A long, controlled exhale met my ear, like she was fighting her own emotional battle. I wasn’t sure she if she was going to respond, but after a while, she finally did. “We’re staying at Kellan and Kiera’s for now. Gibson…asks for you every day, but she’s fine, I think.”
That damn lump in my throat returned. I hated the thought of my little girl being denied something she wanted. She should have everything, wrapped in a pretty pink bow. God, I missed her. “Is she nearby? Can I talk to her?” My voice came out scratchy, like I’d swallowed sandpaper.
“Of course,” Anna whispered. Her voice was rough too. The line was silent a minute, then a sweet, familiar voice came on. “Daddy? Where are you? When you come home?”
A surge of something so strong went through me that I had to bite down on my knuckle to hold it together. “Soon, baby. Soon.” My throat closed, I couldn’t speak. Luckily, Gibson had lots to tell me, so I didn’t need to.
“Onnika hit me! And Ryder broke my toy! And I found a kitty, and Mommy let me keep it. Her name is Kitty Sunshine…”
She went on and on with all the details of her life that I was missing out on. The pain in my throat eased with each sentence, but the ache in my chest grew larger. I should be there. I should head home on my hands and knees, admit all my failings, and beg Anna to take me back. I should be a better husband, a better father…put all of their needs above my own…since they were all I truly lived for anyway. But still, I couldn’t leave yet. I couldn’t admit defeat. I needed to see this album through, on the off chance it might save me, and in turn, save my family. If that was even still possible. Fuck, I hoped it was. I couldn’t stomach this being the end of Anna’s and my story. She was everything I wanted, everything I needed.
So why the fuck did I let her go?
On the morning of the album’s release, I paced the living room. Chelsey had one eye on me, one eye on her laptop screen. “Any reviews yet?” I asked her for the umpteenth time.
She hit refresh, then shook her head. “No. But we didn’t give out advanced copies, so that’s to be expected.”
I nodded but kept pacing. I’d done everything I could think to do to advertise the album. I’d even gone on a public TV game show called Guess My Claim to Fame. I’d hated every second of it; the producers had decided that my claim to fame was leaving the hottest band on the planet at the height of their popularity. I’d sat there with a smile plastered on my face and let them insult, mock, and ridicule my life choices. Whatever I had to do to get people to buy the album. And today was the day I found out if anything I’d done was worth it. Fuck, it had to be worth it. I’d given up everything for this. Literally everything. If the album didn’t pay off, if I couldn’t climb out of debt and show Anna my worth…I didn’t know what I would do to win her back. And living a life without her just seemed…pointless.
“Now?” I asked Chelsey. I just wanted one review to pop up so I could know what to expect from the rest. But honestly, I knew what to expect. The album was shit, and I was fucked.
Chelsey sighed, then closed her laptop. “Maybe we should go do something…see a movie?”
“No…but thanks.” I gave her a half smile in appreciation. Then I pointed at her computer. “Can you check again?”
A review to finally come in. It was one star, and the headline read, “I WISH I COULD GIVE THIS NEGATIVE STARS!!” The reviews seemed to pour in after that, and none of them were good. “Worst album ever made!” “I could do better with my keyboard!” “My ears are bleeding!” “I want two hours of my life back.” “I think my IQ just went down after listening to this.” “It’s obvious the D-Bags are better off without him!” The only slightly positive review, and the one with the highest rating—three whole stars—said, “This made me laugh so hard I peed! Best comedy album I’ve heard in a while.”
I fell onto the couch while Chelsey softly closed her computer. I didn’t ask her to check again. I didn’t need to. The facts were clear. I was a joke.
Chelsey put a hand on my knee. “I’m so sorry, Griffin. I know you tried…”
Staring at nothing, I shook my head. “Not hard enough. I’m starting to think I don’t try anything hard enough…”
I stood, left my sister on the couch, and went to my room. I wanted to be alone, and fittingly enough, that was exactly what I was now. Completely alone.
The next morning, my dad put a hand on my shoulder. “Chelsey tells me the album flopped. Sorry, son.”
I looked up at him with a cringe. Thanks for breaking it to me gently, Dad. “Yeah, well, I can still…” My voice trailed off. I had no idea what I could still do. I was haunted by my failed TV show, hounded by critics for that joke of an album, I had no money, a massive debt that I couldn’t repay, and a wife who needed me to help raise our two daughters. But my bank account was overdrawn, and all I had left was the change in my pocket. I was so far beyond fucked, I wasn’t even sure what the proper term for it was.
I stared at my fingers curled around my coffee cup instead. Because that seemed like something I could do.
Dad sat down beside me. “Look, I get that you aren’t where you thought you would be, but that’s life, son. You get pummeled and punched, then you stand up and say fuck you, life, and keep trudging on…until you finally keel over.”
I lifted my eyes to his. “Wow…that sounds awesome. Can’t wait for that to start.”