jackpot! There's beer in here!"

We all took our headphones off and ran to the fridge to try the local brew. A few seconds later, Mike noticed Joe was answering questions about the band on the air and called out to him, "Hey Joe!"

He looked up, and Mike threw him a beer to keep him from talking about the band with his squeaky voice.

"Oh my God, it is chaos down here at the studio. The beers are flying, and the band is officially starting to throw one of their infamous parties. How are you guys gonna keep going like this all day and still play at the Avalon tonight?"

"It's just another day for us," I replied. "If anything, there'd be something wrong if we _weren't_ partying all day and night!"

"That seems to be the running theme between all of your songs," Beth commented. "With titles like 'Black Jack,' 'Cold-Hearted Lover,' 'Another Night,' and 'It's On Me,' is there one main story that seems to connect everything?"

"Um, not really," Mike laughed. "It's just the story of our lives.

Beth got back on the microphone, "Well, there you have it! Dever! They've been tearing up the road as of late, and again, their next stop is at the Avalon tonight. The show starts at 8pm. Dollar-five drink specials all night long. We'll see you there!"

The studio was a complete disaster by the time the interview was over. CDs and crumbled pieces of paper were everywhere, and when we were finally ready to leave, we couldn't find Joe anywhere.

"Why does he always have to disappear when we're getting ready to leave?" Mike asked.

"He's probably drinking by himself in some closet, I replied. "See if Beth knows where he ran off to."

"She's gone too," Amanda said.

"That little prick," James muttered under his breath. "You don't think he's..."

"Who the hell are you kidding, man? This is Joe we're talking about!" Mike replied.

I opened the door to a storage room down the hall and found the two with an empty bottle of vodka and leaning with their backs against some boxes. Their arms were around each other, and they were out of breath. "Uh guys, they're both in here!"

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill that prick!" Mike screamed.

"Yeah, if I don't get to him first," James added.

It took the station manager and myself to keep the three of them from killing each other. I don't know what it was, but Beth somehow found a great drinking partner in Joe. It must have been his innocent, non-threatening demeanor that attracted college girls like her and the thought of downing a bottle of vodka that kept him from running away. Joe claims he went all the way with Beth, but who knows if he actually did. Regardless, it proved that Joe _was_ capable of having sex with a girl instead of running in the opposite direction.

As the band's momentum grew, so did my relationship with Amanda. I have often heard bands say that you learn the most about the people around you when you're on the road. Even though this was a relatively short string of dates, I had begun to see what they meant. The road was nothing like being back in Brooklyn, and we were out of our natural element to some extent. Amanda and I began to lean on each other for support when we felt strung out from the road. We also had no idea what was around the corner for the band, and it scared us to think we would either catapult to the top or that our momentum would come to a screeching halt. Amanda and I never let anyone else know what we were thinking, though I'm sure these thoughts crossed everyone's mind at some point. We either drowned these thoughts in alcohol or smoked them out with marijuana.

We frequently snuck out for a smoke and took moonlit walks, hand-in-hand, to clear our thoughts and explored the unfamiliar neighborhoods of the cities we were in when the parties died down. I even broke out into song when we were in New Haven, walking down Elm Street, just outside of Toad's Place.

"Your eyes are the only eyes I could see my world inside

To you I will confide..."

She looked at me and started laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?"

"You're crazy, you know that?" she responded as she laughed so hard that a few tears fell from her eyes.

It didn't matter how drunk I was, I knew Amanda was quickly becoming the center of my universe. As we all traveled from one city to the next after a concert, we'd sit back in the van and reflect on the show. Amanda and I also rested with our arms around each other and wrote songs with the amber lights from the highway as our guide. Some of them were exclusively for her to sing, and others we'd share the vocals on, swapping back and forth. Amanda usually fell asleep before me with her head on my chest or lap, and I'd run my fingers through her long, dark blonde hair until my eyes eventually closed.

Chapter 11

By the time May came around, we had neared the end of the tour and had acquired some more roadies to set up and take the gear down. We also sold about 2,000 CDs on the road alone with the help of college radio stations and word of mouth. We honestly didn't think we'd move that many and were ecstatic people were digging the music.

Then came the labels and comparisons. "If you cross this band with that band and add a female singer, you get Dever" and "If you like classic metal with a modern sound, you'll love Dever." Tony loved these comparisons and welcomed them with open arms, figuring they'd help drive sales. Online retailers compared _Dever_ to everything from Halestorm's EP _One and Done_ to _Avenged Sevenfold_ , and one even went as far as to say it was a modern _Appetite for Destruction_ due to songs like "Wild Card", "Shotgun", and "Another Night".

We didn't care for these labels because we figured if the music is good, it would stand the test of time and shine through any useless trend that comes around. I couldn't stand musicians attempting to sound like other groups that have made it big, and bands trying to be heavier than everyone else bored me to death. If one writes from the heart, it will show. We've always written about how we felt and our views of society, which was why we had such a diverse following back home in New York without giving into anyone or anything.

Our fan base on the road slowly grew more diverse as stations started playing "Black Jack", which Tony used to our advantage. He spent a great deal of his own money advertising our release in _Hit Parader_ and _Revolver_ , and on websites such as Hard Radio, The Gauntlet, and KNAC. "Once you guys break though," he'd repeatedly say, "your potential will be limitless."

Tony's main goal, however, was for Black Mark to become nationally known so everyone would know his name. Though a number of acts were signed to the label, we were the ones who held the key for him to do that. All he had to do was sign a major distribution deal to get our disc shipped outside of the northeast and around the world.

After the tour ended in May, Tony feverishly continued his search. During that time, we started working on new material, but not by choice. We heard that stations as far away as Chicago and Dallas were starting to add us to their playlists, and we were infuriated that we couldn't capitalize and extend the tour to more cities. "You know what?" I asked, losing patience with the situation while working on songs at the warehouse.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna go down to see Tony and find out exactly what's going on."

"No, please don't." Amanda begged. "I'm sure there's a good reason why Tony's got us just sitting around doing nothing."

"A good reason?" James chimed in. "Nah, don't hold your breath. There's no reason for this at all!" Turning in my direction, he continued, "I'm going down with you, bro."

Amanda got up, walked over to me and put her hands on my shoulders. "Please don't go down, Scott. We don't need to be causing any problems with Tony and the label."

"Problems?" James asked.

"Tony's hoping to go nationwide with Black Mark, and he knows that we're the ones who can help him do that! Not Warren Martin, Voice of Reason, or any other of his bands! Us," Amanda responded.

That was all James needed to hear. "Let's go, man!" he said as he opened the door.

The first thing we noticed when we got to Black Mark's Midtown office was a Dever promo poster hanging next to Kayla's desk.

"What _is_ that?" James asked.

"What is what?" Kayla replied.

"The poster. When are we playing the Roseland? And why the hell haven't we been told about this?"

"Calm down, James. She's got nothing to do with this." I then looked in Kayla's direction. "Is Tony around? We'd like to run a few things by him."

"Sure, I'll get him. One second," she said as she picked up her phone and pushed a few buttons. "Hey Tony, Scott and James from Dever are here. Should I...all right." She put the receiver down and looked at us. "His office is the last one on the left."

We walked down the hall and into his corner office, which was relatively small for what we thought a person of his stature should have. He swung around in his black leather chair and gently clasped his hands together on his oversized cherry wood desk.

"So what's going on, guys?" Tony asked.

"We were kind of hoping you could tell us." I replied. "For one thing, our tour just ended, and we're very happy with the outcome and the response from the fans. But, where do you see us going from here? And how are we supposed to go anywhere without a distribution deal?"

"I'm sorry I've been keeping you guys in the dark," he responded, "but I didn't want to tell anyone until everything's been finalized. We're on the verge of signing a deal with Columbia Distributions, which is huge! And your music is going to put us all on the map!"

"So is that why we've been sitting around doing nothing?"

"Now, I wouldn't exactly call it that, Scott. I'm just giving you a chance to catch your breath before the deal is sealed. Once that happens, your CD will be sold in every music store, both big and small, across the country, and it will be on every online outlet as well!"

"That sounds great and everything," James responded. "But can you at least tell us what's going on with the Roseland poster we saw by Kayla's desk?"

"I don't want to promise you anything, but judging by the way the tour went, you guys are getting bigger and will need to play bigger venues. So we got you a date at the Roseland Ballroom during the Memorial Day weekend to accommodate the larger audience."

"That's all we wanted to know," I said, "that things _are_ moving forward with the band and that there are plans in the works."

"Of course," Tony replied with a smile. "Rick and I see nothing but big things coming your way."

"We've heard all this before," James quickly snapped. "We want to see it happen."

"You've got my word," Tony affirmed as he extended his hand and looked James in the eye.

Once we told the rest of the band of our conversation, they figured it was another excuse to party. Like clockwork, James came up with the alcohol and Mike with the drugs while playing a few shows at Irving Plaza and L'Amour, culminating with the Roseland Ballroom, where the crowds were much larger and crazier than we were used to. Topless girls wandered around the back stage area after the concert, though security tried laying down the law. Deep inside, I'm sure they loved them just as much as we did. Amanda knew we were having the time of our lives, and judging by the amount of alcohol she drank, we thought she was too. It was blatantly obvious to the girls backstage that she only drank to cope with the chaos.

"Well done, guys," Tony shouted as he burst into the room, which had already been overtaken by the pungent aroma of alcohol. "Looks like you already heard the news..."

"What news?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" I added.

"I got a call today from Laser 102 out in Chicago. They've been getting a lot of positive feedback about "Black Jack". Word has it they're hosting a festival in August, and they want _you guys_ there!"

"No fucking shit!" James yelled as he put his drink down.

"No fucking shit," Tony echoed. "They were practically begging me to get you and Voice of Reason out there, and we booked a string of dates in the eastern half of the country leading up to the festival."

"Who else is playing?" Amanda asked.

"Everyone from Sepsis to ZeroPoint. But get this...Catch 22 is kicking off their new tour at the festival, and they were looking for someone to bring out on the road with them. I got in touch with their management, and you guys are gonna be playing arenas across the country with them!"

"Fuck yeah!" I yelled as I put a bottle of vodka up to my lips and drank. We all knew Catch 22's latest CD was well on its way to going platinum with no sign of letting up. Their catchy hooks and intense stage shows attracted a wide array of fans, similar to Creed or Shinedown.

Tony wanted us to do one last concert in New York before hitting the road and figured the July 4th River to River Festival in Battery Park was the perfect place to throw our farewell party. The atmosphere during the late afternoon hours was extremely festive despite the sweltering heat and humidity. Children's faces were painted with fireworks and American flags, and they wore glow sticks of every color on their heads or around their necks. Their little eyes quickly grew wide once they saw clowns tying animal balloons or people waving sparklers as they passed by.

Even though vendors sold everything under the sun, the only thing we were interested in was beer, and there was plenty to go around. Some of our fans even felt honored to buy us pre-celebratory drinks. By the time we hit the stage, I had a good buzz, and the crowd was ready to let loose as well. Since we had never played an outdoor concert before, we were not ready for the amount of energy they had. I've never seen so much moshing or crowd surfing, and they were so loud we almost heard them singing with us over the music. Between the sweat in my eyes and the alcohol running through my veins, our set only intensified as the evening wore on past sunset and included two songs that didn't make it on our CD but should have: "Reflection" and "Shock".

As 9:30 rolled around, the fireworks started exploding over the Hudson, and without hesitation, we delved into a thrash instrumental that we made up on the fly a few days prior. Sweat flew into the crowd as our heads banged in unison, and the instrumental led into a heavy rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner", which was met by screams that nearly blew us off stage. Once the set was completed, we came together and raised our arms, gazing over the crowd while catching our breaths. "Thank you all for coming out tonight and making this concert one we'll never forget," I called out. "We'll see you's all on tour!"

"You look like you just jumped in a fucking lake," one of our roadies said as he handed us towels to wipe ourselves off.

"Feels like it, too," Mike replied as we grabbed the towels as fast as we could before wiping our faces and going our separate ways. Mike ran off with some girl named Allison, who he met earlier in the evening, James disappeared with a few random girls, and knowing Joe, he was probably checking out the vendors selling sparklers, glow sticks, and other luminous items. Amanda and I found a quiet corner by the water and sat on the cool grass, hidden from everyone else but still able to see the fireworks and shared a joint to come down off of the high we were experiencing from the show. Her lustrous eyes sparkled with the reflection of the fireworks, and for the first time, I felt my life was perfect. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was her smile or warm, gentle gaze into my eyes as the cool breeze blew off of the water and through her fine hair. Maybe it was the way I felt when we were together, or even the fact that we were about to embark on the greatest journey of our lives. "I wish we can just stay in this moment forever."

"What do you mean?" Amanda replied.

"I dunno."

"Seriously, what do you mean?" She chuckled back.

"Did you ever wish something would never end?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I feel like that right now and never want to let you go," I said, brushing my fingers through her hair before putting my arms around her. "I love you, Amanda."

"Holy shit," I thought, realizing the impact of the words I uttered. "I can't believe I just said that! Shit! What do I do now?"

A huge smile lit up her face as she turned toward me. Before I could think about back-peddling, our eyes closed, and our lips slowly came together as the gentle breeze started blowing and the fireworks exploded over the river.

When we got back to Brooklyn, I walked Amanda home, and she invited me in for a quick drink. It was then that I met her brother, Chris, for the first time. I got up off of the counter stool I was sitting on and went over to him. He shook my hand, but gave me a very strange look I couldn't decipher. It was a cross between "If you ever hurt my sister, I'll kill you" and "I know you're going to end up hurting her, so let me just kill you now to get it over with."

"What was that all about," I asked Amanda.

"That's just the way he is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He seems to feel that people have to prove themselves to him. He's harmless though and likes people to think he's got a big bite. Don't worry about it."

Those words rang in my head for a while, though I'm not sure why. When you sleep with the number of girls I have, you come across people like that all the time and never let them get under your skin. I just didn't think it would come from the brother of someone I actually cared about, much less loved.

By the time we turned around, it was time to hit the road. Amanda's eyes radiated with excitement, and her smile appeared as if the weight of the world had suddenly lifted. As much as I couldn't wait to head up and down the interstates, knots began forming in my stomach as it turned upside-down and twisted in all directions, unsure of what the tour would bring. Thank God for Grey Goose and Jägermeister, which seemed to keep my stomach at bay.

Tony hooked our roadies up with some rental trucks to haul the gear in while we drank and played poker in the back of the van to pass the time and determine who would be the next driver. The only rule we had was the loser had to be sober for a few hours before getting behind the wheel. We were only in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania when Mike, who was next to take the wheel, opted to throw the rule out the window and have a drink anyway.

Though Tony sensed we were doing things we shouldn't have been, it wasn't until 6 hours later, when we pulled into a truck stop outside of Youngstown, Ohio, that he noticed we reeked of alcohol. "You guys have been drinking, haven't you?" he asked.

"No sir." Mike replied with a straight face and almost military-like tone, to which we couldn't help but chuckle.

"You think this is funny?" He yelled. "I could give two shits what you guys do. But I gotta draw the line when it comes to the safety of those around you. Do I have to remind you of Tripp Joyce and Criss Oliva? Or how about Vince Neil and Nicholas Razzle Dingley? Do you really want to end up like that? Or even worse, your fans, because you couldn't put the damn bottle down?

I couldn't help but think of a song we heard while playing Toad's Place in New Haven when Tony mentioned Razzle's death. The song told the story of a bar in Valhalla where Cliff Burton, Randy Rhoads, John Bonham, and Bon Scott routinely drank together and occasionally jammed. Razzle, wanting to join the action, attempted many times to enter the bar but was always kicked out for wearing too much makeup.

"Oh, _you_ find this fucking hilarious, huh, Scott?"

"Actually, it is!" James replied with a smile on his face, knowing exactly why I was laughing.

"Come on, let's get some food," I said while walking across the parking lot with Amanda to the main building.

"Yeah, I gotta take a piss." James said, making his way toward the main building with Joe and Mike in tow, all singing the song's lyrics while Tony stayed behind with Voice of Reason and their roadies.

Not wanting to make a scene, Tony met us inside after a few minutes. "Listen," he said calmly. "I just spoke with Louie, and he's agreed to drive the van to keep you out of trouble. You think you can handle that?"

Being 6'7", Louie had an intimidating presence about him. His head was shaved bald, and his large, muscular tattooed body was similar to that of a corrections officer. We had crossed paths a few times, as he used to be a bouncer at some of the city's toughest nightclubs to pay his way through business school before co-managing Vertigo, a popular hot spot in Chelsea which the city eventually closed. Though Tony hired him to be our tour manager, James was determined to prove behind his sour-puss pit bull face, the dog was more playful than vicious.

"No sweat, Tony," Mike replied. "I'm sure we'll enjoy having Louie ride with us."

One of our most successful gigs during the first leg of the tour was at the House of Blues in Cleveland. A majority of the people at the show were fans of Throng, who co-headlined with us and were a powerful metal band with a die-hard following, which didn't leave much support for us in the crowd. To make matters worse, we barely received any airplay in the Cleveland area since Tony dropped the ball by not shipping our CD's to the markets we were scheduled to play until the distribution deal was signed.

Despite security concerns, I insisted on hiding out in the audience and downing shots with them before our set, as I've always felt I play better with a good buzz anyway. Since most people didn't recognize me, it was easy to make them part of the show. I disappeared into a corner as the rest of the band took the stage and started playing "Doing My Time". I grabbed a microphone, which had been planted beforehand, and started singing. Heads turned every which-way to figure out where the voice was coming from. When they finally saw me slowly making my way toward the stage, fist bumping everyone I could, their ecstatic reaction took my buzz to a whole new level, helping us rise to the occasion. It was as if they've never seen anyone actually come off the stage and join them before and were eating it up.

Any metal fan knows an audience can be extremely unforgiving and will let you know when they don't like your music. Judging by the crowd's reaction, we had easily won them over, giving Tony the feeling of belonging that he was looking for outside of New York and making us realize how awesome it felt to have people headbanging and moshing to music they've never heard before.

To us, it wasn't just about the music; it was about hanging and partying with the fans after the concerts as well. We had the sound engineer play a collection of heavy metal songs, both new and old, while we drank and passed a few copies of our CD out to some lucky fans. After getting thrown out of the venue at two-thirty in the morning, the party spilled outside and into our hotel just a few footsteps away.

The nauseating smell of turpentine, bleach, and stale cigarettes hit us unexpectedly as we walked out of the cramped elevators and made our way down the narrow hall with 15 or 20 people following close behind.

"I can't handle this," Amanda said as she took a cigarette out of her pocket. "I gotta mask this damn stench."

"You sure you should be doing that," Joe asked, noticing the no smoking signs on the walls.

"No smoking, my ass," Amanda replied as she placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it.

James quickly opened the cooler he was carrying and started passing out cans of Budweiser to everyone in the corridor before continuing toward our rooms. Once Amanda and I reached ours, we opened the door to find a room big enough to house a queen-size bed surrounded by walls on two sides and a large window overlooking a dingy courtyard on the third. Since there wasn't even room to walk around the bed, we kept our door open to give people more space to move about. Within a few minutes, alcohol masked the dank smell, and the air became thick with cigarette smoke, which quickly permeated into the hall before moving into Mike and James's room across the way. As Amanda and I moved from room to room, we noticed people quickly losing their sobriety and willing to do anything we told them, which increasingly became commonplace as we stormed through Pittsburgh, Ft. Wayne, Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and Detroit, among others. Though we'd fit as many people into our adjoining rooms as we could, there were always stragglers getting high in the hallway. "We've gotta put an end to this," Tony repeatedly mentioned. "I keep getting calls saying someone passed out in the hall or elevator, and I'm always the one dragging them into your rooms."

"Yeah, don't worry about it," one of us always replied. "Just have the font desk call us, and we'll take care of it."

Tony never did take us up on the offer, and in our inebriated minds, we figured things had settled down since we never heard of any complaints. Though it was the job of our roadies to make cigarette or liquor runs if we were running low, Amanda and I volunteered a few times while the parties were still going strong. It was our excuse to explore the city a little, though we mostly stumbled around looking for a store that was still opened at ungodly hours of the night.

While in Charleston, West Virginia, we got lost trying to find our way back to the hotel. High and out of my mind, I looked up at the stars and lit a cigarette. "Did you ever wonder how the stars provide guidance or direction?" I asked. "I mean, there's just so many of 'em up there, and one could easily get lost or confused."

"I don't know," Amanda responded. "I used to think that one of them was my mother looking down on me and Chris, making sure we were all right. I'm not so sure anymore. I mean, here we are, these little, insignificant beings just running around in a frenzy. Maybe life wouldn't be so chaotic if there was actually someone watching us from above and making sure we did everything right."

"Well, look at everything that's happening to us. I never thought I'd see the day where we were signed to a label and were about to start a major tour, let alone with Catch 22! The way everything is coming together, it's like we're part of a larger plot just waiting to happen."

"Do you really think we create our own destinies by the choices we make?" She asked. "Or do you believe we're just part of this massive plan that we're born into?"

"I never really thought about it. But if there was some massive plan, that would mean there's a god. And, why would God allow wars to happen that were all caused by religious nuts in the first place?"

"God is more evil than people think. It must feel good knowing people will kill for their belief in you. And it must have felt good to deprive me of ever knowing my mother."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," I replied, wrapping my arms around her.

"No, it's all right," she responded with a sniffle. I just wish my mother were here to see all this happening."

"She is. She's right here," I replied, pointing to her heart before wiping the tears from her eyes. And I bet that's her right there," I added, looking at the brightest star in the sky.

Walks like these kept me sane to some extent, as I felt like one huge contradiction at times. Though I was seen as a punk and was already being looked up to as a rock god, I was just an average, laid-back person who enjoyed having a good time as much as anyone else and became increasingly insecure the more I thought about it. To make matters worse, I wasn't that vocal when it came to my personal feelings and rarely opened my heart to let others know how I felt, nor did I let people read my journals that I wrote after everyone fell asleep. For some strange reason, I believed if I told a person I trusted how I felt deep inside, they'd view me differently or that I'd end up getting screwed over in the end. And with the Catch 22 tour coming up, I couldn't come out and say that I needed the drugs to form a sense of balance in my life. The metal magazines would have a field day with that, and I didn't want anyone getting worried or thinking I was some fucked up psycho.

As mid-August approached, Voice of Reason met us back on the road to play the last string of dates before heading to Chicago. With more money coming in from ticket and music sales, we were able to afford more liquor than we thought possible and purchased enough for Voice of Reason to keep them and our fans drunk for days. Eager to play to thousands of screaming fans, we wanted to experiment with new drugs as well, and Mike didn't let us down. He scored cocaine and heroin from his many contacts, which we shot on-stage behind the amps to keep ourselves in line.

We pulled into Chicago on the eve of the third annual Great Lakes Open Air Festival. Due to time constraints, we headed straight to our hotel on South Michigan Avenue, across from Grant Park. From our room, Amanda and I watched as security barriers were set in place and workers put the finishing touches on the stages. Vendors had already set up shop along the park's perimeters, and tents of those opting to camp out instead of getting a hotel room started popping up.

After a few drinks, Amanda climbed into bed and fell asleep, but I remained restless from the excitement the following morning would bring. Never have I dreamed we would be sharing the same stage as Catharsis, TrustFall, Force of Habit, Golem, and Catch 22, who were playing to a home-town crowd.

We woke up more nervous than we've ever been in our lives. Looking out the window, we noticed everything was set up, and fans already started entering the park. We caught up with Tony and the rest of the band in the lobby before grabbing a quick bite to eat and heading across the street to do an on-air interview with Laser 102. Before the interview began, their disc jockeys, Steve, Ian, and Megan, invited listeners down for a cook out and to meet all of the bands being interviewed, even if they didn't have tickets. Steve was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and looked like Jerry Garcia when he was going gray. Since he was never without a beer, we didn't care that he was older than everyone else. Ian, his sidekick, looked like he was straight out of college and was the brunt of Steve's jokes. He was like the underdog who everyone roots for in movies because he took Steve's blows with a smile and patiently waited for the opportunity to return a few zingers of his own. Megan rounded out the trio and seemed to be the calming presence between the two simply because they didn't want to be as rough around the edges with her around. She turned to Amanda a few times with a smile on her face and said, "Don't mind Steve. He's an animal and can't help what he says."

"An animal? I like that one," he responded as he reached for his beer. "So anyway, you have a major tour with Catch 22 starting in a few days. You guys must be pretty excited."

"Definitely! We've been looking forward to this for some time now." I replied.

James joined in, "We've been on the road for the past month, and every place we've been has been better than the last, so we can only imagine how awesome being on the road with Catch 22 is going to be!"

"Have you ever seen 'em play before?" Ian asked.

"Today's our first time seeing them," Mike answered. "We've heard some great things about their show, and when the opportunity to play with them came up, we knew we couldn't pass on it."

"How did this whole tour come about?" Steve asked.

"We played with TrustFall back in New York, and they were blown away by our set and connection with the crowd," I responded. "And since they have the same management as C-22, our name got passed around on their end, and our label was contacted by them."

"We then got a call from management to come down to the label to discuss a few things," Mike interjected. "And we were thinking it was over and were being dropped. But they said we'd be the direct support for Catch 22, and we were like is this real?"

"Who else are you looking forward to seeing today?" Megan asked.

"Oh God, we just can't believe we're actually here!" Amanda replied.

"TrustFall, ZeroPoint, and Force of Habit," James eagerly interrupted.

"And of course, our good friends in Voice of Reason." I added.

"How did you guys hook up with them in the first place?" Steve asked.

"I met up with them at a bar I was working at, and man those guys can drink!" James replied. "They were talking about a show they were going to be playing, and it happened to be one we were also performing at. We all became drinking buddies later that night and immediately put some more shows together. The rest as they say is history."

"It must feel good to finally be recognized after years of being on the road, writing and performing," Megan said.

"The greatest way I can describe it is if it ended tomorrow, I feel like I've accomplished a lot of things," Mike replied. "It's a privilege to be doing this, and we don't take it for granted. We put everything we've got into our live shows every night, which is why our fan base has been constantly growing."

"It's really a testament to the band's prowess as a live piece, "James added, "and like Mike said, we put all of our energy and emotion and passion into our shows because we know what we've been through to get here and know there's still so far to go. It's amazing!"

We answered a few more questions before leaving the tent when the station cut to a commercial break and walked around for a little. While taking everything in, we overheard a request being made to the station from a girl who was rushing her boyfriend to the hospital after a car accident and wanted to hear Nonpoint's "Bullet With a Name." We all looked at each other and knew we were in one hell of a city. Continuing on, we wanted to see what was going on around every corner and which bands we'd run into. We finally ended up by the main entrance, where every band had a tent set up to sell their merchandise. Ours was ideally placed between Voice of Reason and Catch 22's and across from Trist's, which Joe was ecstatic about since they were a hardcore band. It was about 10:30 in the morning, and Jake and Ray from Voice of Reason were already well on their way to getting a good buzz, as empty beer cans and bottles were stacked in the back of their tent.

"Where'd you get all the beer?" I asked.

"Just follow the signs to the beer garden," Jake answered.

"Awesome! We'll catch up with you in a bit," I replied as I turned towards Amanda and the rest of the band. "Let's go get some beer!"

We felt out of our element at first, as people were coming up to _us_ for autographs at the beer garden while the kids in us only wanted to get autographs from the bands that were hanging out there. Amanda was definitely right when she said she couldn't believe we were actually playing at the festival. Its shear size was gargantuan, and we felt like little ants finding our way through the maze of people. The stage itself was the largest we had ever seen and couldn't get over the fact that we were actually going to play on it. But, we slowly came back to ourselves with every autograph we signed and every beer we drank. Before we knew it, we were walking around like we owned the place and couldn't wait to play for the thousands in attendance. Our egos quickly became so inflated that we felt we were the headliners and that TrustFall, ZeroPoint, and Catch 22 were all opening for _us_.

As we walked around some more, we noticed the station had set up volleyball nets in an adjoining field, and everyone was having a blast, drinking beer, hanging out, and challenging bands, hoping to win prizes from the radio station if they won. We could have challenged other bands, but we weren't willing to go head to head with the likes of Sepsis or Force of Habit, who were scary-looking, intimidating freaks anyway.

Stumbling drunk, James and I still thought it would be a good idea to enter the band so that some lucky contest winners can challenge us to a few games. We didn't have to wait long at all for challenges to come our way, and before we knew it, our shirts were off and smack was being served up on both sides of the net. Though we wound up getting killed with every game we played, we didn't care. It was such a rush hanging with the bands we've looked up to for so long and including the fans in the action.

The show itself was just as crazy, as people were letting their energy out any way they could despite the intense heat and humidity. The mosh pits looked more like whirlpools than anything else, and the sea of people was in constant motion even between songs, almost as if they were unleashing 20+ years of stress and pent-up energy. It was all in good fun, and no one to my knowledge at least got hurt. We managed to find some people on the sidelines who were getting high and smoked with them as Voice of Reason took the stage. As their set started winding down, we got some more beers and headed backstage to deliver the Budweisers.

Tony was waiting with some towels so they can wipe their sweat-covered faces when they came off stage, and we waited on the other side with the beers. Lee, their bassist, was the first one to emerge backstage and walked past Tony, and the other band members eagerly followed like sharks after fresh blood.

"Dude! You guys are awesome!" Lee screamed with excitement as he passed the cans back to the rest of the band. They all poured some on their faces to cool off and downed the rest before cracking into some more cans.

"Told you we should have got more," Mike said as he turned to James.

"No man, don't worry about it," Damian, their drummer, replied. "I can't believe you even brought this many cans back here with you!"

"Yeah, thanks guys!" Lee joined in. "It's hotter than hell up there. I can't believe we lasted that long on stage."

"Hey, wasn't Mike just here?" Damian asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "Did you see him go anywhere, Amanda?"

"No...wait, there he is!" she replied as he emerged from a crowd of people.

"Hey, look what I've got!" he proudly exclaimed.

"Dude, you did not...!" I responded as everybody's eyes grew wide.

"No!" Tony cried out. "You guys are not smoking those!"

"Where'd you get all those joints?" Jesse asked in excitement as Tony rambled on.

"Ya just gotta know who to ask," Mike smiled. "The stuff's floating around everywhere!"

We continued smoking with Voice of Reason as the roadies took their gear down and set up for the next band, Andromeda. All nine of us roamed around the backstage area as if we owned it and got the feeling that a lot of the other bands were jealous of us because of who we were and Voice of Reason for their over-the-top performance. There were no other bands that could touch us.

This was further cemented in our minds when Voice of Reason was asked to the broadcast tent for a post-show interview. We followed them, and when their interview was over, the DJs started asking us questions again simply because we were there.

"So what can we expect during Dever's set?"

"Only one thing," James eagerly replied, "The unexpected. We're just looking to go out and pour some fuel on everybody's excitement."

By the time we hit the stage a few hours later, it was just passed mid-show, around 7:00, and the sun was beginning to set in the western sky. We couldn't believe the fans were still going strong after hours of moshing and headbanging, and they were growing even more animated with every song we played! About midway through our set, we threw a curve ball to the audience and broke out our acoustic guitars and performed a few songs. To our surprise, they were more receptive than we thought they'd be. Those who knew the words sang along, and I never expected to see people moshing to acoustic songs.

Drenched in sweat, I walked towards the edge of the stage and called back to the crowd, "You know, we came out here not knowing what the hell to expect, but I gotta say, this turned out to be one hell of a party, huh?"

Everyone roared back in agreement as large beach balls were hovered over the crowd.

"It's great that Laser 102 was able to get all these bands out here today. But none of us would be here without all of you, so we just want to thank you guys for having us out here and for making this what it is. Let me hear ya, Chicago!"

After the crowd roared back, we delved into a slow, acoustic version of "Wild Card", which took some people by surprise, as it received a fair amount of airplay on the station. And when they were least expecting it, we unleashed our electric guitars on everyone midway through and played it heavier than we ever had, prompting even more whirlpools and mosh pits across the sea of people.

"Wild Card" was followed by a new song that we wrote in the van called "Wake the World", which featured Joe singing parts of the chorus as only he can with his hardcore influences. We all knew this song was pure magic by the way Joe's vocals were off-set by Amanda's, and my heavy riffs complemented Mike's melodic playing perfectly. "Wake the World" was the essence of what we were musically all about, and I couldn't help but share this experience with the fans. I leapt off of the stage like a banshee on speed, and I immediately knew there was no coming down from this high as I floated over the sea of people while singing the bridge and chorus. I felt the alcohol exploding through my veins, only to be reignited by the drugs in my system. And, the longer our set continued, the more intense the fans became, which kept our energy level racing through the intense heat and humidity.

Overall, the fans saw our set as something different and were really into the music. We ended with "Black Jack", which was one of Laser 102's most requested songs. We knew this was what everyone came to see and had to leave a lasting impression.

The crowd's reaction, alone, to the opening chords nearly blew us off-stage and only solidified the fact that we had made it. I looked over at Tony, who was standing on the side of the stage with Voice of Reason. They knew it too, as their faces were lit with an excitement I've never seen before.

All five of us vocally played off of each other during the last two verses, which added new life to the song and caught everyone's attention. Amanda sang with such intensity, and Mike, James, and I ran around the stage singing our parts using different microphones each time.

After the song was completed, we stayed on stage as Joe banged every drum and cymbal a million times over, adding to Mike's leads and my aggressive power-chords. Everybody's heads whipped around in a frenzy for about five minutes as we finished the set. After the last aggressive strum of the rhythm guitar, blistering solo of the lead guitar, heavy thump of the bass, and crash of the cymbals, all in sync with each other, we came together on-stage and put our fists in the air as if we just conquered the impossible and yelled, "Thank you, good night!" We looked out at the crowd and the skyline behind them one last time, not wanting to leave, as a breeze started to blow. We put our hands up again, and everyone grew louder than before. Joe then threw his drumsticks out to the audience, and Mike and I followed with some guitar picks before reaching out and shaking people's hands.

"We came, we saw, and we kicked Chicago's ass!" James yelled to us over the crowd as we walked behind the drum riser and down the stairs, where we met Tony and Voice of Reason.

"That was unbelievable!" Tony said as he walked over to us with towels. "Just listen to them going apeshit out there!"

"Ya know, if this is any indication of how the tour is gonna go, you'll be giving Catch 22 a run for their money!" Ray added.

"You bet your ass we will!" I responded as Jake passed some beers our way.

Damian raised his beer and yelled, "To kicking Chicago's ass tonight!"

"Fuck yeah!" We responded before downing the beers like a bunch of barbarians.

When the hometown band, Catch 22, hit the stage a few hours later, the place exploded with cheers, as they received a hero's welcome. James, Mike, Joe, Amanda, and I came out from the back-stage area and watched the show from the side of the stage with the girls and VIP fans that were there. I stood behind Amanda with my arms around her as Catch 22 performed all of the songs that their fans wanted to hear and then some, leaving no one disappointed.

As proud as Tony was, he knew we weren't in any kind of shape to hang around after Catch 22's set and had Louie and a few other roadies round up the last of our gear and pack up the van.

A few minutes later, Louie came back and said in a stern voice, "All right, we've got a tight schedule that we've gotta stick to, so I need everyone in the vans right now."

We all stumbled around a bit, hating to leave Grant Park after such an eventful day, so he added, "If I gotta pick each one of you up myself and throw you in the vans, so be it."

We all somehow ended up in the van without stumbling over each other, and as much as I wanted to stay at the park, I fell asleep before Louie started driving. I woke up some time later to James punching my shoulder as we pulled into the front entrance of the hotel.

"C'mon, man! You gotta check this place out!"

"What? Where the hell are we? This isn't our hotel!" I replied before closing my eyes once more.

"Welcome to the Huntington Plaza Hotel," Louie called out.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Amanda asked.

"Oh yeah, this is the right place," Louie answered.

"Scott, wake up! I can't believe we're staying at the Huntington Plaza!" Amanda said in disbelief as the rest of the band got excited thinking about the trouble they could cause.

I slowly opened my eyes to see what all of the commotion was about. I could not believe Tony had us staying at a hotel like the Hunting Plaza on the Magnificent Mile. As we entered the lobby, two sets of grand staircases were straight ahead of us that led up to the convention center. They were separated by a waterfall that started at the ceiling and met the top of the stairs, then slowly trickled down in steps. The check-in counters were to our left, and behind them were three gentlemen dressed in pressed suits and ties who looked appalled that we had entered their sacred palace and would have had heart attacks if just one of us scuffed up the polished marble floor that reflected the gold and crystal chandeliers. Tony had Louie rush us up to our rooms before they could notice we tracked dirt on the plush red carpet.

James and I wanted to sneak back down so we could see their reactions, but I followed Amanda to our room. She climbed into the plush bed and turned the television on but fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. I was ready to join her but suddenly heard commotion in the hallway.

"What are you guys doing here?" James yelled as he opened the door to his room to find Jake and Ray with a bottle of Grey Goose.

"You gotta see what Steve and Ian hooked us up with!" They yelled back.

Upon hearing this, I ran to the door and opened it to see what was going on. Since I napped in the van, I suddenly got a second wind of energy once I saw Steve and Ian drinking and hanging out in Mike's room with numerous familiar faces we'd all seen in various porn flicks. I flew across the hall to find such stars as Vika Sparks, Natasha Summer, Jamie Greenwich, Ashleigh Anderson, Jasmine Young, Eva St. Claire, and Christina Montoya in Mike's room, the last two of which couldn't stop kissing each other in the corner.

"I've died and gone to heaven," Mike said as we entered the room, which pretty much summed up what we were all thinking as our eyes wandered back and forth between various sets of breasts and Eva and Christina kissing. We were surprised to hear Joe's squeaky voice above the chaos and thought for sure he'd be hiding in his room.

"I just need some liquor," he said as he tried looking away from the girls and focusing on some of the other bands who were making their way into the adjoining rooms. Jasmine, however, must have either taken pity or thought he was cute and walked over to him. She was a tall Chinese girl who had long, flowing jet black hair down to her lower back with a shine that made models jealous. Moreover, if every girl had flawless skin like hers, there would be no need for a skin care industry. She was all over Joe from the moment he grabbed his Miller Lite, and knowing her reputation, he was in for a good time whether he wanted one or not.

James and Mike's adjoining rooms quickly became known as party central, as some members of TrustFall, Mad Hatter, Catch 22, and a few other bands that played the festival heard about the party and came in for drinks and to get high. A few minutes later, some local strippers, who were introduced to us as Tara, Abby, Ariel, Miss Tigress, and Jenny came in, though it would have been better had we not known their names. The party grew so rapidly that people began hanging out in the hall and in nearby rooms.

I was in the middle of my third shot and talking to some girl named Kyla when I heard someone say in a thick, Russian accent, "You must be Scott." I almost choked being that I always found Russian girls to have one of the sexiest accents. In fact, I used to go to Greenpoint, Brooklyn just to meet some of them.

"Who wants to...," I replied as I turned around and saw Vika standing only a few inches from me with her gorgeous 36DD breasts, emerald green eyes, and long, flowing dark brown hair. She gently grabbed my crotch, and I did the only thing I could think of – I pressed my lips against hers, ran my fingers through her silky hair and along her back, and put my arms around her to pull her closer to me.

My eyes closed, and I easily got lost in her intoxicating scent of sensual herbs. When I opened them, we were in the room across the hall, and she was unzipping my pants. I then unzipped hers and obeyed her every command in my drunkenness until I was on top of her.

I absolutely loved the way she moaned my name as only she could with her heavy accent, which grew louder and louder as I entered the golden gates of paradise. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips against hers. Just as I was getting ready to finish what I started, a fist hit me alongside the face, and I heard a number of people rush into the room yelling, "Hold her back! Hold her back!" I felt another fist hit my right cheek, and I fell backwards off of the bed, hitting my head against the wall.

"You fucking bastard! And to think I was worried about you when you never came to sleep, Scott! I heard a party going on a few rooms over and figured that's where you were. But when I came out in the hall, I heard you call, 'Oh, Vika.'" You're so stupid that the doors to the next room were unlocked. Did you seriously think I couldn't come in and see you screwing this whore? You know what, Scott? Fuck you! And fuck the band..."

Another fist flew at me as I opened my eyes and saw a drunk but restrained Amanda breathing fire and glaring at me with her violent, blood-red eyes while still screaming and kicking and punching the air around her to break free. Someone took their shirt off and threw it on me just so I wouldn't be lying on the floor completely naked.

"Come on, let me explain," I slurred back, but it was too late. She was already being carried out of the room. I didn't know what to do or say and just wanted to die right then and there. Nothing I did or said could have taken my actions back.

Just then, Mike and James broke through the crowd yelling, "Amanda just told us to fuck off! What the hell just happened?"

I covered my eyes and cradled myself on the floor against the wall, as the tears wouldn't stop flowing. "I dunno," I said softly, trying to answer their question. "I dunno, man. I fucked up." I then clenched my fist and put it through the wall repeating, "I fucked up!"

Vika came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder and was about to say something when I looked up and yelled, "Get the hell outta here, you damn whore!"

"Calm down, man," James tried repeating over and over but to no avail as Mike grabbed my shirt and pants, which were on the floor next to the bed.

"Here, put your pants back on."

I did just that as people started leaving the room to rejoin the parties across the hall or next door. Drunk beyond belief and drugs running through my veins, I just lay on the floor in disbelief and figured everything was going to be okay when I returned to my senses in the morning.

The next thing I knew, Randy, from Mad Hatter, and James were slapping my cheeks and yelling, "Get up man!"

"What? What's going on?" I asked, trying to fight the massive headache and sore jaw while I peeled myself off the floor.

"Are you serious? You don't remember a thing about last night?" Randy asked.

"Get your ass up! Amanda's gone!" James sharply interrupted.

"What? No. Where is she?"

"You tell us, Scott!" James said.

I immediately ran out of the room in shock and repeatedly screamed her name as loud as I could, and my heart sank lower and lower each time she didn't respond.

After about ten minutes of wandering aimlessly up and down the hall and screaming her name, ZeroPoint's bassist came up to me.

"I saw her earlier asking people if they can take her to the bus station. She said she couldn't take it anymore."

"No, that can't be," I replied in disbelief as I grabbed his collar. "Don't lie to me, man!"

"He's not lying, Scott." I turned around to find Force of Habit's drummer. "She asked us for a ride, too, but we told her that we weren't leaving for a while. She took off and asked someone else."

"Who? I'm gonna kill 'em!" I replied.

"Calm down, man. They're probably long gone by now anyway."

Smoke raced out of my ears as my blood came to a boil, and I put my fist through another wall in the hallway. "Damnit! Won't someone tell me what the hell's going on?"

Mike ran down the hall to where I was and answered, "Amanda caught you with Vika Sparks last night."

"The porn star?" I responded, unaware of the reality I had created. Seeing Tony walk down the hall angrily staring at me with his laser-guided eyes only reinforced what everybody was saying, and I was officially living this nightmare.

Everybody slowly backed away from me with every step Tony took. He took his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Steve Hadley (ZeroPoint's bassist) had to tell me this morning," he yelled. "Why the hell did I only find out this morning, huh? Unfreakinbelievable! I can't tell you how many times I've tried calling Amanda's cell! There are only so many voicemails I can leave."

"Look," James said, "We have to be in St. Louis tomorrow night. What are we going to do?"

"We've gotta pull ourselves together and fast," Tony replied. "I received a frantic phone call from Rick saying Amanda told him she's leaving the tour for personal reasons. I tried calling her, and I'm not expecting her to call back anytime soon – if at all."

"Are you saying we go on tour with Catch 22 as planned?" Mike asked. "That's fucking crazy!"

"The press is all over you guys, and if you perform like you did yesterday, Catch 22 will find themselves playing second fiddle to Dever. So aside from trying to call Amanda, I spoke with Tanya Jensen, from Meridian. She agreed to fill in for the time being since they're on an indefinite hiatus."

"Wait a second, you're having Tanya Jensen fill in?" Mike excitedly asked.

I looked over at James and knew something was on his mind. I'm sure he didn't like the fact that Tony was dictating who was going to fill in but thought better than to say anything.

"Yeah, Tanya agreed to join us at least for the first leg of the tour. She's on a plane right now learning the songs, and I'm gonna pick her up in a few hours at O'Hare."

Like James, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could we possibly go on without Amanda? I couldn't picture myself looking across the stage and seeing another woman performing Amanda's songs. _"Could this black hole of a nightmare get any worse?"_

Tony then added, "I also ran into Tommy downstairs and told him that if we don't hear back from Amanda by tomorrow night, then we'll have no choice but to issue a statement explaining why Amanda's not touring with us."

"Tommy was here taking pictures yesterday?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, and he's posting them to the website right now," Tony responded.

With that, I turned around and went to my room to pack. This nightmare just kept pulling me further into my own abyss. I couldn't help but think about how Amanda had been in this very room just a few hours earlier, and her fragrance still lingered in the air. Even though the silence was deafening, I locked myself in my room until it was time to leave. As awkward as I felt, I was sure the other guys felt worse.

Chapter 12

Loud banging on the door woke me out of a sound sleep, and I nearly jumped out of my skeleton as I looked at the alarm clock, which read 5:00. _"Please let this be Amanda, please let this be Amanda."_

"Come on, Scott! We know you're in there!" James called.

"We're leaving with or without you, man!" Louie joined in.

I opened the door to find James, Mike, Joe, and Louie, who had all of their bags with them.

"Go get your stuff," Mike said. "Tony wants us to meet him on the second floor just outside of the conference center."

I quickly got my bags, which I had already packed, and followed everyone to the second floor.

Tony was sitting on a black leather couch in the conference center lobby and was talking to a very attractive girl with long, dark brown hair and brown eyes. I could tell by the tone of her voice she had a similar vocal range to Amanda but wasn't sure if it was going to be as intense. Mike didn't seem worried though, as he'd heard her music before.

As we got closer, we began to hear parts of their conversation.

"...It really is an unfortunate situation," Tony said. "But now's not the time to take our eyes off the prize, you know?"

"I think that's where we all went wrong with Meridian. There were too many things going on, and nobody was focusing on the music anymore. They all wanted to do their own things."

"You must be Tanya Jensen," Mike said as he stuck his hand out to shake hers. "I'm Mike, and this is James, Joe, and Scott."

"It's nice to meet you guys," She replied. "I'm really sorry to hear about Amanda."

"What did you tell her, Tony?" I asked.

"What does it matter, Scott? She's not here, right? In the meantime, we'll issue a statement tomorrow, and all we're going to say is that there was an amicable split and Tanya's going to be replacing her. It'll be short and sweet. This way, people will still want to come to the shows, and Amanda won't be able to issue all kinds of rebuttals or allegations when she gets back to New York."

James saw my face getting beet-red, and just when I was about to let loose on Tony, he said, "Save it."

Mike then interrupted, trying to bring the peace back, "I'm sorry you have to hear all this, Tanya. We're all still in shock over what happened. And, if anything, we're sorry that you had to fly out here from Louisville on such short notice. We can't tell you how much this means to us."

As much as I wanted to throw Tony, Mike, and James down the grand staircase, they were right in terms of keeping the band on track. And, I felt bad for Tanya having been thrown in the middle of my chaos. This wasn't how we needed to start anew.

"All right, the buses are waiting for us out front," Louie called out. "So let's get going. We'll grab a bite to eat on the road with the crew so you all can get acquainted with them. And it's only about a five hour drive to St. Louis, so you'll have plenty of time to sleep at the hotel."

That was all we needed to hear and quickly went down to the main exit of the hotel.

"There better be plenty of alcohol on this thing," James said.

"Don't worry man. We can always hit up a package store on the way out of town," Mike replied.

"Did you seriously think I'd let you ride in buses without booze? I take care of my boys!" Louie affirmed. "Paul, Jesse, and I went out and got the essentials before we even picked the buses up."

"Who the hell are they?" James asked.

"These buses don't just drive themselves!"

"Man, you're not kidding!" James yelled in excitement as we walked out of the door. "Look at these things!"

"Did I not tell you?" he replied.

Just then, Jesse got out of one of the buses. He was a pudgy, jolly-looking guy with salt and pepper hair who didn't seem fazed by our unruly appearance and obnoxious behavior. He walked over and greeted us as we exited the hotel. "You must be Dever," he said with a smile. "I'm Jesse, and I'll be your driver. Let me show you around."

"How long have you been driving these?" James asked.

"Fifteen years or so, and I've driven the best of 'em from Damageplan to Sevendust," he replied as he opened the door to our bus.

Though I was excited we wouldn't have to travel in our beat-up van anymore, I was more interested in the box of cigarettes in my pocket, as I needed one in the worst way. I closed my eyes as I lit it, inhaling its bliss.

As I opened my eyes and exhaled, I noticed what everyone was so excited about. Two gargantuan black Prevost XLV buses with gold and red exterior designs sat directly ahead of us, and though the rest of the band couldn't get into them fast enough, I was happy smoking my worries out.

"Come on, Scott! You gotta check this thing out!" Mike called out from inside.

I took another puff then climbed up the stairs to see what everyone was enthused about. There was a spacious lounge area with two black leather couches on either side upon entering. A wall separated the lounge from the driver, where a wide-screen television had been strategically built-in and was tuned to the Yankees game.

Next to one of the couches was a fairly big refrigerator, freshly stocked with plenty of alcohol, which James promptly raided.

"Let's crack open some drinks!" He called out as he handed everyone a bottle of Bud.

There was also a cabinet underneath the refrigerator that looked like it had ample storage space. Mike opened it up and was excited by his findings. "James, check this out!"

"Nice!" He replied as he took inventory. "Absolut, Captain Morgan, Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Goldschläger, and Kahlua, Baileys, and Buttershots for the ladies."

Behind the lounge was a full bathroom, complete with a sink and toilet, as well as a shower stall. The back of the bus featured a total of six bunks, two on each side and two along the rear wall.

Once everybody had their drinks, James and Tony raised their bottles and called out, "To Tanya."

Tony continued, "Thank you again for making the trip up here on such short notice. We are looking forward to tomorrow night and the rest of the tour with great anticipation, as I'm sure you are as well."

"To Tanya," we all shouted in excitement as we lifted the bottles to our lips. But, just the thought of saying those words irritated me just as much as it enlivened everyone else. The pit in my stomach was rapidly devouring me, and I didn't know what to do. Though I didn't eat anything all day, I felt nauseated. I wanted to call Amanda in the worst way, and even if I couldn't get through to her, at least hearing her voicemail message would have put me at ease. I took one last puff of the cigarette before putting it out. As big as the bus was, it quickly became small like a prison cell as Jesse turned the ignition on and started driving.

Tony then added, "And to Dever for kicking everybody's asses wherever you guys go! May this tour only be the beginning of great things to come!"

With that, we all finished what was left in our bottles and threw them in a garbage bag. I threw mine in as well despite the fact that it was still 90% full and grabbed a bottle of vodka to help numb the pit in my stomach.

As we drove down the interstate, I just laid in my bunk, next to my guitar with a cigarette in one hand and vodka in the other as I tried to figure out just what happened the night before. This was the first time we hadn't been together in over a month, and I missed her already.

I whipped out my cell phone and called her, hoping to at least apologize before being hung up on. The phone rang once, then twice. My heart raced, and beads of sweat formed on my palms and forehead. I put the bottle up to my lips and took another drink to keep my mouth from becoming dry. It rang three times, then four, and I finally heard the sweetest, up-beat voice, "Hi, you've reached Amanda. Leave a message."

There were too many things I wanted to say and didn't even know where to begin. I figured I'd just wind up digging myself deeper in my own grave if I tried apologizing over a message and just continued drinking in my bunk. I then heard footsteps.

"Hey," Tanya said before I could even look up or put the bottle down.

"Hey," I mumbled back.

"You don't have to say it, but I know you're bitter about me being here."

"It's not you, Tanya," I said as I took another puff of the cigarette. "It's just... I dunno. Listen, we're all happy as hell you're here with us."

"Then what is it, Scott?"

"I already told you. I don't know. Just please..."

"I'm sorry," she replied before pausing for a minute. "Listen, I just want to start off on the right foot, you know? If we're gonna share the same stage, I want to know that I can look over and trust the person on the other side. That's all. Now, please give me the bottle before you drink the whole thing."

I gave her the bottle to show that I was willing to compromise and make a peace offering, and turned around to walk back towards the front of the bus.

I kept my distance from the rest of the band a little while longer just so I could try to get some rest. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that you truly don't know what you've got until it's gone. And just when I thought I couldn't feel any worse, James came in to try to cheer me up.

"Hey," I said.

"Come on Scott, snap out of it, man! You're bringing everyone down, especially Tanya. And this is just what we don't need right now! She's worried about you man, and our first show is tomorrow night! We haven't even rehearsed yet! We're all a little on edge."

"What do you want me to say?" I replied.

"Just try to help her out a little. I'm sure she's nervous as hell. Even though she was in Meridian, she's got some big shoes to fill. Amanda was a great singer and was probably the best thing that ever happened to this band. We all miss her."

"Do you? It doesn't look like that at all!"

"Listen, we've gotta move on. The faster you accept that, the easier it'll be. We're all in this together."

I started shaking my head even though I knew he was right. But I just couldn't hold the anger in any longer.

"You're just as guilty as I am for what happened, and you know it."

"You know, Amanda's probably not as innocent as you think she is," he responded. "What do you think she did when she wasn't on stage? She was probably in a back room giving blowjobs or some shit like that."

He saw my face getting fiery red and continued, "Listen, I'm sorry man. I didn't mean that. Fuck. We're all a little stressed out right now. I'm sorry."

James was never the type of person who would apologize for anything, so I knew his apology was genuine. It still didn't fully invalidate his words, but I let it pass.

"It's all right."

"So we're good?" James asked.

"Yeah," I sighed back.

I reached in my pocket and grabbed my cell phone the second he turned around and called Amanda again.

"Hi, you've reached Amanda. Leave a message."

"Hi Amanda, it's Scott," I mumbled, hoping I wouldn't dig my grave deeper than it already was. "I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for my actions. I just feel so horrible and wish I can take everything back that happened last night. God, I miss you so much. Please call me when you get this."

I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but it seemed to gradually return with every passing second my phone didn't ring.

Before I knew it, I felt the bus come to a stop and people say, "It's about time! I'm freakin' hungry!" Mike then came to the back of the bus and called out to me, "Get your ass up, we're stopping to eat."

"Where the hell are we?" I asked while following Mike to the front of the bus.

"Bloomington, Illinois," Jesse said with a smile.

"Where?" James facetiously asked.

"East Bumblefuck, Illinois," Mike promptly responded.

We all found ourselves in the middle of a Travel Centers of America truck stop as we got off the bus. Louie looked up at us and pointed to his right, where five large tractor trailers were parked in a row. "See those trucks over there? Those are all ours. We'll be following each other from here through the rest of the tour."

"What's so special about them?" I asked.

"Well, they've got your equipment and all of the staging," Louie answered.

Nobody really cared about them anyway, and we later found out that most of them were Catch 22's, who probably had their own plane and were already in St. Louis. Regardless, when we walked into the restaurant, there was a large group of about 20 people who already had a number of tables put together. It was a little odd and out of the ordinary to find a party going on at a truck stop.

An older waitress walked over to Louie and said, "Right this way please," and we all followed close behind.

"What's going on?" James asked, noticing we were walking in the direction of the large party.

"Guys, this is the road crew," he called back to us. "Alexander Koszak, who is sitting over there in the navy blue shirt, is the tour manager. He'll be riding with Tony and a few other people in bus #2 for the next couple of dates before Tony heads back to New York. If you need _anything_ at all, Alexander is your man."

"Uh, who is everyone else?" I asked.

"Well, you've got your production crew, stage crew, light and sound techs, and most importantly, your instrument techs, who you should become _very_ close with."

I thought about what James said to me on the bus about making Tanya feel more at ease and looked in her direction. She seemed unfazed by all the attention. Meanwhile, the rest of us were eating it up and couldn't get enough of it. We worked so hard for this, and everything we ever dreamed of was coming to fruition. Just the thought of playing an arena show put us all on cloud nine.

After dinner, I got up to go to the bathroom and saw Tony talking to Alexander near the entrance of the lounge. At first, I thought they were talking about something having to do with the tour, but the closer I got, the more I was able to make out the conversation.

"So, Tony, has anybody put out a statement yet regarding Amanda's departure?" Alexander asked.

"We were going to wait until morning."

"Do you think that's a good idea? It's already been a day, and it's not fair to the people who have tickets for tomorrow's concert. They'll enter the arena and see someone else. It just doesn't seem right..."

"But it's Tanya Jensen," Tony interrupted.

"I don't care who it is. They're paying to see Dever, not Meridian."

I didn't know what to think about Alexander as I walked in the bathroom. I couldn't be angry at him because he was just doing what he thought was right for the band, and most importantly, fair to the fans. Even though I still couldn't believe Amanda was gone, I finally came to the conclusion that everyone was right and that we _had_ to move on as a band.

After dinner, we got back on the bus, and as James was passing some drinks out, Alexander and Tony came on. Tony was carrying his laptop bag.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be on the _other_ bus?" Mike asked.

"I think we need to officially put a statement out about Amanda's departure," Tony said, echoing what Alexander had suggested a half hour earlier.

"Can't it wait until morning?" James asked.

"The sooner we put it out, the better," Tony replied. "Besides, think about how the fans would react if they came to the concert tomorrow night expecting to see Amanda on stage. They'd be pretty pissed off if they didn't get the message. That's why we have to make sure The Gauntlet, KNAC, Hard Radio, and even Melodic Rock pick this up, in addition to every radio station sponsoring the tour. We have to be ready for the mixed reaction when people find out that Tanya's on tour with us."

"So what were you thinking we'd say in this statement?" Mike asked as Tony took his laptop out of the bag and turned it on.

"That's what we wanted to talk to you guys about," Alexander replied.

We bounced ideas back and forth for about ten or fifteen minutes before settling on a statement to post on our website and YouTube video blog.

" _We regret to inform you all that Amanda Campbell has decided to leave Dever. This comes at a very inopportune time for us as we embark on our first full-scale U.S. tour with Catch 22, and we wish her the best with her endeavors._

Our fans have given us so much support over the past few months, and rather than be left down for the count, we felt it would only be fair to everyone if we pressed on. That's why we are excited to announce that Tanya Jensen, of Meridian, will be joining us on the road! She has shown that she is a perfect fit for the material and brings with her a prowess that is like none other while sharing our vision. We'll see you all on tour!"

As much as we didn't want to put the statement out, we were all relieved Tony and Alexander came on the bus to press the issue, as it was one less thing keeping us from moving forward.

"I just want to caution you," Tony said, "that there may be some fan backlash because this all happened so suddenly. I will do _everything_ I can to make sure the news travels fast.

"You do that!" James replied as Tony and Alexander got off the bus.

When they were out of sight, Jesse started the ignition, and we rolled out of the truck stop. Mike took out marijuana that he scored back in Chicago and reached for some rolling paper while James opened a deck of cards that was sitting on the couch and was eager to get a game of blackjack or poker going.

Since there was nothing else to do to pass the time, Mike figured he'd share a joint with Tanya while the rest of us had a beer and played cards. We played for a few hours, and just when we were about to call it quits, Jesse exclaimed in his usual, jovial voice, "Here we are at the Gateway Regency Hotel in good 'ole Saint Louis!"

"Thank God," Mike said. "I gotta get some air."

Tired of being cooped up in the bus for the past couple of hours, we all

quickly got off the moment Jesse opened the door.

"Hey, the arena is right around the corner. Wanna go see it?" Mike asked.

Before anyone could answer, Alexander, Tony, and Louie got off their bus and walked over to us.

"Nobody's going anywhere just yet," Alexander replied. "We've gotta check in, and wake-up is at 10:00 tomorrow morning. Then we're meeting at 10:30 sharp in the lobby. Tony got you guys a prime spot on one of the local radio stations at noon, and then off to the Scottrade Center for rehearsal and sound check."

It was just like Tony and company to hold us up and throw a booked schedule at us without warning. So, we stayed outside by the buses while Tony, Alexander, and Louie checked us in. After a few minutes, they came back outside and gave us our key cards while a few bellboys took our luggage from the bus.

"Now, let's go see this Scottrade Center place," I said as I received mine from Louie.

"Remember, 10:00 tomorrow morning," Louie said as if we were actually going to commit the information to memory.

"Yeah, yeah, we got it." James replied as we started walking down South 14th Street under an overpass.

"That's gotta be it straight ahead!" Joe screamed with excitement.

"Man, it's freakin' huge!" I replied.

"Yeah, and we're gonna blow the roof right off it tomorrow night!" James affirmed.

"Damn right we are!" Mike responded.

I placed a cigarette between my lips and lit it as we walked closer to get a better view. I couldn't help but think about some of the places we played when we first started out as a band. We could barely get ten people through the doors at Delancy Place in Manhattan, and when we did, we needed a shoehorn to squeeze one more in. We thought we had made it to the big time when we sold out our first show at Pier 42, and it was always a blast playing at B.B. King's since it was in the heart of Times Square. You never knew who you'd meet afterwards, and it was really something seeing Japanese tourists, pig farmers from Arkansas, and California skater chicks all hanging out together in one place just because they heard that there was a good concert going on down the street from their hotels.

Staring at the Scottrade Center, I found myself having another one of those moments. The arena looked fairly new, and its sleek, dark glass façade was lit with bright, white exterior lights. For the next twenty-four hours, this was going to be the center of the Dever universe, and I almost couldn't believe we were going to play in front of 20,000 screaming fans on a stage big enough to run around on.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna head back to the hotel," Tanya said, interrupting my thoughts.

"We should probably head back too," Mike replied.

James then commented, "Yeah, I can't wait till the morning so I can see the look on Tony and Alexander's faces when I come down five minutes late."

"If you're even one minute late, they'll piss in their pants," I responded.

"Even better," James laughed as we cracked more jokes on our way back to the hotel.

Once I closed the door to my hotel room, I turned the TV on, hoping to find something good to watch before going to sleep but to no avail. Reality shows dominated all of the channels, and it was like watching the same thing no matter how many times I switched from station to station. Some guy was whining about his girlfriend, and I immediately thought about Amanda and how I screwed up. I finally gave up and turned everything off, but the silence became deafening through the darkness after only a few seconds. I couldn't take it anymore and got off the bed, reached for my phone, and walked over to the window. Since my room looked east, toward downtown, I tried focusing on the view and how beautiful the illuminated city looked as I sat on the window sill and lit a cigarette. Something inside me was telling me not to call Amanda, but I couldn't help it. I needed to hear her voice, even if it was just her message.

"Hi, you've reached Amanda. Leave a message," I heard on the other end.

"Hi Amanda, it's Scott. I know you're probably sick of me calling, but I just need to know that you're all right and want you to know that I am so sorry for everything that's happened. Please call me when you get this. I..."

I nearly threw the phone across the room when I got cut off and couldn't finish my last sentence, which was to be the most important one. _"At this point, it was probably better that she didn't hear it anyway,"_ I thought as I lay on the bed.

Each of us received a wake up call at ten the next morning. Twenty minutes later, there was a bang on the door, and the person on the other side yelled, "Ten minutes." One by one, we made our way down to the lobby. Like clockwork, the closer it got to 10:30, the more anxious Louie became.

"Have any of you guys seen James?" Louie asked.

Tanya, who looked the most innocent out of all of us, replied, "We saw him last night.

Mike and I couldn't help but snicker.

"I mean have you seen him this morning?"

"No, sir," Mike replied as if answering to a drill sergeant.

Five minutes passed, and there was still no sign of James. Tony took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed James' room, but there was no answer. Just then, the elevator door opened, and James walked out wearing his signature Anarchy shirt and ripped jeans.

"What time did I tell you to be down here?

"10:30," James replied.

"And what time is it now?"

"Yeah, yeah. I get your point," James answered. "If you weren't so picky about meeting at a certain time, we'd already be on our merry way."

With that, we were off to breakfast at one of the restaurants in the hotel and hurried to the radio station, where we hung around for about fifteen minutes before the disc jockey was ready for us.

During a commercial break, he walked over and greeted us. "Hi, you must be Dever. I'm Matt Morgan," he said with a smile.

We've met so many disc jockeys who looked like they should be working at some easy-listening station due to their polished looks, but Matt looked like he breathed rock music, despite the fact that he was in his early 40's. His long hair was tied back in a pony tail, and he had a few tattoos that lined his arms.

"This was my first one," he proudly exclaimed, showing us a tattoo on his arm of a tribal symbol with flames. "I got it while I was in college."

James and I wanted to see more, but he quickly ran back to his microphone and motioned for us to follow. He put headphones on us and made sure our microphones were on before the commercial break came to an end.

"You've got it locked on 97.1 KZLR. We've got Dever here with us in the studio to talk about their tour with Catch 22 and their sold-out concert tonight at the Scottrade Center. If you don't have tickets, you can still win them from us all day. And if you've already got them, meet us at the KZLR booth, where we'll be giving away seat upgrades to the first row and a chance to be onstage with Catch 22 during their set. But first things first, guys. How does it feel being on tour with Catch 22?"

"There isn't a single word that describes it," I answered.

"We've only played one show with them so far, and that was just absolutely insane!" Mike replied. "The fans were awesome, and we're looking so forward to making new friends in every city we play."

"That leads me to my next question and something that we reported on earlier this morning. Now, if you didn't already hear, there is some big news concerning Amanda Campbell, and rumors are running rampant about some things that happened a few days ago in Chicago..."

"Well, as Mike just mentioned, that was a pretty crazy show where some wild stuff happened," James interrupted while moving the microphone closer. "I don't think Amanda expected certain things to go down the way they did, and she must have had her reasons. We just wish her all the best."

"With the tour just getting under way, don't you guys think that was an inopportune time for her to just up and leave?"

"With the record selling like it is across the country, I don't think there was ever an opportune time for her to leave," Mike responded. "I think that she just got freaked out by everything happening so fast, ya know?"

"When we heard the news that Amanda wanted out, we sat down as a band and really thought about where this was going to leave us," I chimed in. "We came to two conclusions. One was that we never gave up in the past when things got tough. We just persevered through it all. And two, it wouldn't be fair to the fans."

James then added, "Again, I'm sure she had her reasons, and finger-pointing won't do anything to help us move forward as a band. I'm not saying it's all water under the bridge, but it was her choice and hers alone, which we respect."

"So there's no bad blood then?" Matt inquired.

"If people want to stir up hornets' nests, that's their thing. We just want to move on, and I'm sure Amanda does too," James replied.

"So what's next for Dever? How are you dealing with everything?" Matt asked.

"We've gotta give props to our label guy, Tony," Mike said. "He really took us under his wing and gave us the strength to keep going. He somehow got Tanya Jensen, from Meridian, to fly up and meet us in Chicago so we can continue the tour with her. We're basically starting with a clean slate."

"Wow, you've got some really big shoes to fill, Tanya."

"Yeah, don't I know it," she chuckled. After a slight pause, she continued, "Amanda was a great singer, and I'm just honored to have been asked to perform with Dever."

After the interview, we walked over to Tony, who was sitting in a waiting area by the entrance. "So, how do you think that went?" Mike asked.

"So far, so good. I think you guys are dealing with this really well considering. Nobody placed any blame, and you've wished Amanda well, which is the most important thing. The rumor mills won't have anything to work with as long as we stick to our guns."

"Yeah, but what if Amanda puts some kind of statement out?" James asked.

"Then let her! What is she gonna say, 'I overreacted?' It won't benefit her in any way, trust me. Besides, I just got a call from _Revolver_ , and they want to set up an interview with you guys. Their editor is not the only one who thinks Dever is nuts for defying the odds and continuing with the tour. I'm expecting other forms of media to pick up on this story and run with it. By the time the tour ends, you'll be getting more press than C-22!"

"You really think so?" Mike asked.

"Just think about it. If the internet is already buzzing with activity, then the magazines will be the next to catch on. This is only the beginning, guys!"

I almost found Tony's vision hard to believe as we boarded the bus and headed back to the Scottrade Center for sound check and our first real rehearsal with Tanya. In addition, I didn't know if it was a good thing to be the one responsible for all of this. I was just as excited as everyone else, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of underlying guilt as well.

Walking down the arena's back corridors, I looked at the rest of the band, and they looked back at me and each other as if to say, "Oh yeah, we've definitely made it!"

It hit all of us when we climbed the stairs to the stage and saw our instruments waiting for us in front of 20,000 seats just waiting to be filled. After seeing the immense size of the arena, we knew this was for real and that Tony's vision wasn't that far-fetched after all. I looked back at the band and yelled in excitement, "Just think, in a few hours, this place is gonna be packed!"

Joe's eyes lit up like a little kid in a candy store when he turned around and saw his double-bass drum set on a small riser. James ran to his bass and pounded out lines like he was possessed. After a few minutes of watching James and Joe jam, I picked up my guitar and played some random riffs.

I was blown away by how loud the instruments were and how the sound filled the empty arena, reverberating back to us as if there was another band jamming in the rafters.

" _Now, this is how the music is supposed to sound,"_ I thought as I crunched out some more riffs. To me, it sounded like the techs already went through sound check, as the drums were bombastic, the bass was thunderous, and the guitars never sounded better as Mike and I traded leads and riffs.

Within a few minutes of jamming, five people met us on-stage.

"Who the hell are they?" I called out to James, who shrugged his shoulders as they walked closer to us.

One of them walked right up to me and put his arm out. "Hey, I'm Ryan Hase. I'm your guitar tech. Is everything to your liking?"

"You bet, Ryan!" I replied. "I've never heard the music sound this full. Did you guys already go through the sound check?"

"Yeah, the sound guys did a good job this morning setting up, and we just finished sound check when you came in," Ryan responded.

"Aren't _we_ supposed to go through sound check?" I asked.

"Normally, yes. But Alexander and Louie asked us to do it today so you guys can spend the time rehearsing with Tanya."

I had so many other questions I wanted to ask Ryan, but he, along with the other techs, were called to the back before I had the chance.

"So Tanya," Mike called out, "What song do you want to start off with? 'Black Jack,' 'Live for Today,' 'My Enemy'?"

"I've been looking so forward to singing "Black Jack" with you guys!" she excitedly responded.

"Well then, "Black Jack" it is! Take it away, Joe!" Mike yelled out.

After Joe played the opening drum lines, the rest of us joined in. It was an awesome feeling hearing the song played in such a large, open space that I couldn't imagine going back to playing smaller venues like B.B. King's or the Roseland Ballroom. The song finally sounded like it was in its natural element. I then walked up to the microphone and sang the first verse. The song flowed seamlessly as I looked out at the empty arena and pictured a person in every seat.

When we got to the chorus, there was something different, and the song seemed to lose its flow. I looked across the stage, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get used to someone other than Amanda singing with me. Not only that, Tanya's voice had a raw energy to it and was more organic than Amanda's. But, I still preferred Amanda's heavier vocal style to Tanya's unrefined sound.

We finished the song to a small applause, not realizing that the sound technicians had gathered by their boards at the back of the arena.

"Give it up for Tanya Jensen!" James yelled into his microphone as if the arena was full of screaming fans.

"How'd it sound out there?" Mike yelled across the arena.

"Sounded great," one of the techs yelled back.

James then turned to Tanya, who stood confidently in the center of the stage. "That sounded so awesome!"

"You really think so?" She replied, not wanting to sound too egotistic.

"I've never heard you sing with such raw power," Mike added.

"Yeah, most people don't," she responded. "Joe Siegal has a way of making my voice sound subdued when he's doing the final mix in the studio."

"So why did Meridian stick with him if you didn't like the way the sound came out?" Mike asked.

"I always suggested hiring other people, but they were never available when we needed them," she replied. "Besides, the rest of the band liked the overall sound quality."

After running through about twelve more songs, we finalized the set, and I came to the conclusion that it would do more harm than good if I were to compare Tanya and Amanda's vocal styles. Besides, it would be one less thing for me to worry about if I left the comparisons to the fans and the press, who were going to let us know regardless.

Chapter 13

We weren't sure how the fans were going to react when we took the stage a few hours later, nor did we care. We just knew we were going to give it our all. Seconds before we hit the stage, the house lights went dark, and the crowd's wild reaction in anticipation to the concert nearly blew us away, despite the fact that a few rowdy people chanted, "Bring Amanda back, bring Amanda back!"

When the stage lights came on, James, Mike, Joe, and I were on stage and delved right into "Shock". Seconds before the chorus, Tanya came out and was on the prowl, ready to win everyone over. The crowd went ballistic when she put the microphone up to her lips and started singing. Her raw voice and high energy captivated the majority of the audience as fists pumped high in the air and mosh pits began to form. During the second chorus, she put the microphone in front of unsuspecting fans who were singing along, making them feel part of the show. All those who doubted us and Tanya's abilities to follow in Amanda's footsteps were silenced after the song, and the entire arena confirmed what we already believed as they shouted in unison, "Tanya! Tanya! Tanya!"

The fans seemed almost entranced by Tanya's vocals and larger-than-life stage presence, and we only fed off of their energy as we blew through fan favorites "Mad World", "It's On Me", "Doing My Time", "Live for Today", "Rules Get Broke", "Reflection", "Wild Card", and "Break the Mold," which Joe joined in on. We saved "Black Jack" until the end of the set, and the crowd exploded when Mike played the opening riffs.

"Saint Louis, let me see ya's one last time," I yelled before the house lights suddenly came on, illuminating the audience. "Thank you so much for coming down and partying with us tonight and for officially welcoming Tanya to the fold."

I then lifted my right arm as if to salute the crowd, making sure to notice every single person from the left side of the stage to the right and from high atop the nosebleed sections to those within arm's reach. I then slowly shook my head up and down and smiled back at their mosh pits before jumping as high as I could. Joe and James joined in right when I landed, and I blistered through the opening riffs with Mike. A few seconds later, I walked over to the microphone, and as I started singing the first verse, I saw people crowd-surfing, moshing, and pumping their fists all over the arena, and it was as if this was the one song everyone came to see us perform.

Just when people thought the set was over, we jumped right into "Wake the World," which we played for the first time in Chicago and received the same reaction, as nobody expected all of us to join in and trade vocal parts. When the song came to a close, James, Mike, Tanya, and I jumped off the drum riser as Joe pounded the skins so hard, I saw a broken drumstick fly toward the side of the stage from the corner of my eye. We all came together at the front of the stage as James took the microphone one last time and yelled, "Thank you, good night!"

Tony met us at the bottom of the stairs behind the stage with some towels as all of us yelled in excitement over the success of the concert. "And you guys were worried about how people would react," Tony laughed. "Just listen to them going wild out there," he added as we began walking to our dressing room, where booze and women were waiting for us.

I still wasn't feeling the whole vibe that Tanya brought, although people were screaming in excitement all around me. Dead silence reigned in my mind, and I couldn't believe that I actually made it through an entire show without Amanda. My mind began wandering in all directions, and I couldn't wait to hit the bottle to clear my head. But, the closer we got to our dressing room, the number of fans screaming variations of, "I can't believe how awesome that was," or, "You guys rocked," only increased, and by the time we got to our room, I just wanted to be alone.

I found the next best thing when I laid eyes on a bottle of Lucid that James got back in Illinois. I quickly ran to it and grabbed a glass that was on the same table but was interrupted by some girl who kept talking to me before I had a chance to pour it. So, I put the bottle down and acted friendly for a little bit, even though she echoed what everyone else had already said.

She was cute though, a petite, dark-skinned brunette who had a tattoo of a rose and thorny vines, which wrapped around her right arm. Sensing that I wasn't truly interested in her, she put her right arm around me, pressed her lips against mine, and rammed her tongue into my mouth while reaching into my pants with her left hand.

I looked at her, and my eyes immediately filled with rage as I put my hands around her waist and threw her against the wall. "What the hell are you doing, you fucking bitch?"

"Fuck you, Scott! What the fuck is wrong with you anyway?" She yelled back.

I raised my hand up and was about to slap her across her face, but she quickly moved out of the way, and I hit nothing but air. Mike saw the entire incident and quickly ran over.

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" He asked before turning to the girl. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she answered, fighting back the tears.

"What's your name?" He softly asked.

"K-Kaitlyn," she replied as they walked across the room. I immediately picked the bottle up again and poured it until the glass was half full, put some sugar in, and filled the rest with water before walking out of the room.

"Having a little problem with the ladies?" A voice asked.

"What?" I asked as I turned around and saw Ryan leaning on the wall in the main corridor outside of our dressing room.

"I've seen that look before," he said. "You're having women trouble, right?"

"What's it to you anyway?" I asked as I took a sip.

"Let's take a walk and get away from all this chaos," he replied.

"You still didn't answer my question, Ryan. What the hell do you care?"

"Well for one thing, why should I not?" Sensing I was getting angry at his lack of answers after a couple of seconds, he continued, "I accepted this gig with you guys to get away from life for a while."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"There was this girl who moved next door to me when I was twelve. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. We started dating during our senior year in high school and got married halfway through college. We had two gorgeous little girls."

"Why are you telling this to me? Sounds like you had the perfect little life for yourself," I snapped back.

"You're right, Scott. I did have the perfect little life back in the Chicago suburbs...until I came home one day and saw Jackie in bed with my best friend. I completely lost it, and she was granted full custody of Rachel and Megan. On top of that, she took the house and had the audacity to say that I wasn't fit to be a father to my kids. You believe that? _I_ wasn't fit to be a parent?"

"I'm sorr..."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, man. I'm out here having a blast with you guys," he replied. "I just miss Rachel and Megan so much, ya know?"

"Trust me; I know the feeling, Ryan."

"You?" He replied as if he was surprised. "You're the one who everyone comes to see! You're out here living the life that everyone dreams of."

"I honestly don't know how I made it through the show tonight," I responded before taking another sip.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ryan replied. "You looked fine from where I was."

"Every time I looked across the stage and saw Tanya, I just lost it inside. I couldn't take not seeing Amanda on stage with me; with us."

"No way," he slowly responded, putting the story together in his mind with the information he received from the crew and press.

"Yes, the rumors were true. We were a couple, and I went and fucked it all up, I replied."

"What happened, Scott, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She saw me screwing another girl and ran back to New York, leaving me and the band out here. God, I can't stop thinking about her and replaying the whole damn thing in my mind. I'd take it all back if I could, you know?"

"I know. I believe you, Scott. Anybody else would have let that girl you were just talking with do anything. I give you credit though. You put her in her place."

"You think? I mean, I just don't know. I feel like shit, and the thing is, I don't know if I would have felt worse if I _did_ have sex with her."

"That's just the guilt. To be honest, Amanda's lucky to have met you. I wish Jackie had felt at least a fraction as guilty. Maybe that way, she wouldn't have taken the kids _and_ the house."

"It seems like it just keeps getting worse," I replied.

"I keep telling myself it'll get easier," he responded.

"I hope it does," I echoed. "For both of us."

I was glad I found someone I could talk to who actually sounded like a voice of reason. During the days that passed, however, that did little to ease my pain, and the more I talked to Ryan, the more I thought about Amanda. Before I knew it, I saw myself as this depressed person who was no different than some guy randomly taken off the street and given a guitar. I felt like I couldn't stand in front of a crowd without tensing up and was quickly becoming the antithesis of what my heroes were. Moreover, I feared the crowd would sense my insecurities and would feel I was being hypocritical toward them for standing for something that just about left my heart, which pissed me off more than anything.

But like the hero I had become to so many fans, I pressed on anyway, slowly growing more depressed and becoming angrier at myself with every passing day until we played the Energy Solutions Arena in Salt Lake City. The concert started out like any other, but as the set list got heavier, so did my frustration. I knew enough not to let loose on the crowd, so I kept it in as best I could, which only made my blood boil that much more. I took the angst of our last song, "Wake the World," to heart and shouted my parts with everything I had while kicking the air around me a few times. And instead of coming together after the song, I took my guitar and slammed it against the stage and amplifiers until it split and broke into numerous pieces.

People thought that it was part of the show and wanted to see me break something else, but the truth was my hell started to unravel before everybody in attendance. Once I realized what I had done, I was overcome with tears. I loved my guitars with all my heart and would never even think of doing something like this.

Thankfully, I was whisked off-stage by a quick-thinking Ryan before I could do any more damage to my instruments, or even worse, myself.

"What happened up there?" Ryan asked as we found a quiet room in the back and hid from the crowd that populated the backstage area.

"I can't do this anymore," I responded, shaking my head and looking at the ground.

"Listen to me, Scott. Pull yourself together and fast! You _can_ do this, I know you can," he replied.

"God, I need another hit right now," I responded.

"Listen, you'll be fine, Scott. I'll go talk to Mike, and we'll see what we can do. Does that sound good?"

"Wait," I replied while lighting a cigarette as Ryan turned toward the door. "I don't want Mike to know about this. I've caused enough problems for the band, and they've already mentioned a few choice words to me."

"What did they say?"

"Fuck, it's not worth repeating, man. They already think I'm a piece of shit. Besides, I deserved every word of what they said and probably more. I just want to get over it and move on before I dig my grave even deeper."

"We'll be in Vegas tomorrow, and I think I might have some connections out there. We'll get you back to your old self in no time. I swear to you that you can do this. Just hang tight until we get there."

Even though I didn't know what he had planned, I couldn't think of any reason not to believe him. He said exactly what I needed to hear, and my level of trust in him only increased with every word he spoke.

By the time we found our way to the dressing room, everybody had already started drinking. The room was full of women who loved my ending to the set, but I was so optimistic in what Ryan had mentioned that I didn't let them or their comments bother me. Besides, they were all eager to give any one of us head, so I grabbed a bottle of vodka and downed what I could before going with the flow out of pure drunkenness.

I awoke the next morning to find myself on the bus holding a crinkled napkin that had lyrics written on it. Even though it was my sloppy handwriting, I didn't care what was written and quickly stuffed it in my pocket. My head pounded so hard that the slightest move created a magnified echo effect. I wanted to stay in my bunk all day, but when I realized I was the only one still on the bus, I scoured every room for some pain relievers but settled for a bottle of Chaser Plus that I found near the sink in the lounge. I downed a few pills and met everyone in the parking lot of a truck stop along I-15. Seeing the distant Las Vegas skyline behind some buildings, my first words to everyone were, "So this is Vegas."

"Hey, you okay, man?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, why?" I responded as I placed a cigarette between my lips.

"Well for one thing, look at yourself. You look like you've been through hell and back. What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" I replied as Joe handed me his lighter.

James then joined in before Mike could answer, "What happened last night?

I honestly couldn't remember a thing. Pete, one of our roadies, then handed one of my guitar cases to me. "Open it," he said.

I took it from his hands and slowly unhitched the latches. I was completely horrified by what I found when I opened the case. My dark blue Yamaha guitar had been smashed into numerous pieces. The neck was split in two, and part of the body was still connected to a small piece of what remained of the original neck. The other parts of the body looked like someone took an axe to them and were carelessly thrown in the case. "Who the hell did this?" I demanded to know as everyone fell silent and stared at me with blank expressions. "Who did this?" I repeated.

"You did, Scott," Pete answered after a large gulp.

I immediately tackled him, and he fell backwards against the side of the bus before I grabbed his collar and lifted him off the ground against the bus. I looked directly into his bloodshot eyes and yelled, "I will fucking kill you!"

Before I could tighten my fist to punch him, James yanked me backwards, pulling me away from Pete and forcing him down to the ground for a second. "Calm the hell down, Scott! Just calm down!" He repeatedly yelled.

Without hesitation, Pete came at me with fists flying from the left and right. "You wanna go? Right here, right now, punk!"

Never one to back down from a fight, I replied, "Let's do it."

"Whoa! Whoa! No one's fighting anybody! You hear me?" James yelled as he, along with Mike, Joe, and Tanya, got between us.

"Look, I'm sorry man," I said, glancing at Pete, who was being restrained by Mike and James. "I just, I dunno. I can't believe I would do something like that to my guitars." I picked up a piece of the neck and thought about how it was the one constant in my life. "This was my first guitar, Pete, and I loved everything about it. The pickups had perfect tone..."

"I know this was your favorite guitar," he replied, putting his hand on the other side of the neck. "We all did. I'm just sorry this was ever brought up."

When Mike pulled me aside, I was only worried he was going to give me a piece of his mind. "We all know what you're going through. Not only have I seen you try to call Amanda, I found some lyrics of yours on the floor in the lounge, and I feel for you, man. And, I'm sure it doesn't make things easier being out here on the road instead of back in New York. We all share the blame for what happened. But you can't go around blaming yourself and then make people feel what you must be feeling. That ain't right. There are other ways to deal."

I took the napkin out of my pocket and read it to myself. I wasn't sure if I should be thankful he found it or pissed that he read it. Regardless, just as I was about to answer, he continued, "Bottom line is when one of us goes down, we all go down. You got that?"

"You're right, Mike. I..."

"Just hold up for a second. I've got some speed on the bus that Ryan just scored, if you think that would help."

I should have known that's what Ryan had in mind. "Thanks, but I'll be all right," I responded.

"You sure?" Mike replied. "We've been using it every so often for a while, and I think it will help. Besides, we're all gonna sneak it passed Alexander and Louie and use it tonight. Are you in?"

"Yeah, I guess," I responded after a deep breath.

"All right, man! This is Vegas! Now, let's have some fun!" He yelled as he hit my back out of excitement.

It almost felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The band at least pretended to know what I was going through, though I'm not sure if they inherently knew or if Ryan had spoken to them.

The day quickly flew by as James and Mike spent some time going from casino to casino playing black jack and Texas hold'em, though Alexander and Louie kept them on a short leash so they wouldn't stray too far or gamble all of their money away. I spent most of my time going back and forth between the tables watching them and the bars to get water and a few Bloody Marys for my hangover, though James called them Virgin Marys since they barely had vodka in them. I later met Joe and Tanya for a quick meal at the Harley Davidson Café and walked with them to the MGM Grand, where we met everyone.

I think I was more excited about using speed than the show itself. Mike took a powdery substance that was wrapped in plastic out of a small paper bag and gently placed it on a table as the rest of us eagerly looked on. He flattened the paper bag and carefully poured the powder on top of it, and one by one, we all took a turn snorting it.

After a few minutes, the adrenaline rush kicked in, and we all felt like we were on overdrive. By the time we threw the evidence away, Alexander came banging on the door and yelled, "Five minutes 'till show time. Let's go, let's go!" Those were the best words I have ever heard, as I didn't know what else to do with my pent-up energy. Instead of trying to boost my confidence by repeatedly thinking, _"I can do this_ , _"_ I began thinking, _"Let's grab Sin City by the balls and show it everything we've got!"_ And that is exactly what we did from the second we took the stage.

Joe banged the drums with an intensity we hadn't seen before, and the rest of us ran around in fast-forward, getting the crowd into the concert. Tanya and I threw the microphone in front of people who were singing along, making sure they felt like they were part of the show. "Black Jack," of course, was a crowd favorite, and I handed my guitar to Ryan after playing the intro and jumped into the crowd, who carried me across the entire arena. Those who were near me were jumping over each other to sing into the mic with me. Their energy was so intense that one would have easily thought we were the headliners. And to think, we there were still more songs to come! We pounded through heavier than normal renditions of "Shock", "Wake The World", and ended the set with "Live for Today", which lyrically described Las Vegas perfectly and went over with the crowd like a sports anthem at a UNLV game, as the entire arena sang along while those on the floor moshed.

We all came together on-stage after the song and raised our hands as if "We Are The Champions" was blaring over the PA system. We immediately knew we had done what we set out to by the crowd's insane reaction while throwing extra guitar picks into the audience and handing out broken drumsticks to a few lucky fans near the stage.

Overall, I had only hoped the speed would keep me afloat during the concert. But, it did more than that. It enabled me to perform with more energy than I ever felt possible, and I was able to transfer all it to the crowd during the shows that followed, who easily transferred it back to us. After all, that was the way it was supposed to work.

I felt as if I could actually do this again and enjoy it like I used to. Music was my life, and I wasn't going let anything get in my way. Nothing at all! Not even Amanda, who didn't cross my mind after a few days. The only thing I wanted to do was get high and rock like we used to for the duration of the tour.

Like all good things though, this had its down side. When the highs passed and I started coming down, the lows hit like bricks. I only wanted to be alone as I felt myself sinking deeper into depression. I didn't want anyone seeing me like this, but with the growing number of people surrounding us every day, it wasn't a feasible possibility. I began hitting the bottle harder than I ever had to numb the pain I felt off-stage.

As the tour wore on, I increasingly surrounded myself with members of the C-22 fold, who taught me how to find the right combination of uppers and downers to keep myself balanced as the pressures of the road intensified. The fact that our CD had cracked the top 30 didn't help matters much, as Alexander began adding some last-minute dates to the tour to accommodate the growing demand for both bands, which affected when I could drink or take a hit.

Just under two months into the tour while in Tanya's hometown of Louisville, Kentucky, Ryan caught up with me at a bar. "What's going on?" He asked as walked over to where I was sitting with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. "I haven't seen you in a while. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?" I responded.

"Well, for one thing, you don't really hang out with everyone like you used to."

"Everything's fine." I assured as I slowly raised the glass up to my lips. After a long pause, I then asked, "What about yourself? How's the old woman treating you?"

"I got a phone call from her lawyer the other day asking for more money. You believe that?" He replied. "I'm so glad Tony's keeping me on after this tour."

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked.

Ryan chuckled and asked, "Are you serious?" He looked at me as if I was from another planet, and after a pause, replied, "Oh my God, you are!"

I took another drink before he continued, "Tony's mapping out a route for your own headlining tour starting in a few weeks. He said you guys are out-growing the opening slot."

"How'd you hear about this?" I asked.

"Everyone knows," he replied. "Have you been living under a rock, man? You should be psyched! I know I am!"

"I don't know what to think, Ryan. I honestly don't. As much as I live for being on-stage, I can't wait to get back to New York."

"Why? So you can curl up in a ball and think about how much you fucked things up? Snap out of it, man! This is a chance to start over! A new tour, new people, new cities..."

"Look, I just need some time to get back to myself. I've been busting my ass every night during this tour and have been pushing myself to the limit to put on the best show I can. It ain't as easy as it looks." I replied.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's not, but come on!" Ryan responded.

"Come on, what?" I replied. "What am I supposed to say, Ryan? Everyone thinks I'm either fucked up or that I fuck everything up. Just take the way everyone looks at me. They keep asking if I'm all right or some bullshit like that. I don't need anyone's sympathy. I just want to stop moving in fast-forward for a little while, you know?"

After our conversation, I felt like something had to be done quickly, as we only had a few dates left before playing our last show with Catch 22 in New York. I wanted to call Tony and tell him not to book any more dates after the tour but thought better of it. Besides, he'd probably have us go right back into the studio, which is something we all weren't ready for. So I continued to self-medicate with a combination of speed and alcohol for the duration of the tour, knowing full-well when to use each.

About a week later, we arrived back in New York, and we couldn't have been more excited to see Dever displayed so prominently in bright lights on the Madison Square Garden marquee on 7th Avenue. If there was one thing we wanted to do as a band, it was to play our hometown arena. The desire grew with every concert we attended there, and it was hard to believe the day had finally come where we were about to rock the Garden.

About an hour after we arrived at the arena, Alexander met us in our dressing room.

"Okay guys, let's go," he called out in his own pushy way, though we knew there was a tight schedule to follow just like every other place we've played. "We've got an interview with Jay and Rob from Rock 104 in five minutes, and then off to sound check."

We followed Alexander to the radio station's booth, where we met Jay Mendoza and Rob Gallagher, who worked the afternoon shift for the station.

"First off, welcome home, guys!" Rob said as he shook all of our hands.

"We're glad to be back home," James replied. "Over these past three months, we've missed everyone immensely and can't wait to see some of our good friends this evening."

"So what's it been like on the road with Catch 22?" Jay asked.

"It's been absolutely insane," Mike responded. "C-22's been great to us, and we can't thank them enough for taking us out with them. I know any other band would have dropped us with all we've been through on this tour, but thanks to Tony down at our label, we've found ways to make everything work."

"Are you referring to what happened with Amanda Campbell?" Rob asked.

"Let's just say we're not the easiest band to tour with," Mike sarcastically replied.

"These past two months have been a crazy ride," I added. "Tanya's been a wonderful singer to work with, and we look forward to everything the future holds for us."

"How different was it touring with Dever, Tanya?" Rob asked.

"I've never seen such dedication for one thing. The fans were more than eager to show us their Dever tattoos. That's something I wasn't used to with Meridian. This band is much more dedicated to their fans, and it shows in the way the band and fans interact with each other at the shows. The after parties were absolutely crazy as well! I've seen more stuff go on during this one tour than my entire time with Meridian."

"Being that this is the final concert with Catch 22, what's next for Dever?" Jay inquired.

"We're working on getting some more dates lined up and will hopefully get back out on the road to play some of the cities we missed on this tour," James responded. "Then, who knows? We're just out here enjoying ourselves, and hopefully the fans are as well."

As the show time drew closer, the excitement in the backstage area grew in proportion to the number of people. Some were from the press, and others were part of our ever-growing entourage, which included roadies, techs, and security. The rest were lucky fans who were chosen at random by to hang out with us before the show by Rock 104. By the time we were set to hit the stage, the smell of alcohol had already begun to permeate our dressing room. Even though I had injected myself with speed earlier, I downed a shot of vodka with some red-headed chick to give myself a slight buzz to intensify the high. I then put my arms around her and kissed her soft, luscious lips, which tasted like sweet berries, before walking with the rest of the band down the corridor to the stage.

I was met by Ryan, who handed me my dark red Ibanez SA120, a guitar I set my eyes on while working at Ron's Music and finally purchased to replace my Yamaha. The second I strapped it on, the entire arena went dark, and chills ran up my spine. We knew we were home by the deafening welcome the New York crowd gave us. I immediately followed Tanya up the stairs to the stage as we heard a few Dever chants, and when the lights came back on, the Garden exploded with deafening screams as we delved into "Mad World," "Doing My Time," and "Wild Card," after which I walked toward the center of the stage and called out, "How the hell you doin', New York? Damn it's good to be home." After pausing to listen to the wall of screams, I continued, "Now, you may or may not know Tanya, but we'd like to give her a big welcome. Turn them lights on so we can see you, New York!"

When the house lights came on, I walked over to her and put my arm around her for a second. "Tanya, these are some of the craziest people you will ever meet. But they've been with us since day one, and we are honored to call them some of our best friends!"

I then turned toward the front of the stage, overlooking the crowd once more as the house lights went dark again. "New York, give it up for Tanya Jensen!"

After another deafening wall of screams hit us, we plowed through two more songs before I called out, "We've got a new one for ya's. It's called 'Wake the World!'"

Joe started playing the aggressive double-bass drumbeat, and then Mike, James, and I simultaneously joined in. Those in attendance thought they knew exactly what they were in for, as they'd seen reviews of this song in magazines and a few videos of it posted on MySpace and YouTube. But James and Mike took the crowd by storm when they joined Tanya and me and sang their verses, adding a whole new dimension to the music. Most of our fans in the New York area knew Joe to be fairly quiet at best and were completely balled over when he sang his parts of the chorus in a hardcore style. Fists flew high in the air in unison to his words, "Wake up! Wake up," and small mosh pits suddenly grew into large whirlpools. We kept the crowd going with "Shock," another song that had a heavy chorus that lent itself perfectly to all of our voices.

The stage lights suddenly went out, and James, Tanya, Joe, and I were guided off by the roadies as Mike switched out his guitar. He then walked to the center of the stage where he was met by a bright spotlight. Once he started playing, all of the other stage lights were aimed directly at him as well. His fingers flew up and down the neck faster than they ever had as he gently stepped on his wah pedal, breathing life into the notes coming out, before combining tones to make the guitar scream. The crowd went ballistic every time he paused or let a note ring out for a few seconds.

As Mike continued his solo, Pete and Ryan turned to me and the rest of the band. "Hey, we were thinking, Scott," Ryan said. "You know that song we found on the bus in Vegas?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I replied.

"What if you played it after Mike's solo?" Pete asked.

"Absolutely not! Are you guys fucking crazy?" I replied. "Shit, those lyrics aren't even close to being done. There's not even any music!"

"No, they may be on to something, Scott," James quickly responded. "What if Amanda's actually here? You'd want her to hear them, right?"

"Yeah, but not in front of twenty fucking thousand people!"

"Look deep inside yourself, man. How bad do you want Amanda to hear those lyrics? They looked pretty intense," James replied. He paused for a few seconds and looked back at the stage. "Looks like Mike's getting ready to wrap it up, so you gotta decide quickly, man."

"What am I gonna do for music?" I asked.

"Just play what you feel," Ryan answered. "That's how you got this far."

I looked up at Mike, and he smiled back. As much as I didn't want to sing such a personal song in front of everyone, I was starting to go with it. Ryan handed me my black Ovation acoustic guitar.

"They love you man. You're like a hero to them," he added as I strapped it on and slowly walked up the stairs and met Mike at the top. He took my arm and raised it before walking off-stage.

I slowly walked over to the center microphone and looked out at everyone in the arena. "Uh, I wanna dedicate this song to someone special," I said with a large gulp. "Without this person in our lives, none of us would be here. You know who you are."

I began strumming a D chord, followed by C, E minor, and a variation of another C chord as the stage lights dimmed once again and the spotlight found me. My knees trembled uncontrollably as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I repeated those four chords and sang the first line, _"I've been around the world,"_ before pausing for a second, in disbelief I was actually performing the song as my voice echoed throughout the arena, and took another breath. I looked out at the crowd and was stunned they were actually cheering me on.

" _I've been around the world, I've seen a million places_

Around my hotel room, there's a million faces.

But I don't need any one of them, I just want to see you again

It's hard to think with all these girls around

Knowing I can lay any one of you's down"

The girls in the arena screamed uncontrollably while I added a few more chords to the song.

" _My heart it cries your name, the pains, they scream your name_

If only I can just tell you how much my heart feels for you

I don't need any one of them, I just want to see you again"

Stepping back from the microphone, I let the guitar hang past my knees. I slowly scanned the audience one final time with my right hand above my eyebrows blocking the light, though the crowd must have thought I was saluting them and that it was my way of thanking them for dealing with me as I poured my heart out.

My heart was racing, and the crowd's cheers nearly blew me off stage. I honestly didn't know how to react to the positive reaction. Thankfully, the rest of the band joined me on stage when they noticed I had finished the untitled song.

By the time the stage lights came back on, I had already switched out my guitar and had strapped on my black and blue Carvin CT4. James walked up to his microphone and called out, "Whatta ya say we play a little 'Black Jack'?"

Before the crowd could respond, Mike and I leapt into the opening riffs, followed by James and Joe. The arena erupted into an excitement I have never seen at the Garden before. Those who weren't singing along with Tanya and I were caught in the middle of whirlpools that swept across most of the floor.

At the time, we didn't know Rock 104 had started playing our second single, "Live for Today", so it received a similar reaction when we played it two songs later. We closed the set with a medley of some of our classics to thank the fans who started it all for us. In it, we included "Shotgun", "These Streets", "Another Night", "It's On Me", and ended with "Break the Mold."

After our set, we all came together on-stage to the loudest reaction we had during the entire tour. A few people near the stage shouted, "Encore!" as the rest of the arena chanted, "Dever! Dever! Dever!" Normally, we would have been more than happy to oblige, but Alexander had a strict schedule that everyone had to abide by. We had to get off at a certain time to give our crew the chance to clear the stage before Catch 22 went on. It was like this every night for two and a half months straight. We all knew we had outgrown the opening slot, so we were glad to see this tour coming to an end. It was time to move on to bigger and better things, but not before one last party.

After Catch 22's set, we headed down to The Sanctuary in Chelsea along with some fans. We chose The Sanctuary because it was different than any other nightclub we've been to or played and figured it would be a great place to show C-22 a great time in New York.

For starters, there's nothing like getting drunk inside of a 17th century stone church that had been converted into a nightclub. Its combination of gothic architecture, modern, colorful décor, and state of the art lighting and sound systems made for an atmosphere like none other. Unfortunately, it's a place we wouldn't be caught dead at on most nights as it also serves as a techno dance club. However, when rock bands took over, it was the place to be.

The first thing we did at the club was grab some drinks and hang out with the fans that were lucky enough to make it in. The one thing both Catch 22 and us regretted about the tour was that we didn't have the opportunity to jam with each other on-stage and figured this would be the perfect opportunity to do just that. We had our roadies bring some equipment over, and Catch 22 did the same. Once it arrived, we quickly set it up on the small stage. The nine of us performed a few of Catch 22's hits, which included "Over the Top" and "Fade Away", along with our singles "Black Jack" and "Live for Today." The rest of the set comprised of Meridian's biggest hit, "I'm Still Here," and some one-off covers.

It was around 2:30 in the morning by the time we got off the stage, but the party was far from over. The PA started blaring various hard rock and metal songs, and the few who weren't drunk yet were well on their way. We grabbed some drinks in the front lounge, which was situated under one of the main gothic arches, and were immediately surrounded by fans.

"So what was it like on the road?" They asked one after another.

"It was the most fun we've ever had!" James ecstatically yelled.

"What stands out most?" Another fan inquired.

"Dude, the question should be 'what doesn't'?" Mike laughed. "This stupid fuck left his cigarette lit one night and almost burned the entire hotel down." He added as he slapped James' back.

"It was an accident, man," James laughed. "And Scott, what happened to you in Vegas?

"You'd jump too if some guy threw ashes in your direction!" I quickly responded.

Mike turned toward the fan who couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The story goes like this," he said, "Apparently this guy brought the ashes of his friend to the concert and threw them on the stage because his dying wish was to hang out with Tanya."

"No dude," James interrupted. "You attacked that police officer, remember?"

"Security guard," I responded while lighting a cigarette. "Who knew that if you sleep through a wake-up call, they send a guy into your room to make sure you're not dead? Besides, I'm sure you'd do the same thing if you woke up and saw some random dude in your room!"

"The funniest thing was seeing Joe passed out in the elevator a few times," Mike said. "When we were in Atlanta, some old woman got freaked out and called the front desk, saying there was a dead guy in one of the elevators. The look on our tour manager's face was priceless when he heard where Joe was, especially since nobody had seen him for a couple of hours!"

"How is that different than any other night?" James asked as we all laughed.

"Oh come on, leave poor Joe alone," some chick said as she put her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

With that, I started walking over to the bar to get another vodka as I heard Tanya reply, "Well not to defend Joe, but our tour manager at least liked to think he had an idea of where everyone was."

As I placed my order, some random chick kept asking me who this manager guy was.

"Alexander Koszak's our tour manager," I replied before raising the glass to my lips.

"So, are you in a band or something?" She asked.

I banged the glass down on the bar and looked into her hazel eyes in shock. I would have found it annoying had I not been lost in her sweet, intoxicating passion-fruit fragrance. "Yeah, I'm in Dever."

She still looked confused, but judging from the pungent smell of alcohol on her breath, I could tell she was beyond drunk. "Listen, it doesn't matter," I continued. "They're talking about our tour manager, Alexander.

"Oh," she replied, nodding her head up and down. "Sounds like you guys don't like him."

"Yeah, nobody likes him. In fact, we all played numerous tricks on him during the tour just to see how he'd react."

"Like what?" She asked.

"Well, there was this one time where we covered the entrance to his hotel room in newspaper. We all thought it was a harmless prank, but when he opened the door in the morning, the entire hotel knew he was up by his ranting and raving. He kept screaming, 'Who did this? Who did this?' as if he actually expected someone to fess up. He was also pissed because he messed up his hair, which he probably spent an hour on, while breaking through the barricade."

"That's too funny," she laughed.

"Yeah," I replied, picking my glass up again and intending to get away from her and join everyone else. Before I could take a step, she called out, "Wait!" and suddenly put her arms around me to brace herself from falling, catching me by surprise and causing me to spill what was left of my drink.

"Are you all right?" I asked while trying to get her back to her feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she slurred, looking into my eyes like I was some kind of hero.

I put her arm around my neck and slowly walked her to a couch in the corner of the room. "What's your name?" I asked as we sat.

"Heather," she responded as she slumped over and leaned on my chest. I gently ran my fingers through her long, wavy, dark brown hair and massaged the back of her neck as we continued talking.

I innately knew she was drinking to get away from something, as she had that look in her eyes that said, "Everything's all right...for now," but couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was.

"So, what do you do during the week?" I asked, trying to distract her.

"I'm a teacher." She replied.

"Where at?"

"Greenpoint," she responded.

"What's that like?"

"Ugh, you don't even want to know," she replied. "When you're little, all you want to do is make the world a little better. And it seemed like a good idea to do it one kid at a time. But then you wake up, and you realize you're just wasting your time. It's like you're in the middle of this nightmare. You see your students getting stabbed right before your eyes, and there's nothing you can do but watch them bleed. What's worse is I can't even go home after seeing that.

"Why not?"

"I never know what kind of mood my father will be in. After putting up with everything at school, the last thing I want to see is my sister in tears with a black eye."

I was at a loss for words, so I gently brushed her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck to calm her down. She closed her eyes and somehow felt comforted by the fact that I listened to everything she had to say.

But the reality of it was I had a way of being attracted to girls who were carrying a lot of baggage. Maybe I thought they gave me some kind of meaning in my life because I felt a responsibility to protect them from the people or things that were going wrong in theirs. I guess it gave me a sense of worth being the rock in someone's life.

It wasn't until a few hours later that I walked Heather to the subway. I watched her walk down the stairs of the 23rd Street station and lit a cigarette. It was a dreary, late-November night, and there was a fine mist that seemed to hang in the thick air. The Sanctuary was only a few blocks away, and as I walked back, I couldn't believe that I was letting myself fall for another chick with issues. I remembered what Heather said about wanting to change the world one person at a time and realized it was a crock of shit to believe I could save every girl I met from their inner-most demons. I had enough issues of my own to deal with. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and quickly erased her number, hoping to erase her from my memory as well.

As I turned down 6th Avenue, I thought about how Ryan encouraged me to go onstage and pour my emotions out in front of 20,000 screaming fans. "What was I _really_ singing about?" I asked myself repeatedly, breathing in the foggy air and looking up at where the surrounding buildings disappeared into the low clouds. The more I focused on the words, the stronger an empty pit inside of me became, growing larger with every passing second. The coldness of the New York streets knew I came home and had to deal with everything that's been sitting on the back-burner since the tour began.

Chapter 14

I awoke the next day with a migraine and was too tired to move, much less get up to take anything. My alarm clock read a quarter past one, and I looked towards the window only to see the sky was a dark gray before realizing I was in my own bed.

Slowly, I closed my eyes and thought about how the last time I was in my room was with Amanda. My whole body went numb, and I suddenly saw her. She was more beautiful than ever, standing on the street corner looking at me with the biggest smile on her face as we ran to each other. I stared into her sparkling, ocean-blue eyes and wrapped my arms around her. Our lips met, and I felt complete, almost as if my cares never even existed.

I later awoke to find myself alone in my dark bedroom, lit only by the amber glow from outside. Beads of sweat ran down my face as horns blared along with the occasional sounds of a passing elevated train and jets on their way to LaGuardia. My entire body ached, and seeing how it was almost six in the evening, I knew I should have eaten something but was too nauseated and exhausted.

As the room slowly spun circles around me, the emptiness I felt inside my heart started consuming my entire body. I missed Amanda so, and it wasn't enough that I loved her; she was my writing partner and was the one that I bounced ideas and melodies off of most. Even though we had written a few new songs on the road with Tanya, who slept on the living room couch after the tour so she could look at apartments, the melodies inside of me were slowly fading away, only to be replaced by a dark, uneasy feeling. To make matters worse, I wasn't sure what would happen if the dates Tony was in the process booking didn't pan out and we'd have to go back into the studio to write. It scared me to think that I was losing myself not just personally, but musically as well. I couldn't imagine how devastated Metallica's James Hetfield would be if he was abandoned by his wife and then his writing partner, Lars Ulrich, refused to work with him.

The only thing that kept me afloat after the tour was a dangerous combination of drugs. On days that we were throwing parties or hanging out at clubs, I continued taking speed. If we weren't doing anything, I made sure I had a bottle of vodka within an arm's reach at all times. And when we wanted to jam in the living room or at the warehouse, I smoked pot with everyone else so I could at least try to let my creative juices flow.

After the parties and the clubs, we all hung out at our apartment and enjoyed a beer or two as we came down, and I was brought back to this hell that I was caught in the middle of. There were a few times I was brought down so low that my depression almost seemed like a high, and I almost wanted to stick a needle in my arm so I could just die right then and there. It almost seemed better than sitting on this fence, not knowing if we were going to headline our first tour or head back into the studio to spew out songs that weren't ready to be written or completed, much less recorded.

With my growing uneasiness, I knew if Amanda was by my side, she would have helped me through this time of uncertainty. I often asked her how she could love a person like me, and she always replied, "How can I not love everything about you?" Her smile was enough to put me at ease, and she made the most depressing times happy by her angelic ways and soft, reassuring gaze.

Some would say I had an unnatural obsession or that I needed more time to get over her. Those are probably the same people who don't believe in true love. Regardless, nobody had ever been there or encouraged me like she has, which with my background, meant more than anything. Out of every girl I've been with, she was the only one who made me feel complete, and I'd never forget that. Waking up with beads of sweat pouring down my face, I pictured her reassuring smile and sandy-colored hair waving in the breeze as she whispered like an angel from above, "Hang in there, Scott." I just wanted to see her once more to at least try working things out; I could not picture my existence without her by my side.

That was all I could think of when I stared in the mirror and saw myself looking back with bloodshot eyes that were free of any shade of white and were supported by bags underneath. I just pictured her reassuring gaze in hopes that everything would be all right. _"What am I doing?!"_ I thought as I stared myself down. _"Why am I using drugs to make me feel even worse than before?"_ I opened the guitar case of my dark blue Yamaha, and while looking at the pieces, I seriously felt that if I didn't change soon, I'd kill myself when I wasn't in my right-mind. I knew I had to change, or else I'd end up pulling a Cobain and ultimately committing the biggest hypocritical act to both myself and the fans. Our music wasn't about feeling sorry for oneself; it was about letting the good times roll.

Thinking about the song I performed alone at Madison Square Garden, a few more lines poured into my head. I quickly reworked some of the lyrics and added an aggressive guitar arrangement, which I scribbled on a piece of cardboard that I ripped off a pizza box. The next morning, I called Zack Mason, who I used to work with at Sound Design Studios, and he was able to carve out some time later that night, which was perfectly fine with me. I spent the first half of the day drinking, as I was nervous about working with a good friend on a song that was so personal. I met him at the studio around ten.

"Man, it's been a while!" He said with a smile as he extended his right hand patted me on the back with his left.

"Yeah, it has been, Zack. Thanks for making the time for me to come down."

"No problem at all! It's good to see you. How are things going?" He asked.

"I guess it's going." I replied.

"Come on, you've got a top 40 record, Scott. It's gotta be better than just all right!" He responded.

"I wish I could say it was. But politics down at the label are getting in the way of things, and no one knows what the hell is going on. It's driving me fucking crazy. I haven't even had a chance to catch up with myself from the tour." I replied with a sigh.

"Did it at least go well?" Zack asked.

"Yeah, the tour itself went well, but I'm sure you heard Amanda left after our show in Chicago."

"Yeah, everyone's heard by now." He responded as he shook his head. "What happened?"

"I feel totally responsible for her leaving. It just wasn't the same without her. Everyone's taken a liking to Tanya, which is great, believe me. I've just taken it a lot harder than the other guys." I replied.

"Why is that?" He inquired with a puzzled look on his face.

"Let's just say we both had feelings for each other." I responded.

He didn't say anything for about fifteen seconds, but the wheels were definitely turning inside his head, as he didn't know exactly how to respond. "What happened?" He finally asked.

"I don't want to get into it, Zack. But we both agreed to go our separate ways, and unfortunately, that's why I'm here."

I took the folded piece of cardboard that contained the lyrics out of my pocket and wrote on the top in quotes, "Amanda," before handing it to Zack.

He took one look at the lyrics and glanced up at me as he gave the piece of cardboard back. "These are some serious lyrics, Scott," he commented. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm hanging in there. I just want to get this off my chest, you know?" I responded.

"It's understandable." He replied, pausing to take a deep breath. "Let's go in the other room. Plug your guitar in, and we'll do a quick run-through of how you want the song to go."

I followed him into one of the rooms and plugged my dark red Ibanez into one of the amplifiers. After playing the opening riff and singing the first verse, he replied, "Holy shit! That was _not_ what I envisioned the song to sound like! That is fucking heavy!"

"What you mean? Is that good or bad?" I asked.

"Well for one thing, the music is just as heavy as the lyrics. I've never heard you sing with such...such emotion, man! That's fucking intense! I can actually feel your pain screaming out!"

I went into one of the other rooms, where some drums sat waiting for me, while Zack entered the control room. We recorded the drum tracks first, and I then went back into the main room and played the guitar as I sang, letting all of my aggravations and all of my emotions out at the same time. Zack added a bass line before I entered the control room to finalize the production.

Within a few hours, I was able to listen to the playback of the song. My head wanted to bang along with the heavy riff, reminiscent of Reb Beach or AC/DC, yet my heart sank as I listened to the words I belted out in anguish in the vein of Avenged Sevenfold's M. Shadows on "I Won't See You Tonight":

" _I've been around the world, I've seen a million places_

Around my hotel room, there's a million faces

But, I don't need any one of them, I just want to see you again

It's hard to think with so many girls around, knowing I can lay anyone of them down

My heart, it cries your name Amanda

The pains, they scream your name Amanda

If only I can just tell you, how much my heart feels for you

I don't need any one of them, I just want to see you again

How do I tell you, after all the times we've been through

I know, it's been quite a long time for you

Please believe me, but it's been even longer for me

Dealing with the pain and agony

You're the only one who can save me now

For my heart belongs to you

During the time that's passed, I've found out the truth

And I've come to realize just how much I love you

My heart, it cries your name Amanda

The pains, they scream your name Amanda

My heart, it cries your name Amanda

The pains, they scream your name Amanda"

Though the song helped me cope with my feelings toward Amanda, it didn't calm my cravings for drugs or help matters with the band. Joe was the only one who noticed I couldn't shake this depression, even with the drugs.

I restocked my liquor supply the following morning with James and stayed home with Joe that evening while everyone else went into the city. Mike left some pot on the living room table that was already rolled, so Joe and I took a few hits as he waited for a girl to come over.

"So who's this girl you're waiting for?" I inquired.

"Her name's Kim." Joe replied. "We met last night."

"What does she look like?" I asked.

"She's a very cute Chinese girl, long, dark black hair and eyes like black pearls." He replied.

"She sounds great, Joe. Have a good time tonight." I said as I started getting up from the couch.

"Wait a second, Scott." He called out as if I was halfway out the door.

"What, what's up?" I asked.

"Is everything all right?" He inquired with a concerned look on his face.

"Yeah, everything's just fine, bro." I replied.

His eyes grew wide. "Seriously, man. I know you're still taking things pretty rough with Amanda."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Please don't get pissed, but I found your CD labeled "Amanda" and listened to it this morning. It..."

"You what!?" I replied as my face turned red in anger. I wanted to strangle him right then and there but waited to hear what he had to say.

"I..." He replied before pausing to take a gulp. "Listen, I just wanted to say that I was moved by it. That's all."

"Did anybody else hear it?" I asked, stricken with panic.

"No," he replied. "I'm sure if you wanted the band to hear it, you'd have already given it to them." After a long pause, he continued, "Do you think you'd ever give it to them?"

"I dunno, man. It's too personal to be a Dever song. Maybe one day if I do a solo thing or something. Besides, it ain't what the band's about. I gotta get something to drink. You want anything?" I asked as the doorbell rang.

"I'm all set." He replied as he got up to open the door. "But seriously though, we're all worried about you, man."

"Yeah? How so?" I asked as I opened a bottle of Grey Goose while Kim entered the apartment and sat on the couch. I put the bottle up to my lips, took two giant gulps, and walked up to Joe. "I asked you a fucking question!" I yelled, standing only a few inches from his face.

"You need help, man" Joe replied, staring into my eyes.

I clenched my fingers as tight as I could and punched the wall separating the living room from the kitchen.

"Come on Kim, let's get out of here." Joe uttered as he quickly escorted her toward the door.

"Fuck you, Joe!" I yelled as he and Kim exited the apartment. "And fuck what everyone else says. I'm fucking fine!" I shouted before slamming the door as hard as I could.

I couldn't help but think about how the guys were probably talking behind my back and saying that I should get my head out of my ass and find another chick to mess around with. It was such a typical thing for them to say, so I tried not to dwell on it.

I went back into my bedroom, bottle in hand, and lay on my bed. I figured it would be a good idea to check my voicemail. However, the third message was from Mike.

"Hey Scott, get your ass down to The Foxy Lady and party with us. We just heard from Tony, and the tour's going on as planned!" The message ended with James screaming something out of excitement, but I couldn't make out what it was.

That was all I needed to hear. I immediately called him back, and before Mike could even say hello, I heard James still screaming his head off in the background. "Hey Scott, you're missing the party, man! James is running around passing drinks out to everyone here at the bar. All of the girls that aren't dancing are here with us as well. Hold on a sec."

He took the phone away from his mouth, but I was still able to hear him ask, "How much for a dance?"

"Forty," a female voice replied.

Mike then came back on. "Sorry about that, man."

"So when did Tony call?" I asked.

"About an hour ago." He replied. "He's talking with DoubleShot's label, and they're really interested in having the band open for us."

"So when is this tour supposed to start?" I inquired.

"All we know right now is at some point within the next month."

"You gotta be fucking...," I responded but was interrupted.

"Hey listen, I gotta get going. Everyone's expecting you down here though."

I couldn't believe Tony didn't call all of us down for a band meeting like he has in the past. I felt he could have at least let all of us know at once by calling the apartment. But he failed to even do that. I took another few gulps of the Grey Goose and yelled "FUUUCK," as I threw my ashtray at the opposite wall, shattering it to pieces. I then got up and rammed my fist into the cement wall as hard as I could, closing my eyes to shut out any pain as I fell to the floor and sat in a fetal position, holding my hand.

In my drunken state, I thought about how Amanda and I used to help each other deal with everything that was going on in our lives and make some kind of sense out of them. Her voice alone was enough to put me at ease. Without her, I was lost. I debated which fate was actually worse – making a CD that my heart just wasn't into anymore or leaving to go on tour again. The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate the latter at The Foxy Lady with everyone.

After watching the room spin circles around me for a while, I reached for my phone and dialed Amanda's number. The phone rang twice, and I hoped it wouldn't go straight to voicemail. After the third ring, I heard someone pick up.

I couldn't wait for her to answer her phone, so I eagerly asked, "Hi, Amanda?"

"No, this is Chris. Why the hell do you keep calling my sister? She wants nothing to do with you, so get over it already!"

My entire body went numb, and I didn't know how to react when he slammed the phone down. I tried calling once more, and Chris answered again.

"I told you she wants nothing to do with or your band. If you call once more, Scott, I'm going to call the cops for harassment. Then I'll hunt you down like the piece of shit you are and I'll rip your fucking balls off. You got that?"

I was now more pissed than anything else, and I was ready to fight Chris for the chance to at least try apologizing in person. I put my coat on and placed the CD containing "Amanda" in my pocket and hoped it would give me some reassurance as I left the apartment on that cloudy, late-November night. As I walked down Broadway, towards Driggs Avenue, I became more optimistic about getting the chance to tell her how I felt.

When I got to her apartment, I knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Chris opened it. "What did I tell you, Scott?"

"I just want to...," I quickly replied.

"I don't care! She doesn't want to see you," Chris interrupted. "I'm giving you to the count of three to get out of here before I kick your ass."

"Well, that's a chance I'm willing to take." I responded, clenching my fist and getting ready to fight. As he started counting, I realized it would do more harm than good and added, "All I ask is that..."

As he got to three, he pushed me back until I hit the brick wall behind me, and his fist slammed into my stomach, ripping out every last breath I had before gasping and falling forward in pain.

"Now get the fuck out of here," he yelled as he slammed the door in my face. I got up and stood in a daze for a few minutes, hunched over and clenching my stomach, trying to comprehend what had happened. I took the CD out of my pocket and looked at it as tears filled my eyes. Still gasping for air, I gently placed it under the apartment door out of desperation before slowly exiting the building. I looked up at Amanda's bedroom window as I walked down the front steps. She was staring down at me but immediately turned around and walked away from the window when our eyes met.

I now felt more alone than ever. Whatever ounce of Christmas cheer I started feeling was now gone for good. Even if I had gotten past Chris, Amanda didn't seem willing to talk and would have probably thrown me out, herself! I just lit a cigarette as I turned left and walked down Broadway with my head drooping down, thinking about what happened.

I found myself thinking about what Amanda must be doing now that I was out of her life. When I came across a small playground, I decided to sit on a swing. I thought about the good times we had, and I thought about the ones that could have been better, although all was well with her by my side. Before I knew it, I felt a drop of rain fall on my face. It didn't faze me at first, but as the drizzle became steadier, I started cursing. It was just my luck that while trying to right a wrong, something like this would happen. I would have given anything to get Amanda back. Instead, I was left walking in the pouring rain and pictured myself lying on my bed, cold and soaked, waiting to catch pneumonia so this would all come to an end.

By the time I got back to the apartment, James and Mike had already returned. "Dude! You're fucking soaked!" James yelled the second I opened the door. "What happened?"

Deep in my mind, I just wanted to be left alone so I could die in peace. Some chick suddenly called out as if in disbelief of James's comments, "Oh my God, he _is_ soaked!"

I turned in the direction of the voice and watched as this girl scurried out from the dining room and made her way across the living room to where I was.

"Oh, by the way, this is Torri," James said as she started peeling my shirt off and reached for a towel in the hall closet. When she found one, she wrapped it around me, and Mike came over and said, "Dude, you missed a great time!"

"I really don't care." I replied.

Not listening to a word I said, Mike continued, "Man, there were so many girls there. You would have had a fucking blast! Liquor was on the house too!"

"We're all worried about you, bro," James said. "You don't go out partying with us anymore. It's not like you, man. You gotta get over Amanda. We did, and we're even better as a band without her."

"Who's Amanda?" Torri asked.

"Oh, just some chick we had singing with our band." Mike answered.

I gave them a look of disgust, and James just lightly punched my shoulder as he replied, "Come on, I know you're in bad spirits, but ya gotta get out of it. How 'bout we go back to the bar and have a good time?"

Since there was no chance of me catching pneumonia, I figured they were just trying to help. "What the hell, might as well go down to the bar and get fucked up! It'll just take my mind off of things, anyway."

Mike figured I was in and replied, "Go get cleaned up and we'll head back down."

As soon as I got dried up, we headed back down and piled in the van. I stared at the illuminated snowflakes that adorned the passing light posts, and the colorful displays of lights which glowed in windows made every apartment seem warm and inviting, making me resent the fact that I never once celebrated what one would consider a normal Christmas growing up. My mother was either too busy to care that the holidays had once again returned or was too drunk or high, leaving me to wonder what the season was truly about. Not like it mattered, as the phony smiles on everyone's faces would be disappearing in a month anyway.

We arrived a few minutes later at The Foxy Lady. Upon walking through the front doors, Mike called out, "Hey, Melissa! What's up, babe?" She ran over to him, and the two hugged. James and Torri pulled me over to a booth and ordered a couple of beers while I ordered a Triple, a combination of vodka, Jägermeister, and Goldschläger. Mike and Melissa joined us after a few minutes, and when they noticed a familiar face, Mike called out, "Hey Steph, come over here." Stephanie, who was sitting at the bar, obliged and sat next to me. "Hey Scott, this is Stephanie," Mike said, "Steph, this is Scott."

"Pleasure to meet you," she said, staring into my eyes while extending her hand.

My eyes went up her body, starting with her breasts, and when I came to her eyes, I said, "Same here."

Stephanie was in one word, hot, with her long, brown wavy hair, sparkling emerald eyes, perky breasts, and a smile so bright, its enchantment almost lifted my heavy heart from its pitch black abyss. I still felt alone while noticing the Christmas lights and tinsel, which streamed from the poles on stage and every corner of the bar. The atmosphere was jovial, as everyone seemed just as eager to part with their dollars as the girls slowly taking off their naughty Santa outfits were to get them. The more I became lost in lust, the worse I felt and only wanted to drown my senses in more alcohol and downed a Long Island Iced Tea.

Even with two drinks under my belt and her slight intoxication, Stephanie noticed I was not catching the contagious cheer filling the air. "What's the matter, Scott?"

"What do you mean?" I replied, inhaling my cigarette.

"For one thing, I was under the impression that you were, well, a little less docile than this," she responded.

I immediately ordered a Kamikaze before replying, "You don't even know me."

"Well, at least from what I heard. I bet I can make you feel better," she said, placing her hand on my leg as I received my drink and downed it.

"Why don't you two kids go out and have yourselves a good time?" James asked, feeling I had enough drinks under my belt to lighten my mood.

"Yeah, what about it?" She asked, getting out of the booth and motioning for me to follow. "Come on already," she laughed while pulling my arm. I smiled back as I stumbled out of the booth. Stephanie grabbed some newspapers as we exited the bar and used them as umbrellas for the two block walk to her apartment.

She suddenly grabbed the newspaper out of my hand, and I became soaked. "Oh yeah?" I laughed. "Two can play this game!" I immediately grabbed her paper and started running. After a brief chase, she caught up to me, and I gently ran my fingers along her soft cheeks before she took off toward her building.

We immediately peeled our drenched clothes off and jumped in a hot shower to warm up. Her bewitching scent of sweet herbal essence drew me even closer as we gazed at each other in drunken lust and our lips slowly met. My hands began running along her smooth skin and through her wet hair, and I could tell she wanted me just as much as I wanted her. Her shower quickly became the Garden of Eden, and we were more than happy to enter its gates to paradise as the water fell from the faucet like a warm spring rain. We abruptly moved to her bedroom and laid each other down on the bed. Before we knew it, the water dripping from our bodies became more salty as we romped our way deeper into the garden.

Chapter 15

I awoke the next morning to find myself in a strange bedroom with a girl who had no clothes on lying beside me that I had hardly known. My head was throbbing as I felt the lingering effects of the alcohol, and it took me a while to get my bearings straight through my vertigo. Once I had, I violently jumped out of the bed and looked for my clothes.

"What the hell happened last night?" I demanded to know as I punched the wall in disbelief of what I feared.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" She screamed back.

"Where the hell am I?" I yelled once more.

"You're in my bedroom," she replied with panic written all over her face. "What's going on? Answer me, damnit!"

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Stephanie. Remember, we met at The Foxy Lady last night?"

"Where are my clothes? I replied, walking up to her and pinning her against the bedroom wall. "Tell me where my clothes are!"

"On the floor, behind you," she cried.

I quickly put my jeans and shirt back on and couldn't care less how soaked they were. I then reached for my jacket, which was also still cold and wet. I looked at Stephanie in disgust and stormed out of her apartment.

As I staggered down South 5th Street towards our apartment, the sun was shining bright, and the brisk, late autumn wind chilled me to the bone. The events of the preceding night slowly started coming back, and I was horrified. I know any other man would have been proud of spending the night with one of the hottest dancers at The Foxy Lady, but as I was trying to change, I only found myself going back to my old ways.

Although I couldn't go on like that anymore, it killed me that I couldn't tell Amanda things would be different. She wanted nothing to do with me, no matter how much I was to beg or plead. I knew I couldn't live my life on drugs, but somehow, they were the only safe haven I knew besides the cold streets. I felt lost without Amanda's influence, and I didn't need the kind of motivation the band was able to provide. Not even the coldness of the streets could fill the void in me. I didn't know what to think anymore and became terrified that all hope was gone.

The headache and vertigo only got worse as I made my way to the apartment. My hair was a mess, and though I was smoking a cigarette, I craved anything I could get my hands on, crack, cocaine, liquor, whatever would take the pain away.

"So how was Stephanie?" James asked the moment I walked into the apartment.

Ignoring him, I went into my bedroom, where my headache and vertigo quickly turned into rage and self-destruction. I shut the door and ransacked my room, searching for pills and needles. Once I found some, I went onto my bed and was overcome by a sudden surge of adrenaline as I violently injected the needles into my forearms. I watched as blood poured all over, yet I felt no pain. Nothing seemed to break the numbness I felt. I became more violent in the way that I stuck the needles into my arms and made sure they went in deeper with each injection. I kept injecting myself until I didn't have the strength anymore and finally passed out.

After a few minutes, Mike opened my bedroom door to see if everything was all right. "James!" Mike yelled. "Call Steph right now! Scott's unconscious!"

Everybody ran into my bedroom to see what was going on as Mike wrapped his arms around my limp body. "Come on Scott. Pull through, man!" He repeated, fearing the worst as he looked at the pools of blood that had dripped down and dried in my palms.

"She just told me off!" James yelled as he ran into my room and saw the needles sticking out of my lifeless arms.

"What?" Mike asked. "What the hell could have happened to make Scott do this?"

"I don't know," Joe said. "I just called Amanda and left a message asking to call me back right away."

"Good thinking." James replied, patting him on the back and shaking his head in disbelief. "Let's get Scott to the hospital right now."

I slowly woke up to find myself in a bed and sensed people frantically running around me. My arms hurt like hell, and when I opened my eyes, I noticed wires and tubes sticking out of them. Although I saw the bruises and dried blood all over, it still took a little time to figure out what was going on.

"What, where am I?" I slurred. "What happened? Who are you?"

"Here, take these. They'll calm you down," one nurse said as she put two small pills in my mouth, one at a time.

Noticing the pills weren't working, another nurse took the time to pull a chair up and sat next to me, gently running her fingers through my hair to calm me down. Once I realized that she had the most gentle touch and calming voice, I obliged and was grateful that she kept me from doing something stupid like ripping out a wire or two by my thrashing. "What happened?" I asked in a quiet, but slightly panicky voice. "Where am I?"

"Before I can answer your questions," she replied, "What is your name?"

"Scott," I quickly answered. "Scott Ferrara," I added, wanting to know what was going on.

"Shhh, just calm down, Mr. Ferrara." She calmly replied.

"Scott, please," I responded.

"Listen Scott, you're in the Intensive Care Unit of Wyckoff Hospital. You had lost a lot of blood and nearly died."

"What? What happened?" I replied.

"Calm down; you're all right. Shhh. Your friends called an ambulance and brought you here."

She turned around for a second, and I was able to see her name badge but couldn't make out her last name. "Nurse Rachel," I called, wanting to find out more.

"Nobody's ever called me that," she chuckled. "You're all right, though. Thank God you've got good friends who really care about you. They found you lying motionless on your bed with needles in your arms," she replied.

If only she _really_ knew James, Mike, and Joe, I'm sure she would have answered differently.

"Your blood alcohol level was through the roof," she added, "Though it's hard to determine exactly how high it was due to your blood loss."

It was then that it hit me that I _had_ almost killed myself, and I vowed never to let myself get like that _ever_ again. Before Rachel got up, I asked where my friends were.

"They'll be coming up shortly," she answered.

"Nurse Rachel?" I asked.

"Yes, Scott?" She replied.

"Thank you." I responded.

She smiled back, and I then closed my eyes and rested.

Meanwhile, Joe, Mike, James, and Tanya were in the lobby, trying to get Tony on the phone to let him know what happened. When they finally reached him, his initial reaction was a half-caring, "Oh my God. How long is Scott going to be in the hospital? Your tour is going to start in a few weeks."

"Do you even give a shit about us?" James replied. "Scott's in the hospital, and all you can do is think about this fucking tour! What's wrong with you?"

"You're right, you're right," Tony responded. "Is there anything I can do before I meet you guys?"

"We tried calling Amanda earlier and only got her voicemail. Can you try calling her and ask her to come down here ASAP? She'd probably be more receptive to you anyway."

Tony did just that and was actually able to get through, though Amanda thought it was some kind of ploy to get her back in the band. "I'm sorry to hear what happened," she said. "But I don't want anything to do with Dever, Tony, and you know that. What's done is done. Tanya's in the band now, and that's fine. I really don't care."

"Let me put it in perspective, Amanda. Scott almost died today, and the band really needs you by their side," Tony replied. "They're not asking for anything else. They just feel that it would be the right thing to do. Everyone's going through a rough time, and the band, well, isn't really a band now. They would just appreciate it if you were there.

"I don't know if I can do that." She responded. "We've all been through so much, and I just want to leave everything behind, you know?"

"I completely understand. You were the only one he truly loved and trusted. I don't know if you're aware of this, but Scott dedicated a song to you at the Garden. Like I said, they're not asking for anything other than you being there with him. James, Mike, Joe, and Tanya are even willing to leave if that's what it takes."

She finally gave in and met Tony and the band at the hospital entrance later in the day. "Thank you for coming down," Mike said in an uncharacteristically serious voice as he walked up to her and shook her hand. "It means a lot to us and especially to Scott."

Tony then walked up to her and also thanked her as Tanya introduced herself and apologized for having to meet under these circumstances. "How's he doing?" Amanda replied.

As they started walking down the hospital's bright corridors, James answered, "He's stabilized and is doing all right now."

She gave a sigh of relief but was still in disbelief that she was actually with the band.

My eyes opened when I heard Joe, Mike, James, Tanya, and Tony making their way down the hall. When they walked in, I felt relieved that there were people who actually cared. But when I saw Amanda walk out from behind them, tears filled my eyes. I couldn't believe she came down to see me. She ran over to the bed, leaned over, and gave me a long, loving hug. "I never meant for this to happen," she sniffled before completely breaking down. "I'm so sorry."

I didn't know how to react, as it was my own stupidity, and if anything, I put my arms around _her_ and said, "Shhh, it'll be all right." But still, she felt immense guilt.

I asked everyone if they could leave us alone for a couple of minutes. They walked out and gently closed the door behind them, and Amanda and I looked at each other as if we had a million things to say but nothing came out. No words could have possibly expressed how we both felt. I took her hand and looked deep into her ocean blue eyes, finally breaking the silence. "I love you, Amanda, and I'm sorr..."

"I love you too, Scott," she quickly replied, nearly choking from fighting back the tears. "I listened to your song this afternoon, and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. I can't believe you played it at the Garden. That was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

I dried her tears with my finger. "I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to hurt you." With that, it felt like all of the weights I'd ever carried were suddenly gone, and a smile lit my face in what seemed like the first time in forever. "Over these past couple of months, I've come to see things differently, and I want to make it up to you."

Chapter 16

A few days later, Tony was able to get me released from the hospital. Although he never mentioned it to anyone, we could tell his main goal was to get the band back on the road with DoubleShot, and in his mind, he couldn't afford to invest the time for me to enter any form of treatment.

As we all walked out of the lobby, we were met by a small barrage of fans and well-wishers, which embarrassed the hell out of me. James, on the other hand, was worried the rumor mills within the local press would create a snowball effect and that the whole world would think Amanda was back in the band. "Don't worry about it," Tony told him. "Let's say this whole thing does leak to the press, what would be the worst that would happen? Trust me, the attention wouldn't be such a bad thing."

"Tony!" Tanya yelled as if she innately knew what everyone else was thinking. "How can you say that?"

"I just mean we can use all of the attention to our benefit with the tour coming up. That's all," he replied.

As Tony spoke, I looked at Amanda and took her hand. She amazingly remained silent, though I could see the anger towards Tony's lack of understanding starting to build inside of her. I had enough as well and just wanted to get out of the hospital. As I started walking forward towards the exit with her, Tony extended his arm and patted me on the back. "Everything's gonna be okay," he whispered in my ear. "We'll get you guys out on the road again and everything will return to normal."

I hadn't let Tony's words get to me, but that certainly got under my skin. I gave him a look of disgust as I nodded back. "Come, let's go," I whispered to Amanda. With that, we exited the hospital and walked around the block for a while. Though we were both silent, we seemed to understand what we were trying to say just by reading the look in each other's eyes.

Suddenly, Amanda broke the silence. "You know, I love you, Scott.

"How could you still love me after all we've been through?" I replied. "I just keep fucking things up."

"I just...I worry about you." She responded.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look at you, Scott. It looks like you haven't eaten a thing since the last tour started," she replied. "And Tony's hell-bent on you guys going out on the road again. Don't you think it's too soon?"

"Don't worry about a thing. I'll be just fine," I responded. "Please trust me."

She didn't seem assured that what I said was true, and who could blame her? She had no reason to trust me at all after what I did to her. I was more scared than she was, as I wasn't sure what would happen between us since the tour was pretty much a go. I didn't even know what would happen with me and was sure I'd find a way to fuck up the relationship before the tour even started.

"You're right," she replied. "It's not even worth worrying about now. I just...I don't want anything to happen to you. I can't stand the thought of losing you again."

As her eyes started watering up, I put my arms around her and wiped the tears away. I then closed my eyes, embraced her as tight as I could, and our lips met in what seemed like the first time in ages. I ran my fingers through her long, fine hair, and all of my fears seemed to vanish. Once we let go after a few minutes, I was thankful to be breathing in the fresh air and to see the city lights once again. A smile lit my face, and she immediately smiled back, causing my legs to become like rubber.

We grabbed a bite to eat at Vesuvio's Pizzeria, a restaurant I hadn't been to in the longest time. Memories flooded my mind, as it looked just like I remembered it. The Italian stucco walls were the same shade of off-white, the same names were listed in the high-scorers of Tokyo Street Racer by the entrance, and the Pepsi case was still behind the counter.

As we sat down at one of the tables, a familiar voice called out from the kitchen. "Scott! Longa time no see. How you been?" He asked in his deep Italian accent. "Whosa this pretty lady with you?"

"Salvatore, my man! God, it's great to see you!" I called back as I got up to shake his hand. "This is Amanda. Amanda, meet Salvatore."

She extended her arm. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said before kissing her hand.

"Salvatore took good care of us when we were first starting out as a band. He and his wife Gianna found ways to hook us up with food and all the beer we wanted." I said.

He then added, "Theesa guys nearly drank alla my alcohol in one sitting. But they were my besta customers. They'd bring their fans backa here after the concerts."

"So how's business been, Sal?" I inquired.

"Eh, you knowa with the economy the waya it is, it's been slow," he replied. "But it's a starting to picka back up. Tell me, how'sa the band?"

"They're doing all right. They're back at the apartment gearing up for another tour," I responded.

"That'sa good. I'm a so happy for you guys! Can I get you the usual?"

"Not tonight, Sal," I replied. "Just bring us a pepperoni pizza and a few Pepsis."

As soon as Salvatore disappeared behind the counter, Amanda asked, "So what was your 'usual'?"

"A few loaded pizzas with as many pitchers of beer as it took to keep us satisfied." I replied.

"It sounds like Salvatore really likes you guys."

"We brought him a lot of business. There were a lot of times where he'd stay open well after two in the morning to accommodate our after-parties. He actually loved it, even though it sometimes got kinda wild."

"How so?" Amanda asked. "He doesn't seem like a wild guy."

"Well, his wife, Gianna, was a model in Milan and did some modeling here before settling down to have kids. It reminded him of some of the after parties he attended back in Italy."

Another reason he wanted to keep us as satisfied as possible by giving us food and booze was one of us would have surely slept with his wife behind his back otherwise. She was tall and thin, and her perfect curves in all the right places didn't change at all, even after two pregnancies. Her jet black hair flowed just past her shoulders and had a shine one would see on shampoo commercials. To top it all off, she had a flawless, tan complexion and never seemed to age.

After we ate, we headed back to the band's apartment. I was so relieved to be home. Mike and James were watching television in the living room with a few empty beer cans on the table in front of them, eagerly awaiting Tanya's beer bread that she was baking with Joe.

Amanda and I went into my bedroom and lied down on the bed together. We talked some more as we stared at the amber glow on the wall across from us before I reached for a cigarette and lit it.

"Hey, can I have one?" Amanda asked.

I passed her my box of Marlboros, and she slowly pulled one out and placed it between her lips.

"God, I feel so lucky to be here with you right now," I said as I exhaled, blowing the smoke away from Amanda. "I still can't believe what happened. Since August, I just...I felt so lost without you on the road. I don't even know how I made it through the end of the tour. You've been the only one who's really been there for me when it counted, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"I'm just relieved that you're okay," she replied. "I should have never listened to Chris."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I dunno," she replied. "He knows I have this thing about getting into relationships with the wrong people, and I always end up getting fucked in the end. My father was abusive to his girlfriends, and my last boyfriend was abusive too. We came to a stoplight on Driggs and got into this huge fight over, I don't even remember what it was about, that's how much he blew things out of proportion. He slapped my face as hard as he could, and I sat there crying in shock. He said, 'I'll really give you something to cry about,' and I leapt out of the car as he clenched his fingers into a tight fist. Another guy called me his trophy until he accidentally invited me and this other girl over to his place at the same time. After some choice words were said, we both got out of there so fast. And, when I met you, it seemed like things were finally different. It was like I finally enjoyed being with someone. It was something real."

"And what about Chris?"

"He didn't believe it for a second; he still doesn't. He kept telling me that one day, you'd hurt me one way or another. I left the tour because I didn't know what to believe. It was like you were living a double life, Scott. It really was. I know you loved me, but on the other hand, how was I supposed to trust you again after what happened? What's worse is Chris kept rubbing it in and saying, 'See? I told you he'd hurt you.' Yet, I still went clubbing with Chris to get away from everything but still got caught up in the drinking and drugs. After a while, I nearly lost it and just drank myself to sleep a few times too many."

"Chris was just doing what he thought was right and just wanted to protect you."

"I know, but..."

"Listen, I fucked up," I replied. "And I'm just so sorry things happened the way they did. I'm gonna do everything I can to make it up to you. I think you're lucky to have a brother who cares about you like that. If he wants to hate me, that's fine. He's got every reason in the world to right now. I just want to prove to him and you that I'm not like those other guys you mentioned. I love you too much to let things get out of control again."

We then began talking about how the guys might have been drinking or doing drugs at that moment in the living room. It was then that we vowed to each other that we would never touch the stuff again. I didn't want Amanda to end up like me, and she didn't want to see me the way I was in the hospital.

I then looked in her eyes and said, "Who am I kidding? I'm living in a place that's filled with booze, drugs, and smoke. What are the chances of me quitting just like that?"

"I know you'll never believe it," she replied. "But I have all the faith in the world in you. I know you can."

"You can't be serious," I scoffed. "What about you?"

"You're right," Amanda sighed. "I need to stop using too." She then paused as we both tried figuring out how we could keep each other clean in this environment before continuing, "If I make the effort to stay clean, you've got to promise me you will too."

"For you, I will." I replied, not realizing how big a challenge I had taken on.

A few days later, we received a call from Tony asking us to come down to his Midtown office to talk about the upcoming tour. We were excited to go over the details and headed down the first chance we got.

After the meeting, the band headed to a local bar on West 47th Street near Times Square to celebrate the fact we were headlining our very own tour. I wanted to celebrate with them in the worst way but knew if I did, I would be violating the promise I made to Amanda. And I couldn't bear to lose her again, no matter how much I needed a drink.

"God, I feel so powerless," I whispered to myself as I stood outside the bar after everyone else went in. "Please grant me the strength to overcome what I can't alone."

It took all of the strength I had and then some for me to walk away from the bar while everyone else celebrated. I found my way to a bookstore in Times Square and couldn't get to the addiction/recovery section fast enough. It was there that I was met by such titles as "Free from Addiction", "Conquer Your Addictions", and "12 Small Steps". I soaked up as much information as I could in the short time I had before purchasing a few other books that caught my eye. I continued reading them on the subway as I returned to Brooklyn to meet Amanda when the first few lines of "Strength Beyond Strength" popped into my head, which I promptly wrote down on the back of my receipt:

" _I see the prize just over the hill, the mental fight feels stronger than my will_

The road is long and hard, many choices to be made

To take the easy way out or the path of glory and the brave

I'll choose to fight, I ain't going down today..."

I called her as I got off the train at Marcy Avenue and told her of the books I'd found while walking to her apartment. "I'm so proud of you!" She replied.

"I figured some of these books would be good for you too." I responded.

"I want to look at all of them," she said, trying to keep a positive frame of mind if not for me then for herself.

A few minutes later, we met up two blocks from her apartment on Driggs Avenue. The biggest smile lit her face the moment our eyes met, and I ran towards her with this new sense of power I was starting to feel.

She took one of the books from my hand and quickly flipped through it before looking up at me. "I definitely want to read this when we get home later," she said with an excitement in her voice. "But in the meantime, tell me about the meeting."

"Well, we got there a little early, so we just flipped through the magazines that were on the table until we were called in," I responded. "When Tony came out, he said, 'You guys will be all over the next few issues of those magazines.'"

"Oh my God, are you serious?" Amanda asked as if in shock.

"Well, we didn't know what the hell he was talking about, so he told us that he was getting calls asking for interviews with us to generate interest in and hype up the tour into this full-blown extravaganza type thing."

"Wow Scott! I'm so happy for you guys," she responded.

"James really doesn't think he was getting calls from magazines though," I replied. "He says that Tony's probably just using his contacts in the media for his advantage and is just using us to get what he really wants – more power in the industry. And once he's done with us, he'll move on to some other band. We all think he's nuts."

"Of course he's nuts," Amanda responded. "Tony's not that kind of person. He could have seriously bashed me in the press for leaving, but he didn't. In fact, we haven't had one cross word since I left the band, so I doubt there's any reason for him to build you guys up and put all this money into the tour for nothing."

"You're absolutely right, Amanda. That's what we've all been telling James. But you know how he is," I responded.

"Yeah," she laughed. "But seriously, now that this tour is official, are you sure you're ready for it?" A look of concern crossed her face as she continued, "I mean..."

"I'll be just fine," I interrupted as I put my arms around her and pulled her close to me. "In fact, everyone went to some bar in Times Square to celebrate afterwards. I couldn't bring myself to go in with them. And if anything, I'm more worried about you being here alone and working at the bar."

"Does Tony know you're making an effort to stay clean?" She replied.

"I'm sure he must," I responded.

"We've got to let him know." Amanda added.

"He's not gonna give a shit," I replied. "I know it's not gonna be easy keeping clean on the tour, but I promise you I will do everything I can."

"So when is this tour supposed to start? I mean how long are you going to have to recuperate from the last one?" Amanda asked.

"The tour's supposed to start on January 9th in Albuquerque, and we're gonna be playing a whole bunch of cities that we couldn't get to last time."

"How long is the tour going to be?" Amanda inquired.

"We're not sure yet. Tony's thinking we'll be on the road until March or April right now. And then who knows? Maybe a few European festivals this summer. I guess it depends on how well the next single does." I replied.

"What's the next single going to be?" Amanda asked.

"Probably 'Reflection' or 'Wild Card'," I replied.

"You know, I'm going to miss you so much." Amanda said.

"Me too," I replied as I kissed her forehead. "I'd love for you to fly out and meet us on the road at some point."

"I'd love to, but you know how hard it is to get someone to cover for me at work," she responded.

"With me being gone, do you even think it's a good idea for you to be working at Sully's?" I asked.

"It's good money," she replied. "Besides, I've been thinking about finishing school more and more since I left the tour, and I need the money for the classes."

"If you keep drinking like you do, what makes you think you'll ever go back to school?" I responded. "I'll help you pay for your business classes. Don't even worry about that. I just don't think that's the type of atmosphere you should surround yourself in right now."

"I know, I know." Amanda replied as she shook her head. "I just don't know what else to do."

"We'll figure something out," I responded.

During the next couple of weeks, the band had lightened their intake of drugs and alcohol, but still continued using them frequently. Amanda and I found solace in the addiction/recovery and business sections of the local bookstore and learned a lot about ourselves as we read through various books over coffee in the café. By the time the holidays rolled around, I had cut my smoking back to only a half pack per day, and Amanda focused her energy on what she needed to do to get back to school when she wasn't working at Sully's Sports Bar.

We decided to celebrate New Years Eve down at Pier 42 and catch the bands that were performing. Being that we'd both been clean for about a month, we felt it was the perfect time to celebrate our sobriety. When Amanda and I walked through the door, however, all heads turned in our direction, and we were immediately surrounded by fans as if we were iconic rock royalty. Ryan was on bartender duty and ran out from behind the bar and greeted us.

"Scott and Amanda! What the hell brings you two to a dump like this?" He laughed.

"Come on, Ryan, did you really think we'd forget about you guys?" I laughed back.

"Who knows, man?" He responded. "When we heard you guys are headlining your very own tour, we figured we'd never see you again!"

"You know what they say, man. Never forget where you came from. We'll forever be in debt to everyone here," I replied.

He then told us to follow him to the bar to say hi to the other bartenders. When we got there, he went behind the bar and reached down. Within the blink of an eye, there were two ice cold Budweisers sitting on the counter in front of us.

"No thanks, Ryan," I said as I looked at the two bottles.

"Come on, it's on the house, Scott!"

Deep down, Amanda and I knew we shouldn't have accepted the beers, but we also didn't believe one would throw us off the wagon. I had a tour to look forward to, and Amanda's dreams of finishing school were getting closer with each passing day.

"What the hell," Amanda and I simultaneously said as we reached for the bottles. A few minutes later, the rest of the band walked through the front doors and met us at the bar. It seemed if we really were rock royalty, then this was definitely our palace, as our fans gave us a hero's welcome.

The next thing we knew, more bottles headed our way. I looked at James, who was happy to see me drinking again, and slowly raised the bottle to my lips, closing my eyes in ecstasy as the cold, smooth lager ran down the back of my throat.

"How'd you last that long without a beer?" James asked as I put the bottle that was now only half full down.

"I don't know, man," I replied. "God, I missed drinking with you guys!"

"Glad you're back, bro," Mike said as he took a drink.

I then put my left arm around Amanda, who was also enjoying her drink.

"Well then, let this fucking party begin!" I shouted as our fans who had gathered around us echoed with shouts of their own. Within a few minutes, the first band, Paralyzer, took the stage as if to heed the party's call. We signaled the fans to follow us towards the stage where we drank some more and were able to catch the band's set up close. After a while, Amanda went back to the bar with Tanya, who ordered a few Cosmopolitans. Since I knew Amanda was in good hands, I just enjoyed every minute of being with the fans and eventually lost count of how many beers I had over the course of the evening.

We all caught back up with each other a few minutes before midnight when the headliners, Alter-Ego, ended the first half of their set. Everybody in attendance either focused their attention toward the televisions at the bar or the large projection screens on either side of the stage, all of which broadcasted _New Years Rockin' Eve_ for whatever reason.

With barely a minute left until the new year, Amanda and I started having an argument about my drinking. "I thought you were serious about wanting to stay sober," she said when she saw how drunk I was.

"What about you?" I snapped back. "I saw you sitting at the bar all night with martini glasses in front of you."

"Those were Tanya's," she replied. "I'm trying to keep my end of the bargain, but I can see you just don't give a shit."

"What? How the hell can you say that?" I responded.

"Just look at yourself, Scott!" She yelled back.

"I'm sorry, Amanda. I'm so sorry," I replied, knowing full well of how much I was hurting her by my actions.

"Shhh, it'll be all right; we'll get through this," she responded as she put her arms around me. The ball had already dropped though, and the entire club celebrated the ringing in of the new year as Alter-Ego took the stage once again to finish their set. Angry at myself for missing the ball drop two years in a row, I downed my champagne as Amanda looked on and then slammed the plastic flute down so hard that a piece of the bottom broke off.

"There, I'm never going to drink again," I replied to Amanda, who breathed a sigh of relief at my New Year's resolution.

I'm sure in the back of her mind she knew I wouldn't last long without a drink. The look in her eyes spoke volumes, as they had a look of concern and communicated that she didn't know what to do. I put my arms around her and told her how much I loved her, but that did little to dry her tears. Tanya came over and hugged Amanda after noticing what was going on and spoke to her for a little bit as the rest of the band went back towards the stage to catch the second half of the set. Since I didn't think much of their conversation, I joined the band by the stage.

I awoke the next morning with a slight headache but didn't let it bother me. I looked out the window and could tell it was a warm day. Sternberg Park, across the street, bustled with activity as if it was spring. I put some clothes on and went out to the terrace to watch the activity below. I couldn't help but think about the look of concern in Amanda's eyes and began feeling helpless. I honestly didn't know what to do. There were burning questions inside me, none of which the addiction books seemed to answer, _"Why did I feel so helpless when everyone around me wanted nothing but the best for me?"_ As I listened to the sound of children playing, I looked to my left at the Manhattan skyline as lyrics flowed into my head:

" _I see you out there making your way to me_

Extending your arm out for everyone to see

Come take my hand, you say, I will not lead you astray

Come take my hand, I will lead you to a better day

I feel your soft touch as you try to lift me up

But please don't waste your time, inside I'm just too numb

I am but dead weight that has fallen to the ground

Please just go back where you came from, I'm down for the count..."

I wasn't about to give up as easily as those lyrics may have implied. During the week leading up to the tour, I eagerly took Amanda's hand whenever she offered it and knew I had to remain committed to staying sober if I wanted to start the upcoming tour on the right foot. She was persistent and had faith in me for reasons I'll never know. My fear of losing her both helped me want to stay sober yet increased my craving for alcohol. The band innately knew this and occasionally asked if I wanted a drink with them. The only reason I accepted behind Amanda's back was because I knew the temptation during the tour itself would have been that much more intense if I didn't.

When she wasn't working, Amanda accompanied me to our rehearsals down at the warehouse, which took place every day after New Years. It took the band a few days to get back into the groove, but once we had, we felt we sounded tighter than ever. By the time January 7th rolled around, we had two complete songs written, "Accept the Fact" and "Stigma," in addition to the complete music and most of the lyrics to "Down for the Count," which had mostly been re-written.

That night, we were driven to LaGuardia Airport, where we were to get on a plane to Albuquerque, New Mexico, the tour's first stop, and meet up with DoubleShot. Amanda and a few other girls, who were listed as being "girlfriends of the band" on the itinerary, came with us to see us off.

"I wish you were able to fly out with us," I said to Amanda as I got out of the van in the pouring rain.

"I do too," she replied as she got out and put her arms around me. "Promise me you're going to call when you can."

"Every chance I get," I replied as I looked into her eyes. Our lips met, and I ran my fingers through her wet hair, sighing as if unsure of what the tour would bring.

Trying to hide my uneasiness of what was to come, I told her, "We're going to have some time off in Portland. I'm going to send you a ticket to come out and meet us."

"I would really love that," she replied as she sniffled.

We put our arms around each other once more but were interrupted by Mike, who called out, "Oh come on you two. We've gotta get going, Scott!"

Reluctantly, I walked towards the terminal with the rest of the band but kept looking back towards Amanda, who stood motionless in the cold rain, to make sure she was okay. "I love you," I called out as we entered the terminal. It pained me to leave her back in New York while we were flying out and embarking on our biggest tour yet. I still felt she was just as much a part of the band as James or myself and that she should have flown out with us. Reality said otherwise though, and we had so much to look forward to. I kept focusing on the fact that this time, we were going to have a band open for _us_ and that we would experience the luxuries of being a headliner as I fell asleep on the plane.

I woke up when we touched down in Albuquerque, and I already felt like a little piece of me was missing. I reached for my cell phone the second I stepped off the plane and called Amanda. I wanted to let her know we landed but ended up leaving a message since it was well after midnight back in New York. It's all too easy to feel alone in a strange airport with unfamiliar people all around, so I took in the surroundings and bizarre images of Kokopelli, a humpbacked flute player and Native American deity that adorned the walls of the terminal as we walked through the corridors towards the escalators leading to baggage claim.

As we got off of the escalator and walked towards the carousel to get our bags, we heard a familiar voice behind us say, "I don't think that will be necessary." Expecting to see somebody holding a sign reading "Dever", we kept walking. "I told you guys that won't be necessary," the voice reiterated.

"That can't be..." James said as he turned to me. Then, we all looked back and simultaneously screamed, "Jesse!"

"Dude, I can't believe you're with us again," I added.

"Yeah, how'd..." Mike began to ask.

"Alexander pulled some strings before the last tour ended, and here I am!" Jesse replied.

"Where is that little prick?" James asked.

"From what I hear, he's back in New York with Tony, so you guys don't have to worry about him getting in the way of things.

"Good, who the hell needs him anyway?" Mike commented.

"So who's going to..." I started asking.

"That man over there by the carousel with the clipboard," Jesse interrupted. "He's with the people getting your bags. His name's Eric Stone; he'll be your tour manager."

The thing that stood out most about Eric was the bright reflection on his shaved head. He also looked like he could have been a football player with his broad shoulders and the fact that he must have stood at least 6'5". I had a bad feeling when I saw him dressed in his slick, gray polo shirt and black Dockers. For all I knew, he was going to be another Alexander or Louie.

Realizing we had finally made our way to the baggage claim, Eric directed a few people where to go once our bags were collected and then walked toward us. "I'm sorry, my name's Eric Stone," he politely said with a smile as he extended his hand.

"Yeah, we know," Joe grunted back.

"I would have met you guys at the bottom of the escalator, but the plane came in a little earlier than expected. First things first though. I just want you guys to know that even though Alexander and I work together at Goldstein and Lynch, I am not him nor do I want to be. Believe me, I'm glad to be out of the office and away from him."

We all breathed a sigh of relief, though I'm sure James was still skeptical. "So, what's the deal with our bags," I asked.

"You don't have to worry about them at all; they'll be in your rooms by the time you get to the hotel," he responded.

"This guy's good," Tanya told James under her breath.

"What about our gear? Mike asked.

"That will be waiting for you at the Tingley Coliseum.

"Are you serious?" Mike laughed.

"We've got all of your baggage, so let's get you guys checked into the hotel," Eric said as he started leading us out of the building and toward a black stretch limousine that sat waiting for us.

"Holy shit! Look at this thing!" James yelled as we walked closer. "Is this really for us?"

"What the hell do you think?" Mike replied as the driver opened the back doors.

"Just get in!" Tanya called to Mike and James, who were squabbling among themselves like two young siblings purposely trying to get a rise out of each other. "I don't want to stand out here all night," she added, growing more impatient with each passing second. They immediately stopped and got in but started up again once the door closed.

Their playful quarreling came to an abrupt end when James found a bottle of Jim Beam and some glasses stashed away in the limo. He immediately passed them out one by one, and we all poured some whiskey as the bottle was passed around. I knew I shouldn't have taken a glass, let alone poured the whiskey and drank it, but seeing as how we've never been in a limo before and that the tour was just getting under way, we had all the reasons in the world to celebrate.

"Ain't it a great feeling not having the old woman looking over your shoulder all the time?" Mike asked.

"You know it," I replied as the whiskey ran down the back of my throat. I realized I could drink whenever I wanted and didn't have to tip-toe around anyone to get what I needed. I felt so liberated that I grabbed the bottle and filled the glass a second time and drank it all by the time we got the hotel.

Little did we know, the party was only starting to begin. As we pulled up to the Biltmore Regency, we saw the lobby was filled with people, though we couldn't make any faces out until we walked through the front doors. Much to the dismay of the bellhops and front desk clerks, a raucous ensued once we figured out they were waiting for us because they were part of our crew. Eric tried calming everyone down as best he could but figured it would be easier to point everyone in the direction of the bar while he checked us in.

"How about that Eric, he's fucking awesome," I mentioned to Mike as we made our way to the bar.

"Yeah, this tour's gonna fucking rock without Tony, Louie, and Alexander constantly coming after us," he replied.

I then heard somebody yell, "Scott! Scott!" above the craziness. I looked over and saw Ryan, my guitar tech.

"Holy shit, how the hell are you, dude?" I asked.

"I'm good," he replied. "The question is how the hell are you, bro? I heard you were in the hospital after the tour. Is everything all right man?"

"Yeah, everything's okay," I responded. "Just routine testing and all that shit."

"I'm glad you're all right," he replied.

"Yeah, the media likes to hype things up," I scoffed. "God, I didn't think I'd see you at all on this tour, man! How's everything with the family?"

"Well, Jackie took a restraining order out on me to keep me away from Rachel and Megan," Ryan replied.

"Is there no fucking justice anymore," I responded. "Let me buy you a drink, man!"

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Ryan replied. "My life has completely gone to shit. Being out on the road is what's keeping me sane, ya know?"

"I ain't gonna let you fall apart on me, Ryan! You hear me, bro? There's more to fucking life than this," I responded as I sipped my Long Island Iced Tea.

About a half hour later, Eric came over to the bar and handed us our room keys and told us to meet in the lobby at noon sharp before going up to his room. The bar closed at two in the morning, and we all went to our rooms. The jetlag and two hour time difference had finally caught up with me, and I somehow found my room and collapsed onto the bed. Deliriously exhausted, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and looked at some pictures of Amanda. I missed her so but knew if she was with me, she'd be pissed beyond belief at my drinking. I started typing a text message to her that was supposed to read, "I love you," but fell asleep before I could finish.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of my cell phone ringing. As much as I didn't want to get it, my hands stumbled around the bed trying to find where the ringing was coming from.

"Hello?" I mumbled, failing to look at the caller ID before picking up.

"Scott? Is that you?" The voice at the other end replied.

"Amanda?" I responded. Before I could say anything else, she asked of I was okay.

"Yeah, we got in pretty late last night, and we're all getting used to the time change." I replied.

"Oh my God, I totally forgot," she replied. "I'm so sorry. It's gotta be like six over there, right?"

I turned to look at the clock and replied, "Seven. But at this hour, what's the difference?"

"Well, I just wanted to let you know that I got your message, and I'm glad you guys got in okay. It's snowing like crazy here. Chris was saying that we're getting eight inches or something like that."

"It was just raining last night," I responded.

"I know," she replied.

"I wish you were here with us, Amanda. I miss you so much."

"I wish I was there, too," she replied. "It's so fucking lonely here. Nobody's around, and I'm sure the bar's gonna be empty tonight. What's on tap for you guys today?"

"I don't know," I responded. "I think our tour manager's got us meeting up at noon, and I guess we're gonna meet the guys in DoubleShot and hang out around town."

"Please tell me Alexander's not with you guys again," she inquired.

"Tony knows we'd kill him if he was, so we've got this guy Eric Stone," I replied. "He seems really cool. He just let everyone hang out at the bar last night when we got to the hotel."

"Did you..."

"No, I didn't drink at all," I quickly responded. "Ryan's back with us. I just walked around with him and explored the area, trying to find a place that sold cigarettes at that hour, while everyone else was back at the bar drinking with the road crew."

"How is Ryan doing?" Amanda asked. "I remember you saying his wife left him, and that's why he was out with you guys."

"He's doing all right," I responded as I yawned.

"I should let you get back to sleep," Amanda replied. "I love you so much, Scott. Call me when you can."

"I love you too," I responded as I hung up and closed my eyes.

I slowly woke up three hours later and dragged myself out of bed. I couldn't remember if my conversation with Amanda was a dream or if I actually _had_ spoken with her. I grabbed my phone and checked the call history as I walked over to the window. I opened the curtains to reveal a small city backed by the desert brown Sandia Mountains, which appeared as if they had been painted in the not so distant horizon. I grabbed my cell phone and took a picture of the view and sent it to Amanda before calling Ryan to see if he was up and wanted some breakfast.

About a half hour later, he knocked on my door and we grabbed some food at the Terrace Café on the second floor, which overlooked the lobby. Mike and Joe met us a short time later, followed by James and Tanya. After breakfast, we had some free time, so I decided to roam around the hotel with James and Tanya before heading over to the bar to watch ESPN over a couple of drinks.

"Oh my God, is it noon already?" James asked as he saw Eric make his way towards us with Mike and Joe behind him. I looked at a clock on the wall, which read 12:10.

"I thought I told you guys to meet in the lobby at noon sharp," Eric said as he stared a hole through us.

"Well technically, we're in the lobby," James sarcastically commented.

"I'll give you that," Eric laughed as he took some papers out of a manila folder.

"Can we at least buy you a drink?" I asked as he looked the papers over.

"No thanks," he replied. "I just got off the phone with the guys in DoubleShot, and they're going to meet us here in about ten minutes. So finish up your drinks. We're all going to meet by the fountain around the corner."

We were all anxious to meet the band, so we quickly chugged our drinks and rushed over to the lobby. Just as we got to the fountain, we saw a large, dark blue van pull up to the entrance. Once it stopped, the doors opened, and James asked what the rest of us were thinking. "Who the hell invited the rednecks?"

Jeff Witherspoon, DoubleShot's vocalist, was the first to walk through the lobby entrance. His long, greasy hair was pushed behind his ears, and it looked like he missed a few days of shaving. To top it off, he was wearing a black Harley-Davidson shirt that had an eagle in front of a confederate flag. Behind him was Steve Jackson, who was DoubleShot's guitarist, followed by Greg Daniels, their drummer, and Connor Preston, their bassist, who sported a beard long enough to tie with a few rubber bands, each placed a few inches apart. Their sound almost mirrored their appearance in that they played heavy nü metal doused in double shots of southern whisky.

After the initial introductions, Eric and their tour manager, Brendan, led us down a few corridors to a conference room to go over some last minute details and to see if there were any questions. It wasn't hard to tell that Eric and Brendan were the only two who actually wanted to be there. All the rest of us cared about was having our time on stage and partying afterwards. Even though I may have dozed off a couple of times, I felt better knowing I wasn't the only one. Jeff yanked Connor's beard when he dozed off, and James flicked boogers at Joe.

After the meeting, we were free to do whatever we wanted. "Let's go find some bars," James suggested. Even though I knew I had surpassed the daily limit that I imposed on myself already, I followed everyone out of the hotel. I was probably just as excited to be hanging out with DoubleShot as they were with us. Once we came across a bar, we ran in, and Mike, James, and Tanya ordered some Budweisers.

"What the hell are you doing drinking that pisswater for?" Steve asked as Joe and I were about to order.

"Come on, let me get ya some bourbons," Connor said as if in disbelief of our orders. "We gotta change the orders," Connor yelled to the bartender, "Wild Turkeys all around."

After grabbing some burgers and a few more drinks at the bar, we headed back to the hotel and hung out in Steve's room where he showed us his custom Les Paul guitar. He looked at me and said, "You should get one of these."

"Can I try it out?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure," he replied as he handed it to me. I strapped it on and started playing it acoustically. There was something about it that didn't feel right though. The strings rested over the neck much differently than on my Yamaha, Ibanez, and Carvin guitars. Even though it was a much better guitar than mine, I knew it wasn't for me. But I continued playing anyway.

"You wanna give it a shot?" I asked Mike after a few minutes.

"No thanks, man," he replied. "I'm gonna head down to my room for a bit."

"You feelin' okay, bro?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, I just got some stuff I gotta do," Mike responded.

"Suit yourself," I commented.

A couple of minutes later, James disappeared as well, but nobody thought anything of it, as we were all engrossed in a basketball game on TV. After the game, we invited DoubleShot up to our rooms to hang out. As we got out of the elevators, the guys in DoubleShot pretended to look for James by yelling his name and looking around every corner for him. As we turned another corner, this hot chick who looked like she could either be a model or stripper walked by us, and everyone's attention was temporarily diverted until she got into the elevator. When the doors closed, we all started calling James's name again.

James suddenly stuck his head out of his door. "What do you guys want?" He asked while rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up.

"What are you doing in there?" I asked as I barged into his room. Still out in the hall, Jeff said, "Yeah, don't tell us you were sleeping, man!" Everyone followed me in, and DoubleShot was absolutely shocked.

"I've died and gone to heaven!" Connor shouted as he entered the room and saw the bottles of Wild Turkey, Jim Beam, and Grey Goose lined up on the dresser as well as strippers waiting to fulfill every one of the band's desires.

"You guys are crazy motherfuckers, man!" Jeff said as he walked into the room and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels before walking toward one of the women. He then looked at Joe, Tanya, and I. "You guys didn't know about this, did you?"

I grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose, raised it, and replied, "This is how we do it back in Brooklyn! Gotta start the tour off right. Now, drink up!" I put the bottle up to my lips, and within one whiff of the vodka, all of the information I had learned from the addiction books had flown out of the window. Although I had my choice of blondes, red-heads, and brunettes, I was lost in my own world, safe from the lure of the women and away from the chaos of room 926. Through all the commotion, I was able to sneak out and went back to my room. The more I listened to the pandemonium, the more I felt compelled to drink, and although I knew it went against everything I told Amanda, I was glad that I brought the bottle with me.

The silence of my safe haven was deafening though, and after a few more drinks, I needed to hear a familiar voice. I grabbed my cell phone, and without thinking, called Amanda.

"Hey Scott!" She said as I heard her smiling from ear to ear. "How are you?"

"I'm doing good," I replied. "Are you at work?"

"Yeah, but I just stepped outside for a cigarette anyway. I'm so glad you called!" She responded. "So how is everything?"

"Everything is great!" I assured as I lit a cigarette. "We had the typical meeting with the managers this afternoon which was God-awful. At least we got to hang out with DoubleShot afterwards. They..."

"Are you sure everything's okay, Scott?" Amanda interrupted.

"Yeah, what do you mean?" I asked. "I just miss you."

"Oh God, you're not drinking again, are you? Come on! We talked about this," she replied with a combination of disappointment and concern in her voice.

"I had some bourbon this afternoon to appease the guys in DoubleShot. That's it! Everyone else is in the other room drinking. I had to get out of there because I didn't want to be around the alcohol."

"Come on, I can hear it in your voice," she responded.

I honestly did not know how to reply. After a few seconds of silence, I sighed, "You're right, I did have a few drinks tonight. Look, I'm sorry. I know I not only let you down, I let myself down, and I promise when we get to Glendale the day after tomorrow, I'm going to look for an AA meeting."

"All right. Listen, I gotta get back to work," she responded. "I just want you to know that I miss you."

"I miss you too," I replied as I put the cigarette up to my lips and inhaled it one last time before putting it out. My safe haven quickly became a living hell the more I thought about Amanda's reaction and disappointment in me. I knew I couldn't go back to the other room with all of the women in there, especially after hearing the concern in Amanda's voice. I did the only thing I could – I picked the bottle of Grey Goose up and chugged every last drop.

I woke up the next day around noon, and despite my massive headache, I managed to stagger downstairs to get something to eat. The bar hadn't opened yet, so I ordered a V8 with my meal since it was the closest to a Bloody Mary I could get. A little while later, I met everyone in the lobby, and we all walked outside to the parking lot toward our buses and proceeded to the Tingley Coliseum to finalize the set list and do a run through of the concert.

The first show of any tour is always the most exciting. It is also the most unnerving, as it has the highest probability of something going wrong since the crew is first getting familiar with the set. I was just happy that I had Ryan as my tech, since he knew me and all of my guitar preferences. DoubleShot, on the other hand, had no experience playing a concert of this size and had no idea what to expect. As people started making their way into the arena, they invited us in for their ceremonial pre-show drink. They did this before every show they've played, and we were more than happy that they brought this tradition on tour with them.

Once we all had a cup of Jim Beam, Conner raised his and said, "To Dever!" The rest of the band echoed him. James then raised his cup and added, "To DoubleShot!" With that, we all drank. This ritual occurred before every show during the tour, and when the arena lights went dark, DoubleShot took the stage like hungry beasts ripping through song after song. The crowd seemed to really be taking to their blend of alcohol fueled southern swamp metal reminiscent of a super-sonic collision between Black Stone Cherry, Corrosion of Conformity, and Seventh Void.

When we hit the stage, flashpots ignited behind Joe's drumset, and the roof was blown off of the arenas when we played the first few notes of our opening songs. Tanya prowled around the stage in a manner we've never seen before. One second, she kneeled by the front of the stage to get closer to the audience, extending her arms out to her side as much as she could in typical Bruce Dickinson style, and the next, she was tearing up the stage as if she was on speed. Her high energy kept the crowd moshing and pumping their fists, which only increased our intensity that much more. During a few songs in certain cities, the mosh pits swept across the entire floor, which was a beautiful thing to see from the stage.

After two months of non-stop touring, we were in Portland, Oregon. We pulled up to the Crowne Plaza Hotel around ten in the morning, which gave us some time to relax before we had to regroup and head over to the Rose Garden. As we entered the lobby, all nine of us were boisterous and wanted to see if there was a place around the corner to get some cigarettes and alcohol. Eric said it was all right for us to venture out while he checked all of us in, and as we started turning around to walk out, I heard a girl yell my name. I didn't think anything of it since it wasn't out of the ordinary for people to be calling any one of us.

"Scott!" The voice called out again.

I finally turned around to see who was yelling my name. My eyes lit up. "Amanda!" I called out as she ran across the lobby toward me. The moment I put my bags down, she was right in front of me and almost jumped into my arms as our lips met. "Oh my God! I can't believe you're here! When did you get in?" I asked.

"I got in around midnight," she replied.

"I can't believe they booked such a shitty flight for you," I responded.

"No, it's what I wanted," she replied. "I worked yesterday afternoon, and Michaela, one of the waitresses I work with, drove me to LaGuardia."

I motioned to everyone else that they could leave without me and then responded, "Well come, let me introduce you to everyone before they head out," as I put my arm across her back and started walking towards the front desk. "That's Eric, the tall, bald guy. Brendan, DoubleShot's tour manager, is next to him with the leather jacket. Ryan, my guitar tech, is behind him," I pointed. "Hey Ryan!" I called out as we walked towards him.

"Scott!" He replied. "I thought you were going out for cigarettes and..."

"This is Amanda," I interrupted before he could say any more. "Amanda, this is Ryan. He's the one who's been keeping me sane," I said.

"Well, we've been keeping each other sane," he replied. "But it's so nice to finally meet you and put a face with a name. I've heard so much about you!"

"Good things, I hope," Amanda laughed before turning toward me.

"Always," Ryan responded. "You don't know how lucky you are to have someone like Scott. He loves you so much and is always talking about how he misses you."

"Awww," Amanda replied as she put her arms around me and kissed my cheek.

"All right, that's enough you two," Ryan sighed.

"Oh, come on with your fucking pissy party, Ryan!" I commented.

"Scott!" Amanda yelled.

"No, no; he's right, Amanda," Ryan responded. "You see how Scott helps me keep my sanity? He keeps telling me to keep the faith."

Eric then quickly introduced himself as he told the bellhops which bags were going where before pulling Ryan aside to ask a few questions.

"Sounds like the AA meetings are helping, Scott," Amanda commented. "I'm so proud of you for taking what you're learning and helping Ryan out. Sounds like things still aren't going well for him."

I didn't have the heart to tell Amanda I only made it to one meeting since the tour started. If she wanted to believe that I was attending the meetings, I wasn't going to stop her. The only reason I went was because the church hosting it was right around the corner from the hotel. That meeting was boring as hell, and I couldn't see myself going to any others, especially when there were parties I'd be missing.

As we went up to her room, I started talking about _Binging Through Life_ , a book I accidentally came across while browsing the music section of a bookstore in Sacramento a few days prior. Since it was supposed to be in the journalism section of the store, I figured someone was trying to tell me something and bought it after only reading the introduction. I figured if this guy I never heard of can become sober, then why couldn't I? Amanda completely agreed and couldn't have been more proud of me for purchasing the book. I only hoped nobody would mention to Amanda what I was really doing during the tour, as I finally had the woman I loved in my arms and laying in the same bed as me instead of just hearing her voice from a thousand miles away.

Our time in heaven was short-lived though, and we were thrown off cloud-nine when someone banged on our door and called out, "Let's go; everyone's down in the lobby!" I dreaded the thought of heading downstairs and only wanted to stay lost in the sweet, jasmine scent of Amanda's hair and adrift in her ocean blue eyes forever.

By the time Amanda and I stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, it was clear everyone was already downstairs by the commotion coming from the bar.

"Is it always like this?" Amanda asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "One thing you have to know about DoubleShot is they're from the South and love their Jack Daniels and Jim Beam."

"Yeah, I can hear that," she responded. After a short pause, she continued, "But you don't..."

"No, I try to stay away from all of that as much as I can, but you know, it's hard when it's all around like this."

Amanda was about to reply when Connor walked out of the bar, followed by Jeff, Steve, Mike, and Tanya. "Scott!" Connor yelled in his usual boisterous and jovial tone. "We missed ya in there! Where ya been, man?" He then paused, and his eyes lit up as if he had run into the likes of Ozzy or Jimmi Hendrix. "Oh my God, that's not...Amanda Campbell, is it?"

"Amanda, meet Connor, DoubleShot's bassist," I said as she extended her arm.

"It's an honor to meet you, ma'am," he replied with his thick Tennessee accent as he kissed her hand.

The other members of DoubleShot had a similar reaction to Amanda's presence, though we couldn't figure out quite why. "How much did you guys have to drink?" I asked Tanya, thinking she would be the only one to give an honest answer.

"Not much at all," she laughed. "Just a little Maker's Mark and that's it!" She then started talking to Amanda, and the two began giggling like schoolgirls who knew each other for years as I met up with Mike, James, and Joe.

A few minutes later, we boarded the buses and headed to the Rose Garden for sound check and a quick dinner before the concert. About a half hour after we finished eating, DoubleShot invited us to their dressing room for their traditional toast. We walked in to find Jeff holding an unopened bottle of Jim Beam and Steve starting to pass cups around. Tanya sensed Amanda's uneasiness and tried calming her down as we all received our cups. Everyone became pumped up the moment Jeff began pouring the bourbon.

"To Dever!" The members of DoubleShot shouted as they lifted their cups. "To DoubleShot!" We called out in response, and then we all raised the cups to our lips. Once we downed the bourbon, we all banged our empty cups on the glass table as if it was a race to see who could finish first.

Of course I came in last, to Steve's dismay. "What's up bro?" He asked almost out of concern. "You're usually the first to down this shit!"

"Yeah, you okay, man?" Jeff joined in.

My eyes started shooting flames, but luckily for them, a voice called out, "All right, take your places!" This usually meant it was time for DoubleShot to start lining up behind the stage so their roadies could give them their guitars. Then, the arena would go dark, and the band would hit the stage to a thunderous response from the crowd.

"I can't fucking believe they would say that shit!" I yelled, unable to contain my anger after DoubleShot left the dressing rom. "I can't _fucking_ believe it! Why the hell would they say that, James?"

He shook his head as Amanda responded, "It's okay Scott. Just calm the hell down."

"Yeah, that's easy for you to say, Amanda," I replied.

"Oh? Do you have something you want to tell me, Scott?" She responded as the rest of the band scurried out of the room.

"What the hell do you want me to tell you? That every fucking night is like this and that every fucking day is like what you saw back at the hotel? Well it is! I'm a fucking drunk. I get it already!" I replied as I lit a cigarette. "It's like fucking hell out here on the road with DoubleShot," I added as I started pacing. "God, I need a hit; go get Mike and tell him I need a hit."

Amanda stood silent and motionless and in shock while I continued pacing. "You know, I came out here because I love you."

"Well I'm sorry you had to fly all this way to see me like this," I replied. "I don't know how the hell you can love me right now. Look at me; I'm a fucking mess."

"Shhh, it's all right. I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she responded as she walked over and put her arms around me. "You've got the day off tomorrow, right? We'll find a meeting to go to, and we'll get through this. Together. You understand me? Tanya spoke with Ryan this afternoon, and he'd be more than happy to go with you when I'm not here."

"He said that?" I asked.

"I love you too much to let anything happen to you," she replied.

When we hit the stage, I was still pissed that Steve and Jeff brought up my drinking in front of Amanda. But I wasn't sure who to be more pissed at, them, Amanda for sneaking around behind my back, or myself for creating this mess. I couldn't understand how Amanda could love me after all of the shit I kept putting her through. My blood was boiling, but I didn't quite understand why. I just knew I had to go out and give it my all, no matter how mixed my feelings were. So, I put my "happy face" on, as we called it in AA, and hit the stage with such ferocious intensity as I ripped through song after song with the rest of the band closely in tow. The heavier the song, the better. A smile even lit my face during Mike's solo in the middle of "Wake the World" as I saw the crowd mosh out of control to the crunching riffs.

After the concert, I felt as if I had just done the impossible as Amanda raced over to me from the side of the stage as if I were Plaxico Burress making the final catch of Superbowl XLII, leading the Giants to victory over the Patriots. We immediately knew the concert was a huge success, and to Amanda's dismay, after celebrating with a few drinks backstage, we walked out to the arena floor to party with the fans that were still there. This was something that we wanted to do on the last tour, as we loved hanging with the fans after our shows, but due to various politics and the fact that we were only the opening band, we couldn't. So we made sure to keep the tradition alive during this tour and always asked DoubleShot and their roadies to join us.

We stayed as long as we could at the Rose Garden before heading back to the hotel for another party. "Some things never change," Amanda mumbled in my ear as we arrived.

The next morning, Amanda and I met the rest of the band for breakfast, and all we talked about was how great the show went. I wasn't nearly as excited as everyone else because I knew Amanda was going to find an AA meeting after we ate.

"There's a meeting in a few hours at St. Michaels," she said after making a few calls on her cell in the lobby. "And, it sounds like it's only a few blocks away."

"How wonderful," I mumbled as we headed up to our room. _"This day is fucked!"_

A few hours later, we walked to the church and entered its empty sanctuary, where we heard voices and followed them down a stairwell leading to the basement. The long, subterranean corridor was dark and dreary, and I felt cold chills as we walked towards the only room with lights on. When we got to the door, Amanda kissed me and wished me luck.

As I entered the room, people were sitting in a circle and laughed amongst each other. "Welcome," the person on the other side of the room, facing the door cordially said. "Please, take a seat and we'll get started." As I sat down on the cold, metal folding chair, I looked toward the door and noticed Amanda had left.

"Okay," the man continued. "For those who don't know me, my name's Aaron."

"Hi, Aaron," everybody uttered back as if in a trance.

"It looks like we've got a few new faces here today," Aaron said, "so why don't we go around and introduce ourselves, shall we?"

Everybody started saying their names and ended with, "...and I'm an alcoholic." As my turn got closer, I started shaking because I didn't want to conclude with that. In my mind, I _wasn't_ an alcoholic, and I didn't want to be associated with such lifeless and depressing people. "Hi, I'm Scott, and I uh." I said when it was my turn as everybody looked at me with baited breath, patiently waiting for me to continue. "And I'm...an alcoholic."

"Hi, Scott," everybody replied in unison.

The rest of the meeting was pretty much a tedious blur, as I tuned out people's sob stories and wondered what the bands were doing or what kind of bars they were exploring.

"Okay, and what about you, Scott?" Aaron said, startling me back to reality. "Do you have a story that you'd like to share with everyone?"

"Um," I responded, unsure of how to answer. "Well, just that I'm a musician who's here on tour, and that my girlfriend thought it would be a good idea for me to come here today."

"Why do you think that is, Scott?" Aaron asked.

"I dunno," I replied. "Everybody on the tour drinks, some more than me, so I don't really know."

"Do the other people on the tour have any girlfriends or significant others?"

"I'm not sure. I never really heard them mention anything," I replied.

"Well, do you think that your girlfriend is worried or concerned about you in any way?" Aaron responded.

"Yeah," I replied. "I mean I guess so."

The meeting concluded with Aaron telling me that I had a girlfriend who was worried about me and only wanted the best for me, which I already knew. "Even though I may drink or have more than my fair share, that doesn't make me an alcoholic," I expressed as the meeting was adjourning.

"Well, just the very fact that you are here right now," he softly replied, "leads me to believe that you have already realized that you are powerless over alcohol and want to do something about it."

"I suppose," I replied, figuring it would do more harm than good to argue.

"I have great faith in you, Scott," he concluded, "and I know that if you continue going to other meetings during your tour, you will be all right. Just remember that you _cannot_ do this alone and will need the help of God to guide along your journey."

" _Yeah, okay,"_ I thought as I walked down the lifeless corridor to where Amanda sat waiting for me. "How can someone actually say that one _can't_ do anything on their own?" I expressed to Amanda. "I thought this was supposed to be a positive atmosphere where people would tell each other, 'You _can_ do it.' No wonder why these things are always held in the most dingy places."

As much as I missed Amanda terribly during the tour and wanted to be with her, I absolutely _hated_ the fact that I spent the day in the park talking about the meeting rather than hanging out with the rest of the band at various bars around town. Deep inside, I knew she was only trying to help, and I came to the realization that every step that I took was just another mistake in my life.

"I love you so much and have so much faith in you, Scott," she reiterated over and over. "And don't forget about Ryan. He said he would go with you to the meetings."

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "I will talk to him later. I need to do this, Amanda, and I can't thank you enough for coming out here when you did. I know I can do this."

"Are you going to be all right after I leave?" She asked.

"I'll be fine," I replied. "I've got those books I can read while we're on the bus."

A few hours later, I helped her pack her bags and then loaded them into the airport shuttle van that sat waiting for her by the hotel entrance just after sunset. "I almost hate to see you go," I said as I put my arms around her waist and kissed her lips. "Don't go," I added.

"You know I've gotta work tomorrow," she replied.

"Screw work. Let's just run off somewhere together," I said.

"Let's go," the driver interrupted. "We've got people waiting in the van.

"I love you," I said before our lips met once more as a slight breeze blew through her hair.

She then got into the van and closed the door. My heart sank as it started driving off and disappeared around the corner. I went straight up to my room where the sweet, floral scent of Amanda's perfume still lingered in the air. Since I had a few hours to kill before it was time to leave, I reached into my bag and grabbed _Binging Through Life_ , since it wasn't like any other addiction/recovery book I had with me. I skipped through the first few chapters to when the author was in college and started drinking.

About a half hour later, I heard a knock on the door. After the knocking stopped, I thought it could have been someone banging on the door across the hall. A few seconds later, it started again. "You in there Scott?" A voice asked.

I opened the door to find Ryan. "Hey, what's up, man?"

"Did Amanda leave already?" He asked.

"Yeah, she left 45 minutes ago," I answered.

"That sucks, man," he replied, then after a slight pause continued, "Hey, you wanna grab some dinner?"

"Yeah, I'm starting to get hungry," I replied. "Where do you want to go?"

"That place across the street looked good," he responded.

"Cool, let's go," I answered.

As we got into the elevator, Ryan started telling me how lucky I was to have a woman like Amanda back home and who would take the time to fly out and visit while we were on tour.

"Ya know, in some ways, I feel blessed," I replied. "But in others, well, I dunno. Don't listen to me. I don't know what the fuck I'm sayin'."

"No, what do you mean, man?" He asked.

"I never meant for all this to happen. It just sucks that she had to fly all the way out here to see all this," I replied. "To see me drinking again like I used to; it kills me to see myself hurting her like that."

"But you went with her to the AA meeting today, right?" He inquired.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Well obviously, she still thinks the world of you, Scott."

"I don't get it, Ryan. She came here and saw me for what I really am. A fucking drunken piece of shit."

"Come on," Ryan replied. "You know that's not true. You've done in one year what other people aspire to do in an entire lifetime. That says a shitload about who you are!"

"Yeah, I know. You're right," I replied.

"Listen, when we get to Seattle tomorrow, I'll find another meeting, and we'll go down there together," Ryan responded.

"Thanks man," I replied. "You will never know how much I appreciate it. In fact, you know what?"

"What's that?" He responded.

"I _can_ do this! I know I can!"

"Of course you can, Scott! I know it; Amanda knows it. You'll be fine! Trust me."

That said, I only ordered a Pepsi with my burger.

I awoke the next day around noon, and we were already in Seattle, heading to the Key Arena. Amanda's beautiful face was the first thing that crossed my mind, and her words of encouragement, "I believe in you; I know you can do it," rang loud and clear like a Sunday morning church bell. When we arrived at the arena, I actually couldn't wait to find Ryan floating around the backstage area so we could head to an AA meeting.

We never did make it, despite the fact that I had every intention of going with Ryan. As I anxiously looked for him backstage, I came across Jeff and Connor, who were never without a bottle in their hands. Like a shark to blood, the pungent aroma of bourbon lured me into a small back room with them. Deep inside, I knew what I was doing was wrong, and after a while, my conscience finally caught up with me. My mind still had a ways to go though. I needed some air to keep myself from getting into any more trouble and to get my mind out of its thick fog.

After walking for a while, I found myself on Denny Way and came across a few bars. Since I hadn't had a drink in a few days, I needed more alcohol than just the bourbon and was going to do anything to get it.

It was well after four in the afternoon when Ryan finally found me, in a bar no less, down street from the arena, slouched over with a half-empty shot glass in my hand.

"What the hell are you doing, Scott?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" I responded.

"What are you doing...here in this bar?" He echoed.

"I went for a walk," I replied.

"Yeah, I can see that," he responded. "We were supposed to go to a meeting this afternoon. You remember?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry," I replied.

"Sorry?!!" He said before an angry sigh. I could tell he was trying to keep his comments to himself. "Come on, let's get you outta here," he continued, trying to get me off of the bar stool. "We've got a concert to get you to. You know, we were all worried about you, man," he continued. "I went all over trying to find you! I went on your bus, only to find Joe screwing some Asian chick. James and Tanya didn't know where the fuck you went, and when I finally came across Jeff and Connor, they said you went out."

"You're right; I did run into Jeff and Connor backstage, and I'm sorry, Ryan. I only came out here to clear my head and to get away from their drinking."

"I know," he replied, trying not to disagree or cause an argument. "Are you okay though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied.

A few hours later, we took the stage before a full house. I still had a good buzz going and didn't think anything of it since I always played better with one. We all did, which was why we loved DoubleShot's pre-show drinking ritual.

As the show continued, my buzz only seemed to increase, and I never felt better onstage. Tanya and James, on the other hand, noticed I wasn't my usual self and seemed to stagger as I headbanged and soloed. Both asked if I was all right at different points in our set, which at the time, made my blood boil.

As in Portland, the fans loved my aggressiveness on stage, and I only wanted to keep it up as the set went on. But when we performed "Doing My Time", I began sweating more profusely than usual. My body started burning up uncontrollably, and I was overcome with a feeling of vertigo that I had never felt before. As much as I thought I would be all right, the bright lights only increased the sensation, and the arena started spinning around me faster and faster until my face was drenched in sweat and everything became a huge blur.

Chapter 17

"Stay down, stay down," I heard someone say as I slowly opened my eyes. I wondered what time it was and if I overslept. I wanted to get out of bed in the worst way.

"Stay down!" The voice repeated as a distant voice said, "Step away; give him some room."

Questions then started racing through my mind, "Why was my guitar strapped around my neck? Did I fall asleep while practicing some chords? Why was the person who woke me telling me to stay down?"

"It'll be all right, Scott; it'll be all right," another voice said as someone yelled, "Get a fucking doctor already!"

A person who looked like he couldn't have been any older than 25 then jumped onto the stage and crossed my line of vision.

"What the hell's; what's going on?" I mumbled.

"It'll be all right, Scott. My name's Chris; I'm a paramedic," he quietly said.

"What happened?" I mumbled once more.

"You collapsed. I want you to answer a few questions for me."

I felt I had no choice but nod.

"Do you know what city you're in?

"No," I replied.

"That's pretty common for us to not know where the hell we are," James jumped in.

"Okay," Chris continued. "Do you know where you are?"

I turned my head toward the crowd and realized I was on stage in an arena.

"Do you know who the president is?" He then asked.

"Yeah," I responded.

The questions then came faster than I could answer them. "Are you on any medications? Do you smoke or drink? Any drugs?"

"Okay, I've got one final question for you. Do you know who these people are?"

They were all familiar to me, but I couldn't name everyone due to the number of people that rushed on stage. I was surrounded by members of both bands, all of the roadies, tour managers, Chris, and a few other medics who were just arriving with a gurney. Although I was able to get up by myself, the paramedics insisted on helping me to make sure I still wasn't dizzy. Usually, I would have told them to fuck off, but I let them help me up before placing me on the gurney.

As I was wheeled off of stage, I saw the look of fear and panic in everyone's eyes while they stood in place, overcome with shock. An eerie silence had fallen over the crowd, as they were probably just as stunned.

I watched the ceiling lights of the backstage hallway race by, one after another, as Eric and Ryan followed us. "You're gonna be all right," Eric reiterated. "We're not going to let anything happen to you, you understand? We already called Amanda, and Bobby's on the phone with her right now letting her know what's going on."

Although I knew I was in good hands, I couldn't help but think about how I'd fucked things up yet again from the back of the ambulance as we raced towards Northwest Hospital.

"You can't keep blaming yourself," the paramedic repeated over and over. "You've got great friends who really care about you. In fact, your manager is here with us."

"Eric?" I asked.

"No, it's Bobby," he replied. He then turned to the medic and politely said, "I work with their manager, Eric Stone." He then turned to me and continued, "Listen Scott, when we get to the hospital, I'm going to call Eric and Amanda, so don't worry about a thing."

"That's what I'm worried about," I replied. "Amanda's probably trying to get through to me on my cell and is ready to rip my fucking head off."

"What makes you say that?" The paramedic asked.

"I was supposed to go to an AA meeting today," I responded. "Instead, I went to a bar."

"If you want, the hospital can help you through a rehab program," Bobby suggested.

"I don't want to be stuck here so the hospital can put me through some kind of fucking program. I just want to go home," I replied.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was immediately wheeled to what seemed like a holding room. Bobby said I would have to stay there for a few hours so the doctors could observe me to see how I would react to various intravenous drips.

After a few minutes, a nurse walked over to me with a clipboard in her hand. "Scott Ferrara?" She asked.

"Yes?" I replied.

"It says here that you both smoke and drink. About how much would you say you smoke?"

"Smoke what?" I replied.

"Uh, do you smoke anything other than cigarettes? She asked after a long pause. I looked up at her to answer, and she still had a dumbfounded look on her face.

"I did smoke some meth before the show," I responded.

"Okay then, Mr. Ferrara, how often would you say you drink?" She responded.

This was one question that I didn't want to answer, as I was afraid I'd be stuck in Seattle in some kind of rehabilitation program. Just as I was about to answer, Bobby jumped in, "We're trying to cut his drinking down dramatically. We'll do anything you suggest; we just can't keep Scott here. We're in the middle of a tour."

"I'm afraid that's going to have to be put on hold for at least a couple of days, Mr. Taylor," the nurse replied. "The doctor wants to run a few tests before we can even think about programs."

"Well, what about finding programs back in New York?" Bobby asked.

"We'll talk about that after we run the tests. Right now, the doctor wants him on a dextrose I.V. solution for his dehydration and is ordering a couple of brain scans just so he can rule certain things out."

I just wanted to get out of the hospital as fast as I could so I could either go home and see Amanda, no matter how pissed she may be, or go back out on the road to make up for lost time. "Listen, do what you need to do so I can get the hell out of here," I responded.

After a few days, the doctors were able to run the tests and nearly gave everyone a heart attack when they entered my room and came face to face with the band, Eric, and Bobby. "We've got the results of the tests," the doctor casually stated, "and right now, they look pretty normal, but we don't want to jump to any conclusions just yet."

"Wait, so they're inconclusive?" I uncontrollably yelled. "What the hell do you mean? We've got a tour to continue; I can't just sit here and rot in this fucking room!"

"What exactly are you saying; that we should cancel the rest of the tour?" Eric asked.

"Well not in so many words, but yes," the doctor replied. "I can't guarantee this won't happen again."

"All I did was have a few drinks," I responded.

"There's much more going on here, Scott," he replied. "You also said you smoked some meth before the concert, is that not correct?"

"Shit, Tony's gonna have a fucking heart attack," Eric muttered to Bobby before turning around to everyone. "We can't just cancel this tour, Doc."

"I'm not saying to cancel it. All I'm saying is it would be best to postpone it for a couple of weeks until we can get Scott through a rehabilitation program. We know he's done speed in the past, and with the amount of alcohol we found in his system when he came in a few days ago, it makes it all the more important. We don't need him collapsing again due to dehydration, respiratory failure, or possibly worse, neurological issues like we're starting to see stemming from the drugs."

Even though I felt fine, the tour was postponed indefinitely on March 19th, and we flew back to New York the following day. I could not believe this was actually happening. As much as I knew it was my fault, I did not want to face the facts and take responsibility for it. I only wanted to drown in my own misery but found an empty row of seats in the back of the plane and fell asleep. By the end of the flight though, I had a few drinks under my belt, as a flight attendant recognized me and felt "honored," as she put it, to be serving me alcohol.

This did not sit well with Amanda, who met me at LaGuardia and welcomed me back with infuriation. "How the hell could you do such a thing?" She yelled in the middle of the terminal, trying to make sense of what happened. "No, never mind; I don't even want to know," she continued. "I can't believe you would pull this shit, especially after the meeting a few days ago. You know, I bet you totally blew off the meeting in Seattle and drank yourself into a stupor instead. God! I'm so fucking pissed at you right now."

I couldn't even take a breath in between her words, let alone attempt to reply, as she kept firing away. "They showed you on the news, and I actually felt bad for you. The only ones I feel bad for right now are Mike, James, Tanya, and Joe. And DoubleShot. They're the ones who you really fucked."

"You're making a scene," I calmly replied. "Is this really necessary? Right here?"

"Oh, you want me to make a scene, Scott? I'll show you a fucking scene!"

My anger slowly grew as her barrage went on, which brought me past my boiling point. My eyes turned a fiery shade of red, and the pressure of my rage exploded uncontrollably as I pushed Amanda into a wall. Just as I was about to strike her face with the back of my hand, security guards rushed over and pulled me back. The last thing I saw before being whisked away was Amanda's blurred face soaked with tears. Onlookers rushed over to see if she was okay as the security guards questioned her and asked if she wanted to press charges. Although she was reluctant to, the guards talked her into it, and I spent the night behind bars. I had hit such a low that I didn't care if I lost Amanda. I probably deserved to, as I'd fucked things up so bad it simply didn't matter.

Amanda was nothing short of apologetic when I returned to Brooklyn though. Since her brother was out of town, I stayed at her apartment for the next couple of days while James and Mike moved into their own places around the corner on Lynch Street and Montrose Avenue, respectively, following Joe's lead. Before the tour started, he moved in with some Latina chick, who played lead guitar in her own band. They were also busying themselves looking at houses in the Hamptons for the upcoming summer months.

I probably should have gotten a fresh start in a new apartment as well, but I chose not to. The first time I walked into the apartment after Mike and James moved out was a surreal experience. The silence was deafening, and the sounds of the elevated trains rumbling on the tracks eleven stories below echoed off the walls in an unsettling manner. The sirens from the fire engines leaving the precinct around the corner didn't sound the same either. It just didn't seem right being there without James, Mike, and Joe, and it depressed me to even think about it. Every time I sat on the living room floor with my back against the couch, visions of the wild parties crossed my mind. I was waiting for James to walk through the door with boxes of beer and bags filled with liquor that he scored from Marco at Lorimer Liquors. But he never came. Neither did Mike or his clients and suppliers. Tanya rarely stopped by to begin with, and Joe was probably banging the hell out of his Latina sidekick. The only things that kept me sane were a bottle of vodka and a box of Marlboros. Amanda knew it hurt me to be in the apartment alone, but I don't think she knew how depressed I actually was. The band was moving on, looking at BMW M5s and Mercedes CLKs and GLs, but I was perfectly happy with my vodka and cigarettes. As much as she begged and pleaded to get our own place, I suggested she move in with me. She knew I loved everything about the apartment on Boerum Street too much to leave and eventually caved in.

Just as we were getting used to being back home in Brooklyn, we all received a call from Tony asking us to come down to the Midtown offices of Black Mark. We scheduled a time to meet and came down a few days later in the early afternoon. As we walked through the door, the first things we noticed were posters of bands that Black Mark had either just signed or were in the process of releasing CDs for. Only one Dever poster remained in the back corner.

A few minutes later, we were called into Tony's office down the hall. We all cringed at the thought of meeting with him, but it was a necessary evil. After we took our seats, he swung around in his over-sized black leather chair and picked up his phone, summoning Eric and Bobby into the office.

"Obviously some things happened that were out of our control," he said as he put his elbows on the top of his desk and tapped his fingertips together. "The question is where do we go from here? You guys are still getting a lot of airplay on stations across the country, and your disc is still selling well. But I don't want to put you back on the road for a while, especially since you only had a handful of dates left. Those can always be made up."

We all looked at each other and wondered what he was getting at. I looked at Eric, who seemed puzzled, himself.

"Now, it has come to my attention," he resumed, "that you've been writing a number of songs on the road, and I think that's wonderful! I can't applaud you guys enough. That said, I think we should get some of those songs recorded and begin work on your follow-up before the world forgets that you even exist. I've already booked some time down at New Horizons right here on West 48th.

"You can't do that, Tony!" Mike exclaimed.

"I did," Tony replied like a stern father disciplining his degenerate son, "and you're _going_ to start recording early next week."

"No disrespect here, Tony, but are you crazy? James added. "The songs aren't even ready for demoing!"

"Well, get them ready," Tony firmly concluded.

I was not ready to hear this, nor was anyone else for that matter. We left the offices so pissed off that there was only one thing we could do. Drink. We found a bar on East 53rd Street and drowned our worries and anger away all afternoon and finally left as the sun was beginning to set behind the Midtown skyscrapers.

By the time I got home, Amanda had already left for work, so at least I didn't have to worry about what she'd say if she knew I was drinking all afternoon. The next day, I met the band down at the warehouse to attempt to finalize some songs in the afternoon. After a few hours of fine-tuning some songs, I went back home and waited for Amanda to leave for work so I could drink. This went on during the next day and the day after that, repeating itself up to the Tuesday we were to enter the studio.

On Monday night as Amanda was getting ready to leave for work, I received a phone call from Mike, who sounded really down.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Is everything all right?"

After a long pause, he asked, "Did you hear about Raven?"

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"She died a few weeks ago," he solemnly replied.

"How? What happened?"

"T-Roc told me she OD'd on smack."

"Maybe T-Roc heard wrong," I responded.

"He wouldn't be shitting me like that," he replied. "We've dealt together for too long. I asked a few other people, and they all said the same thing."

"Fuck," I responded as I closed my eyes and shook my head in disbelief.

If that wasn't an alarm blaring loud and clear in my ears, I don't know what was. I should have realized that was the wake-up call I needed to get my life back in order. Instead, I found a bottle of vodka that was half-drunk hidden in the corner and easily polished it off before hiding the evidence. Still, my grief hadn't been washed away. I went out on the terrace with my trusty box of Marlboros and started smoking one after another, watching the sun set behind the Midtown skyline, wondering how this could happen to a girl with so much promise. She was only twenty-two and was going to graduate from Brooklyn Community College in just two months.

When Amanda came home at 2:30 in the morning, she found me fast asleep outside with cigarette butts on the ground surrounding my feet. She spent all of her remaining energy trying to get me to come in that she was too tired to yell or even ask what happened. Once I did come in, I told her about Raven, and we both collapsed on the couch, trying to console each other.

After a while, Amanda pulled herself up and headed straight to bed. I couldn't sleep though, as thoughts raced through my mind at warp-speed. The initial shock still hadn't fully worn off, and I was worried about entering the studio. I felt I wasn't ready to record yet. Raven's passing made me realize there were countless pieces of my life that still needed to be picked up before moving on, and I didn't even know where to start. I also wasn't exactly sure what my role would be, if any at all, in the production of the material, which probably bothered me more than anyone else. I knew what I wanted in terms of the sound and exactly how to get it. The mere thought of somebody else dictating how our music sounded scared me, and I wasn't one to relinquish control that easily.

"For all you know, Tony hasn't even thought about who's going to do what yet," Amanda said. "Besides, does it really matter? You've got a big day tomorrow, so please come to bed already."

When I finally joined Amanda in bed and closed my eyes, my thoughts strayed back to Raven. I still couldn't believe she had died. This was the first time I had really experienced death and what it was like to lose someone. The thought of a world without her warm smile left a void in my heart.

Chapter 18

We all met the following day around one in the afternoon at New Horizons. One of Tony's cronies was already there and sitting behind the boards. We innately knew he wasn't one of the engineers, as he wasn't prepping the studio for our session.

"Who's this scrawny little punk?" Mike asked.

The man got out of his chair and politely introduced himself. "I'm Justin," he said as he extended his hand for us to shake. "Tony said I should meet you all down here to help you acclimate yourselves to being back in the studio."

"What the hell do you know about being in the studio?" I snarled. "If you're to make sure we become Tony's studio rats, you can go fuck yourself! We're keeping our end of the bargain, so you can just go back to your master and tell him we're here laying down some tracks. Got it?"

"Holy shit, Scott," James intervened. "Calm the hell down. He's just..."

"Listen, we all don't want to be here," Mike interrupted, trying to calm everyone down, "especially after the news we received last night. But Raven would want us to press on. So let's do this, if not for us, then for Raven."

At first, it was hard to concentrate, and it took us longer than usual to set up. Once we were ready to go, we started jamming to get warmed up and decided to start with "Break You Down". As we began doing some run-throughs before laying the tracks down, James walked over to one of the microphones and blurted out as if we were on-stage, "We want to dedicate this one to Tony and his crew!" That pretty much set the tone for our first session, and we were able to get most of the tracks recorded before calling it a day.

Just like the day of our meeting with Tony, we decided to hit the bars on West 47th Street afterwards. Instead of drinking to rid ourselves of anger, we drank in celebration. To commemorate the progress of "Break You Down" and to honor the memory of Raven, who would always be with us. Then we celebrated some more at the Pink Cheetah, around the corner on 7th Avenue, where we enjoyed some of life's other pleasures.

During the days that followed, we laid down the tracks for a few more songs, including "Accept the Fact" and "Brooklyn Sky". Just as we finished laying the groundwork for "Stigma" in the late afternoon and were about to call it a day, Tony called the studio and asked that we head to the Black Mark offices right away. "I've got something important that I want to go over with you," he said.

We left the studio without hesitation and walked towards Rockefeller Center, where the office was located, wondering what could possibly be so important that we see Tony right away.

Lauren greeted us as we walked through the doors and directed us right to Tony's office. Walking down the hall, we heard Tony and Justin talking. "This can't be good," Mike mumbled to himself as I thought, "I'm gonna kill that scrawny little prick."

Hearing us walking down the hall, Tony stepped out of his office and said, "Have a seat guys. I'll be right with you," before calling Justin out with him and closing the door.

A few minutes later, Tony walked back in and took his seat with Justin standing by his side like a faithful puppy to his master. "I just want to congratulate you on a good start," he began. "From what I've heard, some of the songs you've recorded so far sound great. I've heard a little bit of 'Break You Down', and I'm liking what I'm hearing. Now, a few radio stations have caught wind that you're back in the studio working on your second disc, and the reaction has been pretty positive. Everyone can't wait to hear Tanya's voice on disc. That's why I want to set a mid to late summer release date."

"You know that's not realistic, Tony," Tanya responded. "You out of everyone here knows that not even Meridian could write songs _and_ record them in that short a period and have the disc sell the way you want it to."

"Yeah, come on," I added. "Just let us do what we do best and let us continue being who we are and writing the way we've always written. If we're forced into writing in that kind of timeframe, the songs are going to sound like shit, and I'm not going to let that happen. We want to put out a disc that we can be proud of. You know that. We're not going to let this band fall into the 'sophomore trap' that every other band falls into."

That said, James got up, stood behind me, and put his hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me down. He looked at me before turning to Tony. "I'm sure we can all work this out somehow."

"There's nothing to work out here," Tony sternly replied. "If Scott or Tanya don't want to be a part of this, then they don't have to be."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I replied, unable to control myself.

Tony turned in his oversized chair and started talking about contractual obligations we had with him. He concluded by saying, "You're on probation, buddy, and until you get your act together, this band is not going anywhere. You understand me?" as if to stare a hole right through me. "As for the rest of the band, well, I'm suspending your time in the studio until you get your acts together."

I was too angry to go out drinking with the band after the meeting and decided to go straight home, where at least I could drink in peace. I grabbed a bottle of vodka that I had stashed away in the bottom drawer of my dresser and went outside on the terrace and drank for the rest of the evening.

I told Amanda what Tony said the following morning, and even she couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth.

"It almost feels like Tony is trying to pin this all on me," I said.

"But it sounds like the rest of the band has your back on this," she replied.

"Yeah, but I'm the only one saying something," I responded.

A few hours later, I received a phone call from Tony asking me to come down to the offices to work this out.

"I'm coming with you," Amanda replied after I told her.

"No, this is between me and Tony," I responded.

"I'm not gonna let you go through this alone," she replied. "I'm coming."

Who was I to argue? We both went down to the offices and met with Tony.

"I want you to know that I received phone calls from everyone in the band this morning," Tony began. "And they're all eager to get back into the studio."

"Well, you must have said something to them to make them change their mind," I replied.

"I didn't have to. They came to this conclusion on their own," he responded. "The ball is in your court, Scott. Do you want to be the one who holds everyone back? Or do you want to get back to work with them?"

"I'm not looking to hold _anybody_ back. I'm just..."

"Good, then do we have an understanding?" He interrupted.

After a long pause, I looked him square in the eye. "Yes, we have an understanding," I replied in a huff.

"Very well then," he responded. "Now that we're all on the same page, I want to go over one more thing before I let you get back to the studio."

"And what's that?" I asked.

"I think I mentioned this yesterday," he replied. "But being that a lot of radio stations have been announcing that you're back in the studio, everyone seems excited to hear the new material, which is why the release date is when it is. That said, I know you can put some good songs together. I have faith in you guys. And being that you're going to be putting out the best material of your career so far, I want it to sound just as great. That's why I've signed Greg Jacobs on to produce the album."

"You can't do that!" I fired back. "What the hell was wrong with _Mind over Madness_?"

"Absolutely nothing," he calmly responded. "It sounded great for a debut release. But I don't think it sounded like it could have been a follow-up."

"The band's not going to agree to something like that!" I replied.

"They already did," Tony concluded.

Amanda and I stormed out of the office as Tony and the rest of the staff looked on. As much as I needed a drink, I didn't want to drag Amanda into a bar with me or for her to bear witness to my downward spiral. Besides, if she knew how much I was really drinking, she probably would have locked me up in some rehab center when we returned from the tour. Instead, I just wanted to find a place to escape for a little while. Bryant Park was only a few blocks away and seemed like an inviting refuge from life.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh, early spring air as I tried to make sense of all this but to no avail. My head was spinning, as I had felt that I just abandoned my only family. Not even the normally calming sound of water in the Lowell Memorial Fountain in front of us was enough to ease my nerves. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a box of Marlboros, which only had a few cigarettes left, and placed one between my lips and one between Amanda's. As I lit the tip of mine and inhaled the smoke, its intoxicating magic started working immediately. Every muscle in my body started to relax, and the stress began to melt away. After one last puff of the cigarette, I grabbed another one and then a third, smoking them as if they were candy. When I finished the box after a few more, my nerves immediately started catching up with me once again as I wondered why Tony didn't even consider Zack Mason. At least the band had a good rapport with him and knew what he was capable of both musically and production-wise.

Men and women in business attire were having a good time enjoying the beautiful weather and were laughing all around us. Even with all of the cigarettes I had smoked, I only wanted to grab them by their throats, for they were just like the people who worked for Black Mark and every other record company in the city that squeezed the life out of musicians just to make a buck. The only problem was they also represented every other industry in the city, and it became abundantly clear that people were only out for themselves and were more than willing to throw those closest to them under the bus to kiss the ass of the hand which feeds them.

The sound of children playing and giggling amongst one another also rang out through all of the laughter. My heart cringed at the fact that they would grow up to be like those who surrounded us in the park. Every bone in my body soon became charred by the anger and hatred that seethed inside of me. There was only one thing I could do to keep myself from exploding with disgust for everyone around me.

"I think I'm gonna head down to the studio to talk to the guys and see exactly what's going on," I told Amanda as she sensed the smoke coming out of my ears.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Amanda replied.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I responded. "Thank you for coming with me to talk with Tony though," I quickly added, trying to hide what I could of my anger.

"Call me when you leave. Okay?" She replied. "I want to know what they say."

"Won't you be at work?" I asked as we reached the 42nd Street – Bryant Park subway station.

"Yeah. Leave a message if I don't pick up," she replied.

With that, we hugged, and after she walked down the stairs and rounded the corner, I started walking toward New Horizons. I only made it one block north, however, before stopping into a bar on West 43rd Street. Even though I had every intention of drowning my anger, I came to my senses after only a few drinks, and the more I thought about it, I just wanted to get the confrontation over with.

As I left the bar and headed up to West 48th Street, I still didn't know what to think. I wasn't sure how easy it would be to talk the band into going back to the offices and asking Tony to reconsider. Questions of all kinds, such as how or why they could let this happen, flew in and out of my head. We were Dever! We prided ourselves on the fact that we didn't care what anybody else thought, especially the record company suits.

When I walked into the building that housed the studio, I heard the band trying to piece a song together, which became clearer as I made my way down the hall towards the control room. Mike and James were trying to get the main riff and bass lines in sync with each other while Tanya hummed a melody.

"Hey, look who decided to join us!" James yelled out of facetious excitement as he looked up and saw me walk past the controls and into the studio where the band was jamming.

"Hey yeah, where were you bro?" Mike asked.

"Is it true?" I inquired, cutting Mike off.

"Is what true?" Mike replied as if he absolutely had no idea what I was referring to.

"I was just down at Black Mark meeting with Tony," I responded.

"Why were you down there; is everything all right?" Tanya quickly replied before I could finish my sentence.

"Yeah, how is that stupid fuck?" James added.

"You should know. Let's just say I'm a little pissed off at what he told me," I responded. The band immediately put their instruments down and walked towards me to see what I had to say. "Is it true about Greg Jacobs?"

"Don't listen to that prick," Mike replied. "He's just trying to fuck things up for us. I mean look at what he's done so far!"

"Yeah, I mean he's got us in here slaving away, ya know?" James added.

"But is it true?" I asked again.

Tanya then walked over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Listen," she said as she gulped, "Tony thinks that Greg can help us put some songs together so the disc can be released over the summer. That's all."

"We fucking don't need him!" I sneered back.

"That's what we said," Mike responded. "But he was persistent and thinks we won't be able to write all of the material in time."

"Are you kidding?" I replied. "Are you fucking kidding? You mean to tell me Tony doesn't think we can write material fast enough for him? So he's bringing in some stupid fuck for hire? He's a _producer_ , damnit! He knows jack shit about writing!"

"Tony knows what he wants, okay?" James responded. "And he knows that Greg will help us achieve that."

"And you're all okay with this?" I demanded to know. "You all know what's going to happen once all of the songs are written, right? He's gonna to take control of everything!"

"It's not like we have a choice, Scott," Joe whimpered from behind his kit.

"Look, in all honesty, we didn't ask for this to happen," Tanya said, trying to calm me down. "Tony already hired Greg. What were we going to do about it?"

"Tell him no?" I snapped back.

"Come on, let's be realistic," James replied. "You really think we're going to bite the hand that feeds us? We can't be where we want to be as a band without him. And besides, it would be better for you."

"How the fuck would it be better for me or better for us?" I responded.

"Well for one thing," Mike replied, "you won't have to be stuck in the studio until midnight every night, especially with this tight timeframe. Let someone else worry about it so we can all focus on the music."

"That's so fucking easy for you to say," I yelled as my eyes grew wide in anger. This is _our_ music, Mike. _Our_ music. _Not_ Greg's, and _definitely_ not Tony's."

"Yeah but Scott," Mike tried to say, "You've gotta realize..."

"I really don't care what you've gotta say, Mike," I interrupted. "If anybody needs me, I'll be down at O'Brien's." I then turned around without a care for what anyone else had to say and walked out of the building. I didn't know whether to call Amanda for support or to break something out of anger. What hurt the most was my cell phone didn't even ring once as I walked to the bar on the corner of West 48th Street and 8th Avenue. Then again, why would it have? The band had already made their decision and was sticking with it, no matter what I said or did.

When I got to the bar, I had been left with no choice but to drink my anger away. My family didn't give a shit about me, and I was too afraid to call Amanda since I had led the one remaining rock in my life to believe that I was doing okay for the most part. The first shot of Absolut felt so good going down that I ordered another one, and then another in addition to my Long Island Iced Teas and a few other mixed drinks.

About an hour later, a few people who recognized me sat at the bar. "Hey man, what are you drinkin'?" They asked.

"Long Island Iced Tea and a few Absoluts," I replied.

"We'll have the same thing he's having," they called out to the bartender. Once they got their drinks, one of them turned to me and said, "Oh my God, I can't believe we're actually here drinking with you, Scott! This is fucking crazy, man!"

After a while, I started telling them some stories from the road and what it was like being on tour with both Catch 22 as an opener and then having DoubleShot open for us. Before I knew it, we were challenging each other to various shots including Irish Car Bombs, Brain Damages, and Kamikazes as a large crowd gathered around us. At least the alcohol helped me realize there was still something left to live for and that I wasn't alone. By the time I challenged them to a Flatliner, they had enough. Taunting chants of, "Pussies, pussies," rang through the bar as the bartender handed me my drink. I stood up, raised the shot glass high in the air and yelled, "This one's for all of you's!" I then slowly looked up at the glass as everyone cheered me on. The glass met my lips, and within the blink of an eye, I downed its contents before breathing a little bit of fire from the Tabasco sauce. I suddenly felt like a hero once again, almost as if I had just walked off of the stage at the Garden, except this time the fans were chanting, "Ferrara! Ferrara! Ferrara!"

My emotional high came to a screeching halt when I got home in the evening. As I closed the apartment door, a voice called out from the bedroom, "How did everything go? I thought you were going to call."

My high quickly turned to anger as she walked down the foyer and into the living room to greet me. "What the hell are you doing home?" I snapped.

"I quit my job today. I didn't think that was something I had to run by you," she replied as if to defend herself.

"Why did you quit?" I asked as my angst began to intensify.

"What does it matter to you anyway?" She responded.

"You're right, it doesn't," I huffed back.

"Then why the big deal?" She asked again.

I wasn't about to tell her what I did with my time alone in the apartment, but when I was least expecting it, she put the words in my mouth. "I bet it's so you can sit home and drink! I found a bottle of Absolut behind the couch the other day. And you smell like you just crawled out of a lake of vodka."

She then put her arms around me. "I just don't want to lose you, Scott. I love you too much."

She was absolutely right, and it pissed me off to no end. I wasn't sure if she was pissed or worried. Or possibly a little of both. Without thinking, I shoved her off of me, and her back and head slammed into the side of the couch, missing the wall by inches.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" I asked as I rushed over to her. "I am _so_ sorry, Amanda.

Once I saw she was okay, I turned around and yelled, "FUCK!," in disbelief of my actions. "Fuck!" I yelled once more as I clenched my fingers as tight as I could and hit the wall across from where Amanda was lying on the ground. "Damnit!" I yelled as I fell backward against the corner of the room in disbelief of what I did and curled up in a ball. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I hurt you, Amanda," I called out as tears poured out of my eyes and down my face. "I'm so fucking sorry, God! Fuck me!" I murmured, trying to hide my face from her. The more I spoke, the more my mouth filled with the unpleasant salty taste of my own tears, I couldn't help but feel as if I had lost control of everything I loved in this world.

"I'm so fucking lost, Amanda," I said as she got up and tried consoling me.

"It'll be all right, Scott. It'll be all right; everything's gonna be okay," she calmly replied, her hair still dripping wet with her salty tears.

"I lost everything, Amanda," I replied as she ran her fingers through my hair. "I lost everything," I repeated.

"Why, what happened?" She asked.

"That stupid fuck talked the band into working with Jacobs, and they're on board 100%," I replied. "Tony wants Jacobs to write with us so we can get this fucking CD released over the summer."

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," she responded.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I inquired.

"Mutt did that with Def Leppard back in the day," she replied, "and Metallica would be nothing without Bob Rock."

"He fucking killed Metallica, that's what he did," I interrupted. "I just don't want Tony and Jacobs to kill us like that. They already started; why am I the only one who sees this?"

"Maybe you should go back tomorrow and just see how it goes? You might actually like working with this guy."

"I don't know. I don't fucking know," I replied, shaking my head and looking down. "I just don't want somebody telling me how to play my own songs."

"Just give it a shot," she responded, "if not for me, then for Raven. Okay?"

Her ocean blue eyes widened like a puppy dog who wanted something from his master as she looked up at me. I could not resist them and dried her soft cheeks and any remaining tears with the back of my hands. "I will give it a shot," I softly replied as I gazed into her lustrous eyes. "I'll give it a shot," I echoed as if to reaffirm it to myself.

The following day, I went straight to Lorimer Liquors for a small bottle of vodka. I also purchased a plastic bottle of Sprite and immediately emptied its contents onto the sidewalk when I exited the store and quickly filled it with the Absolut so I could drink it on the subway. I needed some way to keep myself in check if I was to work with Greg Jacobs, and I figured this would work best, as long as I didn't drink the entire bottle.

When I arrived at the studios, the band was already starting to warm up, and Greg was at the helm playing with some of the controls on the sound board. His bleach-blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail that barely reached his shoulders in length, and his goatee was shaved so neatly that he looked like someone who would appear on the cover of _GQ_.

"Scott," he called out as I walked through the door, "I'm Greg. Pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah," I facetiously replied, trying keep my emotions from getting the best of me.

"So let's get started, shall we?" He called out. "Scott, let's get you plugged in over here; James, you can stay where you are. Mike, why don't we get you your red Jackson. I liked the tone of it better than the guitar you've got now."

" _This is going to be a long ride,"_ I thought to myself as he continued playing traffic cop in the studio, directing everyone to their places and even deciding which types of wires to use when connecting everyone's guitars to the amps. I took another drink from my Sprite bottle before placing it on the ground and strapping my blue Carvin on.

That day, we were able to get the music written for "Still Life" and "Over the Edge", but not without Jacobs putting his two-cents in every other second. "I think this riff should be played during Mike's solo, and these broken chords should be at the end of the song rather than the beginning...Scott, why don't you play your solo half an octave lower so we can give it that Synyster Gates/Zacky Vengeance sound..." He kept going on and on, not only telling us what to play but how to play it. Every time I felt I was going to strangle the guy, I just drank what everyone thought was soda. When it was time to break for lunch, Jacobs ran off to some corner deli while Mike took some speed out from his bag to foster the creative process, and we went across the hall to the lounge and smoked as we started writing some lyrics to the music we had put on tape. Then, we'd begin again in the afternoon, and repeat it the following day, and the day after that for the next couple of weeks.

After our sessions, O'Brien's became a third home to us. After a week, we knew all of the bartenders and wait staff by name, and they knew our drinks of choice. Unfortunately, they could never figure mine out, as they changed according to the day. Sometimes, I was happy with a Long Island Iced Tea, and others, I was content with a Jack and Coke. And then there were the days where I wanted to absolutely kill Jacobs and needed something stronger. Brain Damages, Flatliners, Kamikazes, and anything else the bartenders or James could think up seemed to do the trick, but barely.

Despite the fact that the band agreed with a number of my ideas, Jacobs always had a way of influencing them like puppets following a puppeteer's motions and had no problem convincing them that his were the only way to go. This pissed me off to no end, and I only grew more upset and disappointed in the band as the sessions continued.

Then one day after hours butting heads in the studio, we headed to O'Brien's as usual, where I went through Jäger-Bombs like they were water and without a care what Amanda would think when I showed up at the apartment later in the evening. I just couldn't take keeping my thoughts to myself anymore and suddenly asked, "Doesn't it piss you off that Jacobs is treating us like fucking puppets?"

"A little, but not that much, man," James responded. "He's given us some good ideas and lyrics to work with."

"That's all shit we would have come up with anyway," I yelled as I raised my shot glass to my lips. "I mean Tanya's a master at vocal harmonies and melodies. That's what made Meridian so great."

"Why, thank you!" Tanya replied as she smiled with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Mike, you and I have _always_ played off of each other. We don't need this guy telling us where a dual solo needs to be."

"This is what Tony wants though," James quickly responded.

"Don't you get it, Scott? We've got no choice in this," Mike added.

"Maybe so," I replied. "But your playing didn't even sound like...like _you_ today, Mike!"

"All right Scott," James yelled as he walked over to me, "You've had a little too much to drink and need to calm down _now_!"

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" I yelled back. "What are you gonna do about it? No, never mind. You know what? Fuck Tony and his damn puppet master! Why are we just lying down and playing dead? We're fucking Dever, damnit!" I then downed another shot and banged the empty glass against the bar.

"Look, there's nothing we can do," Tanya yelled, trying to keep me calm. "We just have to make the best of it!"

"Make the best of it? Our songs don't even sound like us! 'Out of Time' sounds like fucking Shinedown! You know what? I'm outta here!"

My heart felt like it had been ripped out, and the only thing that could heal my wound, or at least make me forget about the fact that it was still beating outside of my lifeless body, was more alcohol. The first thing I did when I got home was look for the bottle of Jim Beam that Connor had given me, which I stashed away on the terrace. All I wanted to do was drink in peace outside, seeing as how it was a beautiful evening.

As I continued searching, the terrace door flew open behind me, and Amanda came outside. "I know what you're looking for," she nonchalantly said.

"Oh yeah? What am I looking for?" I replied.

"I threw away all of the bottles you had out here. I..."

"You bitch!" I yelled without thinking. "Why the hell would you throw them out?"

Sensing my blood was seething as it raced through my veins, Amanda quickly ran inside. I followed her, slamming the terrace door behind me and grabbed her arm. "Answer me! Where the hell are my bottles?"

"You're drunk, Scott," she cried as she backed away from me and nearly stumbled over garbage that was left on the floor. "Please Scott, don't...I'll get you more," she sobbed as she put her arms up to defend herself.

"Why did you fucking throw them out?" I screamed as I shoved her backward until she hit the wall behind her. "Damnit, what the hell is wrong with you, Amanda? God! All I ask is for one small drink, and you go and throw all of my shit out!"

"Please stop throwing things," she begged as picture frames and other flying objects missed her face by inches and shattered against the wall. But it was too late. The damage had already been done. She covered her forehead with both hands and ran out of the apartment screaming through her tears. Once I realized what had happened, she was already down the hall and was getting into the elevator.

I fell onto the couch and stared at the mess I created as my body went numb. Pictures of us on our first tour and of us in Portland with snow-capped Mount Hood behind us lay in shambles. Tears filled my eyes as I sat motionless and drained of all energy for what seemed like hours in total disbelief of my actions.

I woke up on the couch the next morning hoping this was all just a bad dream. But the bent picture of us in Portland lay on the table and stared a hole right through me, quickly bringing me back to reality. A reality I didn't quite know how to face. I only wanted to see Marco down at the liquor store but couldn't bring myself to leave the apartment. I settled for a cigarette instead as I tried to figure out what my next move was going to be.

My cell phone rang a few times, and I had hoped it would be Amanda. But it was the band, and I wasn't up to speaking with them. _"Should I try calling Amanda?"_ I repeatedly asked myself when the fog in my head started dissipating ever so slightly. _"Or should I pick up and speak with the band to see if they can actually help me?"_ Both options seemed unrealistic due to the bridges I was burning. _"What about Ryan? He's always been there for me. Then again, he'd ask why I haven't been to rehab. Plus, I'd have to listen to him complain about not being able to see his daughters."_ My mind raced in all directions and quickly reached brick walls with every twist and turn it took. _"What about Tony? Maybe, he could coax me into speaking with the band."_

Out of desperation, I headed down to Black Mark, though I had no idea what I was even going to say. I just knew I had to go. Of course, Tony was ecstatic to see me, greeting me with cold, phony smiles and handshakes. There was nothing he could do to bother me, though, compared to the hell I already found myself in.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do, Tony," I said as I looked down and shook my head. "I attacked Amanda last night. I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Well Scott," he said nonchalantly, "I'm sorry that you're having anger management problems, but I've got a record company to run."

"Listen, I need your help," I persisted. "I need to get clean."

"I don't run a support group here," he replied.

"I just need some time, Tony. That's all I'm asking."

"We've already been over this," he responded. "You've got a record to make, and I'm trying to help you guys. That's why I hired Greg.

"I'm grateful for that," I replied. "We all are. I just need some time though to get clean and sober."

"We can't afford to put the band on hold again," he asserted.

"Well, right now I don't know if I can even be around the band," I said. "I need to keep myself away from their drinking and drugs."

"Well, it's their thing if they want to drink after the sessions," he replied. "And I have no say in it. It's not my problem if you cannot deal with your own dilemmas. As much as you might not want to hear it, I've got other bands that need me just as much as Dever does, so you better get your act together."

I was left speechless and couldn't believe what I was hearing. After a long pause, I couldn't hold my anger in any longer. "That's exactly why I'm here, Tony. It's not going to be my problem if I decide to just leave the band now, is it? I'm not gonna be the one frantically looking for a new singer and guitarist if you don't do your part and keep this band together, now am I? _You're_ the one who wants the music out by the end of the summer, not me!"

He tried getting technical by going through some points in our contract, but his words went in one ear and immediately flew out the other. Maybe he was right in that it was my responsibility and I therefore needed to be accountable for my own actions. I just didn't know what else to do or where else to turn. After all, I was the one at fault for bringing the band to a screeching halt every time our momentum grew and were about to hit a new peak. Even though Tony said he would try to work something out, instinct told me otherwise and that nothing was going to change. He knew drugs were a big influence in the music we wrote and therefore didn't want to take one of the main ingredients away from Dever's formula. Being that he had already made up his mind and the band was set in their ways, I quickly realized what I had to do; it was something I'd been thinking about for a while, but never seriously.

My heart sank as I walked out of the Black Mark offices, and my entire body went numb. I knew I had to do this and there was no turning back. Though the air was warm, a cold wind chilled my body to the core as I looked up at the skyscrapers towering over Midtown while making my way down to New Horizons hoping the band would be somewhat understanding and wouldn't be too offended or infuriated. I felt truly alone for the first time in my life by what I was about to tell them, yet I felt my weary body being mysteriously guided down the congested, cavernous streets as if someone was trying to keep me from reconsidering.

When I walked into the studio, the band immediately looked up and acknowledged my presence. "You look like shit, bro," James said as he walked toward me. "Is everything all right?" The rest of the band seemed to echo him through the concerned expressions in their eyes. "We tried calling you, but you weren't picking up."

"I attacked Amanda last night," I solemnly replied

"Oh my God, is she all right?" Tanya inquired. "And are you okay?"

"I don't know," I said, looking down and repeatedly shaking my head left to right. "I haven't spoken to her since she ran out of the apartment covering her forehead."

"Do you know where she went?" Tanya asked.

"I don't know. Probably her brother's," I replied. "I just don't know anymore. I feel like I've gotta take responsibility for all of the shit I've done and for all I've put everyone through.

"Come on, bro. It's all good," Mike responded. "We're making great strides with the new music. You've gotta hear this new song we're working on, 'Grift.' We already laid our vocal tracks down; we're just waiting for you to add yours."

"I can't do it, Mike; I just can't," I replied.

"What? What the hell are you talking about? You sure you're okay, man? You're not tripping or anything, are you?" He responded.

"I don't know if I'll be all right," I replied. "I just need some time to get my life back in order."

"We'll help you," James immediately jumped in. "Just let us know what we can do."

"I just need time; time that Tony's not willing to give," I responded. "And no matter what I do, I feel like I'm constantly fucking things up for you guys and holding you back."

"Wait," Mike said. "What the hell are you trying to say, man?"

"I'm leaving, Mike. I'm leaving Dever. I just can't do it anymore."

"What? You can't do that!" James fired back.

"I already spoke to Tony, and I'm going to send him a statement tomorrow," I replied.

"I don't get it," Mike responded. "I just don't understand you, man. This is the disc that everyone's been waiting for! Don't you get it? This is not just a follow-up. This is a beginning! You can't walk out on us now!"

"Yeah, what do you think you're doing?" James yelled. "We're fucking family! You're gonna walk out on us just like that? You've gotta be fucking kidding me, bro! This is a joke, right?"

"Listen, James, and listen good. I don't want to do this..."

"Then don't!" He screamed. "Don't be an asshole and fuck things up for good!"

"I don't have to take this," I responded. "I'm outta here, and I'll be back later to pick my gear up."

With that, I walked out of the door in a huff as I heard him yell, "Yeah? Well, fuck you too!" What hurt the most was the fact that it had to end the way it did. Maybe I should have expected James to get as defensive as he did. Then again, maybe they all should have followed suit and jumped down my throat.

I felt so liberated by the fact that I had finally taken some kind of charge of my life, but at the same time, I felt so horrible. Was I really such a terrible person for walking out on the only family I've ever known? The clarity I experienced earlier in the day had suddenly left, making way for the fog to settle back in, and it only got thicker with every ring of my cell phone and text message I received saying, "Please reconsider," "Here's the number of someone you can talk to," or "Are you sure this is what you want?"

The fog lasted for days, and I wasn't sure of anything anymore. Though I was confident I had made the right choice, my body still viciously begged for speed, Vicodin, Xanax, and alcohol. I had no idea how bad the withdrawal would be, and the more I thought about how I had cast away an entire part of my life, the stronger the symptoms became. Being that Amanda had thrown all of my liquor away and the fact that I got all of my drugs through Mike or his friends, I locked myself in the apartment and stayed there. No matter how awful I felt, it was still better than going to rehab and being treated like a child by someone who knows nothing about addiction first-hand. The nightmares, which haunted me as a child, suddenly came back with a vengeance and challenged any remaining hope I had.

My heart floated as I wrapped my arms around Amanda as tight as I could, lost in her intoxicating scent of sweet jasmines. She lovingly rubbed my back and stared into my eyes, whispering, "I love you so much, Scott." We both closed our eyes, and our lips met in the gentle summer breeze. After weeks of spending as much time together as we possibly could, Amanda suddenly seemed distant and would reply, "Nothing's wrong," whenever I asked about it. Two days passed, and I felt things were back to normal. I put my arms around her, and my heart began to float once more.

"I can't do this anymore," she said with a sigh before slowly pulling away.

"Do what?" I replied.

"I don't want to hurt you any more than I have," she responded as I looked down at her left hand. "Yes, I'm married."

"What! To who?" I demanded to know.

A week passed, and I couldn't stop obsessing over the situation and desperately tried convincing Amanda to come back to me until she looked at me one day with fire in her eyes. "Go away, Scott! I want nothing to do with you. I'm married, and there's nothing you can do to change that. Don't you get it? Just go away and leave us alone."

Her husband walked toward her, wrapped his arms around her lower back, embracing her as tight as he could as she leaned forward and kissed his lips, as if to add insult to injury. I couldn't take it and fell to the ground as she and her husband appeared to walk out of sight. Before I knew it, a stream of warm liquid with a distinct odor hit my face before splattering into a small, yellow puddle around me. Though stunned at first, I quickly became irate and jumped to my feet to give chase.

Beads of sweat poured down my face as I woke up on the couch and looked at my watch, which read 2:30 A.M. My heart raced, and anger consumed my entire body as I reached for something to throw across the room. Once I realized I was in my own living room, I didn't know whether to be angry or thankful that it was all a dream. Other nightmares began to haunt me between cravings until I only wanted to curl up and die.

My only saving grace was the fact that I wanted to know how it felt to live a normal life. A life without drugs, without constantly touring, and without the fear of trying to be what everybody expected me to be. I needed to look deep inside myself and learn who I really was. I wanted no contact with the outside world and drew all of the shades in the apartment. Every so often, I'd write a few lyrics to keep my depression at bay. But when I started writing "Ripping at my Wounds", I just couldn't stop. My mind raced as my pen moved across a tattered envelope:

" _Broken wings and shattered dreams_

Live and learn from everything

I've lost my way, but I'll find my way soon

I'll find my way, my way back to you

Why are you ripping, ripping at my wounds

I'd never even think to hurt or harm you

But in every thought I think, I see only you

And you're just ripping away at my wounds

I'll be okay, and I know there's a better way

Than thinking about the past and staring at the walls all day

It hurts so much thinking about all that I've been through

The damage I've caused and the pain I've put you through

But somehow, I feel like everything's ripping at my wounds

Blister, burn, and peel, this pain it can't be real

But when I wake from my dreams, I see only you

And somehow, I feel like you're ripping, ripping at my wounds

I've severed all contact to give myself the time I need

And the only thing I get is depression from the grief

My soul's on fire, but my body's numb as ice

Live and learn, they say, and make the sacrifice

I gave you my hand, and you just ripped away my skin

And I still feel that I'm bleeding, the blood I feel your pain

But through it all, I can't walk away from yesterday

It's life as is, but I know I'll find my way

So for now I guess I have to let you rip at my wounds"

Looking at the lyrics, I wasn't sure what some of the lines even meant. I just knew I had to focus on where I wanted to go in life instead of where I'd been. If that meant never seeing or speaking to people I'd known, then I was ready to accept it, even if that included Amanda. I just wanted a fresh start, and after about a week and a half of living in recluse, the withdrawal and depression started to lift, and I felt like I could finally start moving on.

Then, as I sat on the couch and stared at the dark walls reflecting the little bit of sunlight peaking through the curtains, the sounds of footsteps and keys jiggling out in the hallway broke the silence. I thought nothing of it and continued staring at the walls and broken picture frames that still lay on the floor, figuring it was just one of my neighbors coming home. But it was followed by the sound of a key entering a keyhole and the loud click of a turning lock. I sat, frozen, as the doorknob slowly turned.

"Look at this place!" A voice called out, but I was only able to make out the silhouette of the person entering the apartment. "You're living like a fuckin' hermit, Scott!"

"Amanda?" I asked once I was able to make out the figure. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't mind me," she quickly replied. "I'm just getting a few things, and I'll be out of here before you know it. Then you can continue wallowing in your misery and live like the fucking recluse that you are. You know, I tried calling you and calling you, but you never picked up your damn phone. I'm just glad I didn't walk in here and find your dead body rotting on the floor."

"I quit the band, Amanda," I mumbled back.

"I don't ca...," she began as she walked toward the bedroom. When it hit her a few seconds later, she walked back into the living room. "You what?"

"I quit the band."

"What? Why?" She replied in shock. "You've got all the right people believing in you. Are you sure you're not coked up?"

"I haven't touched alcohol or used since you left," I responded. "I was out of line, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for what happened that night."

"Aw, come here," she said as she bent down and put her arms around me.

"I just," I mumbled, "I couldn't go on living the way I was. Not after what I did to you. I can't believe how fucked up I was to be able to treat you like that. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anything. Not after what I did to everyone in my life."

"You deserve more than you think," she replied. But what I want to know is how are you doing?"

"I've been better," I answered. "I'm just not sure I can face the world yet. And I'm sure the band's probably in every magazine making me out to be the bad guy and saying how I've killed their chances at ever putting out another CD."

"They're actually worried about you, Scott. Tanya called me to ask if I have spoken with you because you've never answered any of their phone calls. That's why I came here."

"What about James?" I asked.

"I don't know. They didn't say," she responded. "I had to come here to see if you were all right. I, too, got worried when you didn't answer your phone."

Chapter 19

Amanda wound up staying the night, and after I told her why I left the band, we somehow started talking about when we were younger and how the city was once a place we loved and were proud to call home. But once we began to see the world from a new perspective, we began to notice how it gradually evolved into the ugly beast it had become and that it was still crumbling beneath our very feet.

One couldn't step outside on a hot, humid summer's day without smelling the decomposing trash that lined the city's streets in front of crumbling, boarded up, graffiti-ridden tenements that even the homeless were afraid to use as shelter, and for good reason. The gangs of Graham Avenue, just three blocks away, were probably using them as hideouts. Amanda said that when she went to the Big R Grocery Store, a ten minute walk from my apartment, the other day, she saw a toilet between the store's parking lot and the street. And, from the horrid stench emanating from it, the toilet was probably still being used by some of the locals.

"I never remembered the city being like this when I was younger," I mentioned. "When did it all go to shit?"

"It had to have always been like this," she replied.

"You think?" I responded. "I remember my mother telling me stories of how there were always neighborhood block parties down on South 3rd Street. All I did when I was little was get ice cream from the truck as it passed by. When my mother was around, she'd give me money, and I'd eat it on the swings in the park. And when she wasn't, I found some money in her dresser."

Thoughts of my childhood raced through my head during the silence that followed while I stared at the tranquil amber glow from the lights outside reflecting on the wall.

"At least you remember your mother," she said, breaking the silence. "I never had the chance to meet my mother. She died while giving birth to me."

"Oh my God," I uttered back, searching for the right words to say.

"Sometimes I feel like if I was never born, she'd still be here," she continued.

"You can't go around blaming yourself," I replied as I turned and looked in her eyes to give her some kind of reassurance.

"You're right. But it's hard not to at times. My brother never got over the fact that when we growing up, we were passed around from foster family to foster family because our father left before I was even born. I always had contact with Chris, but I knew buried somewhere deep in his mind, he never got over the fact that I killed our mother. He started using to conceal his emotions, and I started using a few years later for the same reasons. Well, that and I couldn't talk to him for the longest time unless I was coked up for whatever reason."

"Why?" I asked. "He's your own brother."

"I don't know," she replied. "I guess I just never got over feeling guilty and was afraid that he'd bring up our mother if we ever got into a disagreement."

"But if Chris was older, shouldn't he be looking out for you?" I responded.

"And he did," she replied. "Numerous times. He helped me get away from abusive foster parents and was always there when I needed him."

"So you've got nothing to feel guilty about," I responded. "Sounds like you both did the best you could growing up."

"I guess so," she replied.

"You know, if anything, I'm the one who should be full of guilt."

What do you mean?" She asked. "I mean you've got all these happy memories of your childhood and all."

I looked deep into my soul, trying to find the words to tell her. But, nothing came out, and after a long pause, I said, "This is something I've never told anyone before, and I never realized what I did wrong until I met you." I looked in her eyes once again as I reached over and ran my fingers through her long, fine hair. She looked back at me as if to wonder exactly what I was talking about.

"To everyone on the outside, we seemed like a normal family. My parents would sit on the park benches and watch me climb all over the jungle gym as if I owned it or swing as high as I could. But one of my first memories of my parents was watching helplessly as my father shoved my mother into a wall and slapped her around like she was a piece of meat. I couldn't even tell you how many times I ran for my life. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, let alone a little four year-old."

"Oh my God," she replied. "So what happened?"

"Well, this happened several times, and I remember running out of the house to escape being a punching bag for my father. He had a terrible temper when he was sober, and it was even worse when he was drunk. Then one day, my mother grabbed me and literally ran out of the house with a suitcase in one hand and me in the other."

"Where did you go?" She asked.

"We ended up going to my grandparents' place on South 3rd. My mother got a job working at some restaurant, and who knows where she spent the rest of her time. I remember lying awake at night waiting for her to come home because I just couldn't sleep. She wasn't home that often, but the few times she was, she'd take me to the park to help me forget about the nightmares I'd had."

"It sounds like she really cared about you," she responded.

"Not really," I replied. "As I grew up, she was away more and more, and I was left to fend for myself. And my grandparents, seeing that I was starting to talk back, tried getting me into religion to get me through the tough times. But a belief in anything, especially religion, didn't do anything for me. It scared me, and I felt it just preached of hate, teaching people to detest those of other creeds. I jut wanted a place to be at peace, so I guess I became more spiritual than anything else. I knew there had to be many like me who just couldn't take it anymore. For a while, those were my friends, the spirits of those who committed suicide. They were always there to help me get through the tough times. And I guess that's what drew me to metal."

"Are you serious?" Amanda asked through her laughter.

"See? I knew you'd laugh," I replied.

"No, I'm sorry, Scott," she responded. "It just sounds like you went through a tough time when you were little."

"My grandparents thought I was so fucked up, you know, psychologically, and that pissed me off even more. They didn't even think to sit down and talk to me about it. But then I found music, and the only place I was able to find solace was in the dark sound and lyrics of the metal bands on the radio. Sometimes, I'd steal records and tapes just so I could listen to them when I needed the comfort. Power ballads about death and suicide kept me company when I would walk the streets at night looking for answers. They were the only lullabies I heard when I went to sleep at night. Once I found music, I didn't want anything to do with my mother or grandparents, as they only made things worse by trying to make them better. I wasn't looking for help or sympathy, and that's all they were able to offer me. Besides, they were pushing me in all directions, and I knew I had to distance myself from them."

"In what ways?" She asked.

"Well for one thing, some bands I listened to totally changed my life and made me want to do something and encouraged me to get involved in music in some way. I stole my first guitar and hooked up with James, Joe, and Mike in high school and formed the band. My mother and grandparents wanted me to do something with my life other than play music, and we got into the biggest argument we've ever been in."

"Oh, so you've been in many with them?"

"Tons!" I replied. "I've said things to them that no kid should ever say to their family, and it just got worse after the band formed. It was the drugs, parties, and booze that kept us all going, and I told my mother and grandparents to fuck off before moving in with the band. I haven't spoken to them since."

"Are you serious?" She responded. I then nodded my head. "Oh Scott," she continued, "How could you do that?"

"I was just extremely ignorant at the time," I replied. "I just wish there was some way I could go back and apologize to my mother for everything I've done to her. I mean, I know she was just trying to support me the best she could. I still feel guilty for letting things happen the way they did. I wish there was something I could have done to stop my father from his rampages and hurting my mother. I feel so bad that I put my family through hell, and the last thing they heard me tell them was, 'fuck off.' That's not the way things should ever be.

"Well you know, it's not too late to try to find your mother and apologize," she replied.

"Yeah, I know," I responded. "I mean, who even knows if she's still alive or where she's living."

"Just know that wherever she is, I'm sure she's living with twice the heartache you are," she replied.

"I just feel like I'm doing the same thing with the band right now," I responded. "And sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

"Sometimes that's what we need to do to get back on the path we're supposed to be on," she replied.

As hard as it was to believe, I knew she was right.

Chapter 20

Over the next couple of days, we contemplated exactly what we were going to do next. Thoughts of starting a new band crossed our minds but were immediately put to rest, as my intention was never to leave Dever to form another group. I also considered going back to Sound Design and working with Zack. But the more I thought about it, I just wanted to leave the Brooklyn music scene altogether.

"What about just moving somewhere else?" Amanda suggested one evening as we sat on the terrace and watched the sun set behind the Midtown skyline.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"No, I'm serious," she persisted. "Why don't we just make a fresh start for ourselves outside of the city?

"I can't just up and leave like that," I replied. "This city is as much a part of me as you are."

"Yeah, but tell me, what do you have here? Amanda asked. "Tony dicked you around and would probably see to it that no label here would pick you up or that no studio would hire you. And even if you did reconsider things with the band, James doesn't even want to know you."

"He's just hurt," I replied. "And who the hell can blame him? We've been like brothers for so long and built this band out of nothing. Look where it got us!"

"Is any of it really worth it? I mean look where it got _you_ , Scott. James can think what he wants, but in the end, it's his own problem. Not yours. There's nothing to feel guilty about. You were able to see and experience more things in this past year than most people do in their entire lives. But at what cost? So you can end up like John Bonham or Layne Staley? There's a whole world of opportunities out there for you. For us," Amanda replied as her ocean blue puppy dog eyes grew wider.

It took a few days for her comments to sink in and for me to come to the realization that I needed to get away from everything, even if that meant leaving one of the few constants in my life behind, the only place that I've ever called home. We began thinking about places like Rockland County, northern Westchester County, or even Putnam County, as we had passed through them while on tour and when playing the clubs in Albany. Amanda and I found the mountains rising majestically from the Hudson River to be a big part of the solace we were looking for.

We began packing up the apartment later that week, filling countless boxes with items I had accumulated over the years. A few days later, we went to Amanda's apartment, and I helped her pack. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd say to Chris when he came home from partying at the dance clubs early in the morning or how he'd react when he saw me packing Amanda's things with her. I only wanted to put the animosity between us to rest so we could all move on with our lives.

"Just don't worry about a thing," she reiterated. "I told him a few days ago that we are moving."

"And, what did he say?" I asked.

"Nothing. I mean, he wished us all the best," she replied.

"You know he never liked me, and I'm sure he said some other things."

"He's always looked out for me and my best interests," she responded.

"That's no reason for him to stare a hole right through me every time he sees me," I replied.

"Like I said, all we had was each other growing up. He doesn't mean anything, really. That's just how he is," she responded. "But if you really want to know, Chris asked if this is what I really wanted to do."

For some reason, I still felt uneasy, and despite the fact I hadn't touched drugs or alcohol in well over a month, I had it in my mind that Amanda had too good a head on her shoulders to be with someone like me. I couldn't help but ask, "So what did you say?"

"I told him that if I was going to leave the city, that I'd want to do it with you."

After a full day of packing, we spent the night at her apartment and were planning on finishing up the next day. I awoke in the morning to find Chris sitting on his favorite reclining chair in the living room, giving me the evil eye. I sat on the couch across from him and said, "Good morning." His facial expression did not change, and he never acknowledged my attempt to talk to him. "Look," I said, "I know we've never seen eye to eye on things. I just want you to know that I respect everything you've ever done for your sister. But, please don't get between me and Amanda. I love her more than anything. I'd never think of hurting her."

"Then why did she come here in tears a few weeks ago, Scott? I mean, come on! Listen to yourself! Is there any reason why I shouldn't view you the way I do? You're hooked on everything under the sun for God's sake!

"I'm not gonna deny the fact that I was on drugs," I replied. "The truth speaks for itself. My past is not something I pride myself on. It's something I'm trying to get away from, which is why we want to just start over."

"If you really cared about Amanda, you wouldn't even hurt her once. Almost a year ago, she came home in tears and became so depressed that she didn't know if she could ever trust anyone again, not even me! Every time I tried consoling her, she would get violent! And it seems like she's been coming home in tears like that ever since. And for what? Is there any reason why she comes home like that if you love her as much as you say?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I just let things get so out of hand that I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what to think when Amanda and I first met. I was going through a tough time and I just totally lost myself. I let everything get the best of me and want to leave all of that in the past."

"Why should I believe you, after everything you've done?"

"Amanda and I vowed we would help each other stay clean. And even though she's been clean for a few months now, I don't ever want to see her end up the way I was. I'd do anything to keep that from happening. I've got more feelings for her than I do for myself, and I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to her."

"Oh come on! You seriously think it's gonna be that easy to keep both yourself and Amanda clean with the crew you hang with?"

"She's the reason I quit and has been the reason I haven't touched the stuff, and I can never thank her enough or repay her for that. I also want you to know that without her, I never would have been able to leave the band."

"You really left the band?" He replied.

"I'm not proud of anything I did to those closest to me, and I'm sorry for anything I may have done to hurt you and Amanda. I know you're just trying to look out for your sister, and I respect that. I really do. I just hope you can believe me when I tell you we want to start over on the right foot."

"All right Scott, if you really do mean what you're saying," he replied, "I wish the both of you all the best."

I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing and almost wanted to ask him to repeat it to make sure I wasn't hearing things. "But," he continued, "if I hear of anything contrary, I will drive up to wherever you are and will beat the living shit out of you myself. Am I making myself clear?"

"Listen Chris, I just want to put any animosity that's between us to rest right here and right now. Can't we just let the past stay in the past and move on?"

"I've been trying," he replied. "But you're right, I want to believe you." With that, we both got up, and he shook my hand and put his left arm around me. "I know you'll take good care of my sister."

"You're welcome to come with us," I responded.

"I appreciate it, Scott," he replied. "But my life is here in the city."

"The offer stands," I responded. "And, once we find a place, you've got a standing invite."

When Amanda came out of the shower, her first response to Chris's offer to pack was, "I'm so glad that you two aren't at each others' throats."

"Why would we be at each others' throats?" Chris asked as if his guilty conscience got the best of him.

Amanda remained silent as she poured coffee into some mugs in the kitchen.

"We were able to talk things through," he continued. "And I want you to know that I wish you both the best."

"I'm so proud of you both," she replied as she brought the coffee to us in the living room.

Amanda's Cavalier that she had rarely used in the city was finally going to get some use out of it after all, as we started filling it with boxes a few days later with the intention of coming back a few more times once we found a place to pick up any remaining items. When we were ready to leave, Chris was very appreciative as he patted me on the back, hugged his sister, and wished us the best of luck. "We'll call you to let you know where we are and what's going on," I said as we got in the car.

We left her place around two in the afternoon, so we wouldn't hit the rush hour traffic on any of the expressways, and stopped off at my apartment to grab some guitars and what little belongings I wanted to bring. It really hit us hard that we were driving down Broadway, under the elevated tracks, for what seemed like the last time. Through all of the negativity that filled the streets, we were saddened to leave the only place we ever called home. We both looked toward the Manhattan skyline as we drove over the Kosciuszko Bridge on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Memories began filling our heads as we drove along the Long Island Expressway through Elmhurst and Lefrak City. We passed Citi Field, where the Mets were wrapping up a game in the early evening, and looked back in the direction of Brooklyn, saying our last good-byes as we drove over the Whitestone Bridge into the Bronx.

We only looked at what the future would bring as we drove along the Hutchinson River Parkway and I-287 toward Tarrytown before finding a place to spend the night. Our hotel room overlooked the mighty Hudson and the illuminated Tappan-Zee Bridge, and its serenity seemed to put us at ease every time we looked out. Past the bridge, we could make out the silhouetted Palisades of New Jersey against the dark amber sky reflecting the lights of Greater New York. To the left of the cliffs across the river, we were barely able to make out the Empire State Building's white lights rising from the horizon behind the George Washington Bridge. When we opened the window to let some fresh air in, there wasn't a sound to be heard other than the late spring breeze blowing through the leaves.

About a week and a half had passed when we purchased a modest-sized house in Mount Pleasant, overlooking the river. The view from the back yard of the Palisades and foothills of the Shawangunk Mountains rising majestically from the river was breathtaking and reminded us of something one would see in Europe. I never expected New York to be this picturesque, and the look on Amanda's face every time we gazed at the view only reflected the stunning landscape and inspiring beauty.

There were days where I'd sit on the deck with Amanda and start playing a bit of Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" while gazing at her and the mountains on the other side of the river. The ambiance was moving, and since I had broken a lot of the habits I developed over the years due to my new surroundings, I began to notice that my withdrawal symptoms were gradually starting to subside. My hands had completely stopped trembling, and my nerves began to ease. My nightmares subsided as well, and I awoke each morning with a clear and positive mind for the first time in years.

I was too busy to notice if there was any ounce of depression left in me, as I started focusing on the endless possibilities the future could bring. One month without alcohol turned into two, and two to four, during which I began to dabble in the arts. Landscape photography became a new passion of mine, and since the peace and tranquility of our back yard was just so moving, I felt compelled to draw and paint.

While working on some pieces, I began to think about some of our gigs in Manhattan when we were first starting out as a band and the fact that we played down the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. James and I were notorious for laughing at the people entering building, hoping to learn about Van Gogh and Michelangelo. We never understood how someone can paint swirls on a piece of canvas and call them stars. To us, it was like calling the worst alternative bands rock gods, when they have no talent at what they do. But unlike those musicians, I began to appreciate how artists such as Da Vinci and Picasso, and even Kandinsky impacted the world of art. Amanda, on the other hand, began taking classes at Pace University in nearby Pleasantville and wanted to get her MBA degree.

Over the course of the year I had been away from the public eye, I become good friends with a woman by the name of Linda Schaffer, who owned the Van Buren Art Gallery in Tarrytown. She took a liking to a number of my pieces and asked countless times if I wanted to show them at art shows she hosted, most of which I declined. Persistent in her ways, she asked me again just before Memorial Day, and I finally caved. We decided to show "Reflections," an abstract which consisted of various shades of blue and green with a few orange lines.

Little did I know, Linda's husband, Gary, knew Matt Saunders, an avid music enthusiast who got his feet wet in the industry by writing for a few music publications in Manhattan. He was now running 3-Thirteen Records, a small start-up label in White Plains, and I first met him at the art show during the Memorial Day weekend.

"You're not Scott Ferrara from Dever, are you?" He asked as he studied my face and compared it to photos he'd seen in magazines.

"Yeah, I was in Dever," I replied.

"Oh my God! I can't believe it's actually you!" He replied in excitement. "What brings you up here?"

"I moved up here with Amanda to get away from everything," I responded.

"You two are a..." He began to ask.

"Yeah," I replied. "We've always been."

"What about the band?" Matt inquired. "I mean there were so many stories circulating as to what happened."

"Let's just say the label and I didn't see eye to eye on some key issues surrounding the new music we were working on," I responded. "I was almost left with no choice but to walk away."

"That's too bad, and it's a shame," he replied as he shook his head. "Tommy Sinclair's voice could never compare to yours. In fact, the only reason why their new disc is selling well was because of Tanya, and Black Mark knows that."

"What, what did you say?" I replied. "They actually finished the disc and released it with Tommy Sinclair on vocals? Turbo Tommy?"

"They finally released it three months ago and found a new guitarist as well. Why do you call him that?" He asked.

"He used to take pictures of us during every gig back when we were still clubbing," I replied. "Mike and I used to make fun of him and ask if his camera was turbo-charged because it had all these crazy features. And, we used to joke around and say that he's got the fastest shutter in New York because he took some great action shots. Holy shit, I can't believe he's singing with them now!"

Oh yeah!" He responded. "They've been on tour for a few months now."

"Man, I haven't spoken to those guys since I moved up here. Come to think of it, I've been out of the music scene for the past year."

"Sounds like it, Scott!" He laughed as he looked at my painting. "Say, how would you like to get back into it?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We'd love to have you in our art department to design some covers. What about it, Scott? You've definitely got the eye for it! Do you know Photoshop?"

"I can learn it," I replied, trying to keep my excitement at bay.

He also asked what Amanda was up to, and I told him she's taking some classes in business management and accounting.

"Oh really?" He responded equally as excited. "3-Thirteen is at the point where we need to create a band finance department. Do you think she'd be interested?"

I couldn't have been more electrified, but by the time Amanda met me at the gallery, Matt had already left for a meeting. I told her what we spoke about, and she couldn't believe it either. "You have got to be kidding," she exclaimed, practically scaring everybody as her voice filled the gallery. "I can't tell you how excited I am for us!"

We headed down to Matt's office the day after Memorial Day. 3-Thirteen was located in a small office park, and compared to Black Mark, it seemed dark and dismal. There were no leather couches or granite tables, and certainly no hot, red-headed receptionist. But the excitement and electricity, which filled the office, more than made up for its bleak atmosphere, and it was easy to sense the label's limitless potential. We signed on that very day with the agreement that Amanda would still be able to finish school. After the meeting, we met Derek and Ray, who in their late 30's or early 40's and were also working with Matt to help the label grow. Like Matt, they too worked their way up the corporate ladder of the music industry only to find themselves out of a job due to cutbacks at their former labels.

"You guys should come with us to the café down the street and grab some lunch," Derek insisted as we shook hands and were about to part ways.

"And if you hang around, you can watch us perform," Ray added.

"What do you guys play?" I asked.

"I play drums," Derek replied, "and Ray here plays bass. We perform for the lunchtime crowd once or twice a week with a few other guys. Whattaya say?"

Who were we to say no? We jumped at the opportunity to get to know Derek and Ray and to find out more information about 3-Thirteen. We were also interested in what kind of band they played in.

When we got to the café, we got situated on the outside patio, which had ample room for musicians to play and entertain the crowd, and ordered up some food. While we waited, we helped the band set up their gear. I almost forgot what it was like to play small venues and actually enjoyed setting up the drums and small amplifiers. "Man, I miss this," I said to Ray as I picked up a Les Paul and started playing it to get the sound levels right.

"Why don't you play with us?" He quickly replied.

"Nah, I can't, man." I responded.

"Why? Derek asked as he shook his head. "Don't tell me you don't know any classic rock!"

"I haven't played in front of people in over a year," I replied.

"Oh come on!" He said as Matt looked on in total disbelief that _I_ was questioning Derek. "Listen to yourself play! You've still got what it takes!"

"You really think so?" I replied, but nobody answered. Ray just strapped his guitar on and started playing a bass line. Derek quickly joined in with a beat, and a few seconds later, their guitarist, Carl, started playing one of the most infamous riffs in rock history, "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple. Since I still had the Les Paul strapped on and the riff was so inviting, my fingers instantly played along. Upon seeing this, Ray signaled to me numerous times to join them. I quickly looked at Amanda, who was yelling, "Go already," and plugged the guitar in. Without thinking, I walked up to the microphone like I owned the place and started singing. "Now that's the Scott I know," Derek whispered as I sang. I had to let Ray handle the vocals on some of the newer songs, since I had no idea how to play Nickelback, let alone the lyrics to "How You Remind Me". So I just followed Carl's lead.

Even though the music wasn't loud or in-your-face, it was still an exhilarating rush, and after playing our eight song set, which included Skynyrd, 3 Doors Down, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, and The Doors among others, I only wanted to continue. "Man, I have never had so much fun playing a gig!" I said to Ray as I lifted the guitar strap over my head and gently placed the Les Paul in its case on the floor. My blood was racing just as it did when I was on speed, and I couldn't wait to pick my guitar up when we got home and start jamming.

"You can't be serious," he scoffed. "I mean with all of the shows you've got under your belt and all."

"There were times where it got pretty hellacious and I just didn't want to be on stage," I replied. "My guitar tech sometimes had to coax me on stage with speed or Grey Goose. So I went on just to get my vodka."

"That's fucked up, man," Derek laughed.

"Well, you're more than welcome to join us anytime you want," Carl said as he patted me on the back.

"That would be great," I replied, trying to hold my composure. "In fact, we've got some extra space at our house that we're thinking of turning into a studio if you need a place to practice or if you just want to jam."

"We may just take you up on that!" Derek responded.

"I'm just surprised you haven't turned it into a studio already," Matt said. "I know you produced _Mind over Madness_ , and I'm sure you wanted to at least have some say with the follow-up as well."

"Yeah, well...," I replied.

"Have you ever given any consideration to producing other bands?" Matt continued.

"It's something that's crossed my mind a couple of times," I replied.

"I'm sorry I didn't mention it this morning," he responded, "but I wasn't sure if you'd still be interested in sound production. I've got a couple of bands currently in the studio, and it would be great if you can work with them. If you're interested, maybe you can stop by the office in the morning. Whattaya say?"

Of course, I jumped at the opportunity, and we ironed out the details of which bands I would be working with and at what studio. During the next couple of months, I worked with bands that played music from all ends of the rock spectrum, producing their music, designing their CD booklets, and in some cases, both.

One of the most interesting bands I had the opportunity to with was X3, a trio of women from north Jersey, Xoe, Xandra, and Xena, who were exotic dancers turned rockers. Their stage show was always full of excitement, following in Alice Cooper's footsteps but adding whips and chains to their horror performance. And, once 3-Thirteen signed a major distribution deal with SRM Music, their CD was one of the first to be released worldwide on the label.

With Zack's help, Amanda and I also started building a studio in the spare room over our garage, which not only had excellent acoustics, it also had a spectacular view of the river. Derek suggested I call it Soundscape Studios, since it ideally combined a panoramic view of the serene landscape with the music that was going to be recorded there.

Once the studio was completed, it was where I did most of the recording and mixing for the bands on 3-Thirteen. Derek, Ray, Carl, and I also laid some tracks down just for fun and even pulled Amanda in on some.

"This was the way it was meant to be," I remember telling Amanda one day after a jam session with the guys as we sat on our deck and watched the sun set behind the mountains across the river. "We gig around because we want to, not because we have to. There's no label telling us to spit music out, and nobody's telling us what to play or how to play it."

Chapter 21

"Oh my God!" Amanda excitedly proclaimed one Saturday morning in late September, startling me out of a deep, sound sleep. "I'm pregnant!"

"What? What's going on?" I replied, still out of it.

"I'm pregnant, Scott!" She echoed as she crawled back into bed and kissed me.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm positive," she replied as a smile lit her face.

As much as I didn't want to show it, I couldn't have been any more scared. I had absolutely no idea how to be a parent, let alone a father. In fact, I wasn't even sure if Amanda knew what it meant to be a mother. Then even more panic set in. _"We're not even engaged,"_ I thought as I lay in bed, staring at the trees through the window across the room. _"Our lives from this moment are going to be totally different,"_ I continued. Not that it's a bad thing; I just wasn't ready to settle down and raise a family.

Though there was no doubt Amanda was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the fact that this came on so suddenly caught me off guard. "What's wrong?" Carl asked as we jammed the following day.

"Yeah, you're too quiet," Derek echoed from behind the drums. "You're not your usual self."

I wasn't sure how to break the news. After a long pause, I replied, "Amanda's pregnant."

"Congratulations, Scott!" Derek, Ray, and Carl responded in unison.

"So what's wrong, man?" Derek inquired.

"I'm just scared shitless," I replied. "I mean, this all came flying out of left field yesterday."

"It's perfectly normal to feel that way," Ray responded. "When my wife told me she was pregnant, I didn't know what to do. I mean, we both wanted to have a kid so bad, and when it happened, it was like, 'wow!'"

"We're not even engaged," I replied.

"We'll help you with that," Ray responded. "For now, just think of things Amanda either likes to do or has always wanted to do, and then take it from there."

As I tried to think about how I could propose, I went to the Westchester Mall and a few other jewelers in White Plains to find the perfect diamond, but I ultimately found it a few weeks later at a jeweler in West Nyack. It was a white gold ring with three diamonds of equal size, representing the past, present, and future. When I got home, I hid it in one of the drawers in my night table where I kept old issues of _Hit Parader_ and _Kerrang!_. I have no idea why I kept those magazines, but they acted as the perfect shield for the ring and its small, black velvet case.

I always knew after watching all of the boats travel up and down the Hudson River during the summer months that Amanda wondered what it was like to be on one of them. I also knew autumn was her favorite season and that she wanted to do something special to see the foliage.

"Why don't you take her on the Hudson Spirit?" Carl asked as we went to lunch on a Thursday afternoon.

"What is that?" I inquired.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of it!" He laughed. After gaining his composure, he continued, "It's a river cruise that departs from Nyack and goes up to Croton Point Park and back. They do both sight seeing tours and dinner cruises. A couple of my friends went on it over the summer and said it was great! But you've got to hurry because I think they stop operating for the season at the end of October."

That sounded like the perfect thing to do at the ideal time of year. "Do you think it would be better to take the dinner cruise or go during the day and have a romantic dinner afterward?

"What difference does it make? Just go with your gut, man!" He responded.

"I'm just nervous," I replied.

"About what?" He laughed. "You already know she's gonna say yes!"

He was absolutely right; there was nothing to worry about. And so I continued making the plans aboard the Hudson Spirit for October 28th, the final weekend of its season.

As the day drew closer, the leaves on the trees began to get more radiant as they rustled in the gentle breeze that was gradually becoming more brisk. Amanda enjoyed walking down trails in the woods to watch the foliage and the squirrels ruffling through fallen leaves, trying to gather nuts and berries for the winter ahead.

The day finally arrived, and the weather was absolutely perfect for a cruise up the river. I was glad I opted for the afternoon sail over the evening dinner cruise, as the air was cool, and the sky was mostly cloudy. When the sun did peak through, the leaves on the trees lining the shore and on the hills rising out of the river illuminated like orange and red fireballs against the gray sky and blue water.

Even though Amanda's long, fine, dark blonde hair seemed to blow in harmony with the breeze, and her luminous smile reflected the beauty around us, I was still nervous. Her ocean blue eyes radiated like sapphires basking in the sun, and I was worried I'd become tongue-tied, stutter my words, or wait too long for the 'perfect moment' to arrive. Quickly realizing there was no such thing as the 'perfect moment', I waited until Amanda's attention was turned toward the shore and kept Carl's words in mind, "There is nothing to be worried about," as I carefully slipped the black velvet box out of my pocket.

As she turned around to show me something, I got down on one knee and quickly opened the box to reveal its contents. "Amanda Campbell," I uttered as the entire boat looked on with baited breath, "will you marry me?"

"Oh my God!" She yelled in shock as tears filled her eyes. "Yes, Scott!" She added as I gently placed the ring on her finger. Her arms then suddenly flew around me, holding me tighter than I had ever been embraced, and cried uncontrollably, her cheeks drenched in tears. Everyone on the boat continued to look on as her lips met mine and we embraced each other.

"Do I hear wedding bells in someone's future?" The captain teased over the P.A. Amanda attempted to laugh and then uttered, "It's absolutely beautiful," through her tears as she looked at the ring.

The months began to fly by as we busied ourselves with getting ready for the baby and planning the wedding, in addition to our everyday work. Amanda wanted to wait a few months after having the baby to get married and figured that September would be ideal for an outdoor wedding. The only question was where we were going to have it. We thought about having it in our back yard but decided against it as the list of people we wanted to invite increased. A few friends suggested a number of places, all of which were beautiful in their own right, but finally decided to have it in one of the gardens at the Riverview, an old stone mansion overlooking the Hudson. Linda Schaffer, her husband Gary, Matt Saunders and his wife Alicia, Ray, Carl, and Derek topped the list of those we wanted to invite. While I was at it, I also sent a save the date card to Ryan Hase.

No sooner did I blink an eye and my cell phone rang. "Scott!" The voice on the other end ecstatically yelled into the receiver. "Congratulations, man! I got your save the date this afternoon. So, September 15th, huh?"

"Ryan!" I yelled back in shock. "Man, it's been a while! I didn't think you'd get it. Last I heard, you were..."

"Yeah, well I moved again," he replied. "Life is so shitty here."

"Come on, Ryan. It can't be _that_ bad."

"I couldn't even tell you when the last time I saw my daughters was. And Jackie took all the money I had down to the last penny. I had to resort to getting an apartment in West Garfield Park, which is ghetto central here in Chicago."

"Have you at least started seeing anyone?" I asked.

"Yeah right," he scoffed. "No woman worth going out with would date a guy from West Garfield Park. I offered to make dinner for this one girl at my place, and she said, 'Are you nuts? No offense, but I don't want to get shot while walking to my car.' I haven't been on a decent date in months."

"Tell ya what, Ryan. Why don't you spend some time here?" I asked. "Amanda and I have moved out of the city and have plenty of room. We've got a recording studio, and we started up a jam band with a few guys from work."

After a bit of persuasion, Ryan finally agreed to visit for a few weeks. When he arrived, we immediately introduced him to the members of the band during a jam session in our studio.

"Hey, is it true that you had to coax Scott to go on stage?" Ray asked.

"I don't know what Scott told you," he replied, "but I couldn't tell you how many times I had to coax this bastard to go on."

"Always with the sarcasm," I replied as I lit a cigarette. "It wasn't _that_ many."

"Still smoking I see?" Ryan commented.

"Some things never change, man," I responded.

"I don't know about that," Derek interjected. "Sometimes we've gotta pull this guy _off_ of the stage."

"So anyway, Scott says you're a killer player," Carl inquired. "What do you like playing?"

"Well," Ryan answered, "Aside from knowing every Dever, Catch 22, and DoubleShot song, I play a lot of blues and classic rock – AC/DC, Zeppelin, that kind of stuff."

"Let's hear you play," Carl replied as he handed Ryan his black and white Fender Stratocaster.

Ryan took it and placed the strap around his neck before playing the opening riff of "Voodoo Child". Derek immediately stepped on his bass drum pedal to the beat of the riff, and we all followed suit, playing our parts as the song picked up.

Since I never had the opportunity to jam with Ryan on tour, I was impressed by his abilities and surprised at how well we all sounded together. Additionally, the wall of sound that came from three guitars was just incredible.

"That was fucking amazing!" Carl said, trying to catch is breath as we finished the song. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"My first guitar teacher was in a jazz band," he replied as Ray, Derek, Carl, and I looked at each other, "so he focused on blues rock a lot, and it just kinda stuck with me."

"Well you're a natural, and anytime you want to jam with us, just let us know, man!" Derek said.

A couple of days later, Ryan and I were talking about some of the wedding plans and the fact that it was going to be fairly small. "Hey, if you're looking for people to invite, why not invite Dever?" He facetiously suggested.

"Are you crazy man?" I replied. "I can't invite them."

"Relax, Scott. I was just joking," he responded. "But seriously, when was the last time you spoke with any one of them?"

"I haven't spoken to them in well over a year and a half," I replied.

"Why not just throw an invite out there and see what happens? Ryan asked. "You know, just for shits and giggles!"

" _What did I have to lose if I actually followed through with his idea?"_ I thought. Tony had them working like dogs out on the road supporting their disc, and I figured they couldn't care less if they ever spoke to me or Amanda again and would throw the invitation out upon seeing it. Still, I followed Ryan's suggestion and sent a save the date card, regardless of whether he was joking or not.

The weeks seemed to fly by, and before we knew it, Ryan was supposed to go back to Chicago. "I can't go back," he said. "Not after jamming with the band and meeting all of your friends and co-workers. Everybody's been so nice to me, and I feel like I'm starting to have a life here. I've got nothing waiting for me back home beside my daughters. Hell, I don't even know if they're still in Illinois."

After Ryan said that he wanted to get his own place in nearby Sleepy Hollow and was looking for a job, I suggested that he speak to the manager at the local Sam Ash in White Plains, who I knew quite well since I frequented the store regularly and made some big purchases there.

On June 18th, a few days after Ryan started working, I rushed Amanda to Phelps Memorial Hospital just as we had practiced in preparation for the big day. I never imagined just how nervous I would be, but I tried to remain calm and let my excitement show for Amanda's sake. Upon our arrival, we were immediately taken to the maternity ward, as her contractions were every two to three minutes apart. We were finally given our own private delivery room after a few minutes, though it hardly felt like we had our own personal space due to the doctors and nurses rushing in and out. Then, after five and a half long and grueling hours of helping Amanda with her Lamaze breathing and listening to her scream in pain, despite being put on Demerol, the doctor proudly exclaimed, "It's a girl!" as he guided our baby into her new world. "You've got a beautiful, healthy baby girl," he repeated as he handed me scissors to cut the umbilical chord.

"It's a girl," Amanda echoed as she broke down in tears, gazing at our daughter as she took her first little breaths between cries.

"What are you going to name her?" The doctor asked as he gently wrapped our daughter in a blanket and placed her in Amanda's arms.

"Shauna Lynn" Amanda replied, trying to fight back her tears of joy.

"What a beautiful name," he responded.

"She's got your lungs, Scott," Amanda softly teased after holding Shauna for a few minutes, listening to her hearty cries.

"And she's got your eyes," I replied as Shauna slowly opened them. She also had Amanda's button nose and narrow chin as well as my dark brown hair. Although I had nine months to prepare, it still took a while to sink in that Amanda and I could bring something so beautiful and magical into this world. At only seven pounds and ten ounces, she had the ability to motivate me like none other. When the stress of planning the wedding seemed too much, she made me want to press on. When a band was hard to work with in the studio, the very thought of her enabled me come up with new ideas and techniques I never would have on my own. And, if there ever was a reason to stay away from drugs and alcohol, she was it. My life had a sense of purpose now more than ever with Amanda and Shauna in it.

Since I took full advantage of every moment that passed, busying myself with music and work and spending as much time with Amanda and Shauna as I could, the months seemed to fly by. The humidity of the summer slowly began to subside, and the evenings started getting cooler. The leaves even began losing their green color, in place of what would become vibrant red, gold, and orange, in the months to come.

Shauna was just shy of turning three months old, and our wedding day, September 15th, had finally arrived. The morning was cool, but it quickly warmed up to the lower 70's. The sky was a deep blue color, and there wasn't a cloud in sight.

As the one o'clock ceremony crept closer, I became increasingly nervous, though I wasn't sure quite why.

"Just calm down already," Ryan said as I paced from one end of the room to the other. "You're starting to make _me_ nervous."

"No, no, it's not that..." I replied.

"All you need to do," Ray interrupted, "is two things. The first is to remember to be there, which you don't have to worry about. The second is to just say, 'I do,' when the priest prompts you."

We all cracked up, and then I responded, "I just want this to be over."

"No worries man," Derek said. "It will be shortly."

Although I didn't want to admit it, I had no idea how to even put a tuxedo on, let alone a suit, both of which I'd never owned or had to wear. The guys laughed as I struggled to put it on, and I finally gave up when I had to figure out what to do with the tie.

"Here, just let me do it," Ryan said as he took it out of my hand and wrapped it around his neck. "It's as easy as 1-2-3," he continued, looping one side over the other and then wrapping the other end through the loop. He then loosened it, bringing it over his head, and then put it around my neck. "All you have to do is bring the knot up like this to tighten it, and you're all set," he concluded.

A few minutes later, I looked down at the cheap Casio digital watch on my arm. It was a watch I got from a street vendor near Times Square a few days before I left Dever and should have thrown out, as I'd purchased much nicer ones since. But for some reason, I decided to wear it while getting ready and noticed that its liquid crystal display had gone blank. I was actually surprised that the watch lasted as long as it did, but once I realized what time it was, I quickly took it off and finished putting the button covers on my tuxedo shirt before heading toward one of the doors that led to the garden.

When I looked out, people were streaming in and were talking amongst themselves as they began taking their seats. The chairs were an elegant combination of white and gold, separated by a white sheet that covered the grass in the center aisle which then led to the altar in the front. It was a large, hexagon gazebo decorated with vines and various autumn colored lilies, hydrangeas, chrysanthemums, and roses. And beyond the gazebo was a breathtaking panoramic view of the palisades rising out of the Hudson River.

About fifteen minutes passed, and the last of the small crowd arrived and had taken their seats. Amanda's bridesmaids helped her get ready in the bridal suite before they made their way down the marble corridor to where Ray, Derek, Carl, and Ryan were anxiously waiting. Our usher then slowly opened the door. "You ready, guys?"

We all nodded in confirmation, and I was as ready as I'd ever be. He looked over his shoulder toward the altar and nodded. The keyboard player then grabbed his flute, joining the cellist, who began playing Pachelbel's "Canon".

Ryan took Amanda's friend Hailey's hand and slowly walked down the aisle, followed by Derek and Becca, Ray and Lia, and finally Carl and Alina. I then slowly walked down the aisle to the altar, afraid I'd trip or that something else would happen. I was relieved when I finally arrived and turned around to face those in attendance. After a few seconds, everybody gasped in awe as Amanda appeared in the doorway. The usher waited another couple of seconds before giving her the okay to start walking, and I suddenly became breathless as I watched Chris walk Amanda down the aisle.

She looked absolutely amazing in her white gown as she seemed to slowly float toward us in an angelic manner, holding a colorful bouquet matching the flowers on the altar. Her hair was immaculately styled so it all rested well above her shoulders. Her beautiful smile was so bright and radiating that she looked like she was about to cry out of such elation, and her sapphire blue eyes glistened as they reflected the warmth of the sun and communicated that this was the happiest day of her life.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the priest began as Chris and Amanda stopped and faced the priest, "We are gathered here today to join together Scott Ferrara and Amanda Campbell in holy matrimony. Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?"

"I do," Chris replied before joining the groomsmen while Amanda turned toward me with the brightest smile I'd ever seen.

"Marriage was originated by God and is the promise of hope between two people who love each other sincerely, who honor each other as individuals, and who wish to unite their lives and share their future together. In this ceremony, they dedicate themselves to the happiness and well-being of each other, in a union of mutual caring and responsibility."

As the priest spoke, Amanda and I continued looking into each others' eyes and holding each other's hands, not realizing the clamor and chatter which began to overtake our guests.

"The values, traditions, and hopes this couple represents have been nurtured by everybody here today," the priest continued. My eyes happened to wander over my left shoulder to some guests who were arriving though. _"No, that can't be,"_ I thought as a raven-haired woman wearing a peach colored dress sat behind Matt. The other late arrivals walked down the center aisle talking amongst themselves while trying to find some extra seats. Their hair was neatly combed behind their ears, and they were dressed in suits. One suddenly called out to the others, "This row's got some," and proceeded to sit next to Matt and his wife.

Matt's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he realized who was sitting next to him. _"Oh my God, I can't believe they're actually here!"_ I contemplated in disbelief. I thought for sure they wanted nothing to do with Amanda or myself, as there hadn't been any communication between us since I left the band.

Amanda then squeezed my hands as if to bring me back into the moment, and the next thing I heard, the priest was in the middle of asking, "Do you, Scott Ferrara, take Amanda Campbell to be your wife, to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?

Still in disbelief Dever had actually made it, it took a second for me to answer, "I do."

Amanda was then asked the very same question, and her eyes lit up as she emphatically answered, "I do."

"It is customary to exchange rings as a symbol of love," the priest said. "As the rings have no end, so shall your love have no end. The rings you give and receive this day, are symbols of the union you enter as husband and wife. Now, repeat after me, Scott. Amanda, I give you this ring in token and pledge, of my constant faith and abiding love."

"Amanda, I give you this ring in token and pledge, of my constant faith and abiding love," I repeated as I gently slid the ring onto her finger.

"Amanda, repeat after me," the priest said, "Scott, I give you this ring in token and pledge, of my constant faith and abiding love."

"Scott," she echoed, smiling in jubilation between every word, "I give you this ring in token and pledge, of my constant faith and abiding love."

After sliding the ring onto my finger, the priest said a few blessings and exclaimed, "By the authority granted by God and vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Our lips had already met, and our arms were wrapped around one another by the time he said, "You may kiss the bride."

Noticing Matt was speaking with Dever during the cocktail hour that followed, I was curious what they were talking about and walked over. "Oh my God, I can't believe you guys came!" I exclaimed. "Man, it seems like ages."

"Yeah, man," James replied. "It has been," as he took a sip from his Heineken bottle.

"I just wanted to thank you guys for coming," I responded. "It means so much to Amanda and me to see you guys."

"Well, we're just glad to see that you're doing okay, man," Mike replied.

With that, Matt joined his wife and got some hors d'oeuvres but was still within earshot, and Tanya walked over to Amanda to congratulate her and catch up on everything that's happened with each other.

"Yeah, about that," I responded, "I never got the chance to thank you guys for everything you've done for me and for rushing me to the hospital and all..."

"You would have done the same for any one of us," Mike said as he patted me on the back. "We're still brothers, even though we haven't spoken in a while, and we all look out for each other."

"So what's been going on with you guys? I feel like I've been so out of the loop with everything. How's Tony treating you?"

"Same shit, different day," Joe replied. "He's threatened to drop us if sales of the new disc don't pick up."

"Which is just so fucking stupid," James added. "He's busying himself with other bands and is not promoting _Afterburn_ in the same way that he did with our first disc, or even _Grift_.

" _Grift_ and _Afterburn_?" I asked.

"Holy shit man," Mike laughed, "you have been out of it!"

"We put _Grift_ out over a year ago ," Mike replied, "and _Afterburn_ just came out last month."

"We're doing some amphitheaters," Joe added, "and were Albany last night. Later this month, we're going back to the arenas though."

"Hey, you should join us at the PNC Bank Arts Center in Jersey tomorrow night," James said. "That is if you guys aren't going on your honeymoon right away."

"No, we can't," I replied.

"Come on, man! It'll be just like old times," Mike said as he punched my shoulder and the rest of the band tried coaxing me into it.

"All right, fine. I'll check it out," I replied as everyone started yelling ecstatically and patting me on the back. "I heard you've got Turbo Tommy on vocals?" I asked.

"We do," Mike gladly replied.

"How'd that happen? I mean did Tony have any say in who would be working with you?"

"Not initially," Mike responded. "We put some tracks on the website with no vocals so that people can download them, add their own vocals, and send them back to us. But the recordings we got back sounded like shit, and I guess since Tommy's been around us the longest, he kinda knew what we were looking for. Tony was okay with it on _Grift_ , but he wanted someone more permanent on _Afterburn_ , which was probably why he's not supporting us like he used to."

"We told Tony straight out that we weren't gonna have three separate singers singing on three albums," James added, "and he kinda went ape-shit."

"That sucks, man," I replied. "Is Tommy at least working out for you?"

"Yeah, of course!" James responded. "He's got some great vocal abilities that apparently nobody knew about. _Grift_ sounded awesome, and as far as lyrics go, he's pretty good at that, and _Afterburn_ is just as good, if not better! What really pisses me off though is that without Black Mark's backing, we're not making much off of this tour. But enough about this bullshit. It's only pissing me off just thinking about it. What's new with you and Amanda?"

"Well, we had a baby in June," I replied. "She's with Amanda floating around here somewhere."

"We had a baby too," Joe proudly exclaimed, "and he'll be a year old in November."

"You and who else?" I asked.

"He's seeing some Asian chick," Mike commented.

"Her name's Christine," Joe asserted.

"So, what's the baby's name?" I asked.

"Max," Joe replied.

"Congratulations, man!" I replied as Matt came back into my field of vision and called him over.

"So I saw you met Dever?" I asked as he nodded his head. "And I work with this guy over at 3-Thirteen, Matt Saunders," I continued.

"Yeah, we know," James replied.

"You know, Scott," Matt said as he took a sip of wine, "They were telling me about their situation over at Black Mark, and it doesn't sound good, man."

"Yeah, I heard," I replied.

"I'd sign these guys in a heartbeat," Matt said, "if Tony Morris can't get his head out of his ass."

I almost couldn't believe my ears, but before I had a chance to reply, the band, which consisted of Ryan and a few people he knew from the Guitar Center, called Amanda and me to the center of the yard for our first dance and started playing Lunatica's "Song for You". Even though we both had no idea how to dance, we enjoyed every minute of making fools of ourselves as everybody looked on.

The party continued on well into the night, and Ryan couldn't have felt more honored to be playing at our wedding. He called Derek, Ray, and Carl up to join them on a few Zeppelin, Steppenwolf, Hendrix, and Creed songs, and then called me up toward the end of the night to join them on "Foxy Lady" as a joke. Amanda started dancing to it, and everyone joined in around her. By that time, most of our guests had plenty to eat and drink but weren't even close to calling it a night.

"Where's Dever at?" I called out, feeding off of everyone's never-ending energy as I had during our tours. "Come on up here, guys," I added once I had found all four members. "Without these guys, none of this would have been possible," I exclaimed, "and I would have never met the love of my life. Whattaya say we do one song for old time's sake, huh?"

They all nodded, and Ryan's band handed their instruments over to Mike and James. Derek also got up and handed his sticks to Joe. I then looked back at Mike, James, Tanya, Joe, Ray, and Carl and suggested some songs by Hendrix and Sabbath, since everyone knew them. As I turned back around, Amanda gazed up at me with the same adoring sparkle in her eyes as she did when I saw her for the first time at Pier 42, though this time, her smile was so bright and radiating, and I wasn't afraid of it setting my heart on fire. It felt so exhilarating and natural to be up there with Dever once again, and after a few songs, we delved into "Live for Today," a song Amanda and I would forever hold near and dear to us, as this was the day that we've been waiting for our entire lives.

Chapter 22

I graciously accepted the band's invitation to come down to the PNC Bank Arts Center to watch them perform, but the knots in my stomach became tighter every time I thought about joining them on stage, as I wasn't sure how the crowd would react. _"Would they hate me for leaving the band?"_ I asked myself. _"Or would they be ecstatic to see me?"_

"It'll be all right," Amanda replied as she tried putting me at ease. "Just have fun and enjoy the concert! No matter what happens, just think about how much you missed seeing everybody."

She was right. If anything, chills ran up and down my spine as I watched the crowd pour into the amphitheater from behind the stage. I couldn't even remember the last time I saw such a sight from this perspective. After Stitch, Dever's opening band, performed their set, Mike, Joe, James, Tanya, and Tommy hit the stage running, powering through such songs as "Rules Get Broke", "It's On Me", and "Cold-Hearted Lover", amongst their newer songs. I was excited to see the crowd still rocking out to songs I helped write years prior. And, with every song the band performed, my mind began to wander back to various stages in my life, when we first wrote and recorded each one. Memories came rushing back to me so fast that I became totally lost in them.

I was suddenly startled back to reality when Tommy took the microphone off its stand and started walking around and looked in my direction every couple of seconds. "Ya know," he said as he made eye contact with each person in the amphitheater, "this is almost like a homecoming for us, and we thank you all so much for welcoming us home. So I want you all to put your hands together and help me welcome someone who will always be a brother to us, no matter what may have happened in the past or what may happen in the future. Blood will always be thicker than water." The crowd cheered in response as he motioned for me to come out on stage. "Give it up for Mister Scott Ferrara!!"

My legs trembled with fear, and my palms began to sweat as I wasn't sure what to expect. With each step I took, I was anticipating the worst and to be booed off stage for disappointing everyone and for letting them down by leaving the band. Although a few boo's did ring out once the spotlight hit me, there was no way I could have prepared myself to be succumbed by a tidal wave of screams and Dever chants coming from all directions. My heart raced the same way it did back when we took the stage together for the first time. The only thing I could think to do was raise my dark red Ibanez guitar above my head. "We still love you, Scott!" A few girls screamed.

The ovation didn't stop when I put the guitar strap around my neck, nor did it cease when I started playing the opening riffs of "Black Jack". In fact, it continued through "Doing My Time" and "Wake the World" as well. One look into Amanda's eyes in the front row only solidified my love for her. Watching Derek, Ray, Carl, Matt, and Ryan rocking out beside her made me realize I still had what it takes. And, looking out at the other 10,000 screaming fans pumping their fists high in the air as if in a trance gave me such a rush that I only wished the set would never end.

In some ways, it never did. I've always felt that one should live their life with no regrets and eagerly embrace the unknown with open arms. For Dever, that is exactly what we did. We lived life on the edge and never cared about the repercussions. We've stormed through cities and towns with no apologies to the people we've hurt along the way. Our dealings with gangs only fueled our addictions, making us feel invincible and capable of doing anything. We've stood on top of the world with the universe in our hands. And we've stared at the sun too many times that we've lost count.

Just what is the meaning of life? It's up to each of us to find that out for ourselves, as we've all been dealt a different set of cards. There's one thing I continue telling people through various interviews and after my sets with Ray, Derek, and Carl, and that is it's important not to lose sight of who you are. It is when that happens, that the demons start coming out in droves. Even though I loved playing in front of people and turning heads, I became so scared and overwhelmed by everything and needed an escape. Over time, I've learned that being up on-stage in front of people – whether it's 50 in a bar or 50,000 in an arena – is the biggest rush that anyone can get. And, that's not even the biggest payback! The reaction of the fans through my artwork, production, and music is great, but it really hits home when a total stranger comes up to you and says that one of your songs helped get them through a tough time in life and made them see things more positively. It is indescribable when you can have that kind of affect on people. And, being that failure is the mother of success, keep rocking no matter what, as life is what you make of it!

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Thank you for downloading and reading Blinded by the Sun.

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About Adam Salomon

Adam Salomon grew up in New Haven, CT and first conceptualized "Blinded by the Sun" while attending high school. His knowledge of the music industry stems from running a website dedicated to the local scene and working with a number of unsigned bands during college.

Over the years, he has witnessed some good friends taste a hint of success. One group even managed to attain platinum status, while most unexpectedly fell from grace. Adam's experiences have allowed him to take something special away from each relationship forged.

As a singer, songwriter and guitarist, Adam continues to share his passion of music through his writing and with his family and friends. He now lives in North Providence, RI with his wife, Nora, and children, Shane and Dina.
