The Devil's Lair (15 page)

Hunter

“What’s up, fuckers?” Jack walks in, clearly in a great mood.

I wish I could say the same. Mandi has been avoiding me since my epic fuck up two days ago. The anxiety that consumed me when I thought my biggest problem was losing our sex tape pales in comparison to my current state of anxiety. It’s as if her news has rendered me a dumb fucking mute. I’ve clammed up, unable to comfort her, or dig myself out of my hole. I wasn’t prepared for what she laid on me. We talked about discussing the topic of children once we got home. Apparently there was a misunderstanding. I
thought
we would discuss. She
thought
we would commence. With the new insecurities I’ve recently adopted, I
thought
I had time to work through my shit. I
thought
I had time to talk her into possibly postponing our original plans, just until I worked out my shit.

Her being pregnant at this exact moment in our marriage is like a big ass karma God pointing down at me and laughing his ass off. That same God is also talking about me at the water cooler with his other karma God buddies.

Fuck.

I’m behaving like an idiot. My gorgeous wife is pregnant with my baby. Just a few weeks ago the same idea would have me twerking for days. Instead, I sit brooding over it, drawing attention to my angst and upsetting my wife more and more with each moment that passes.

“Hey!”

Jack is standing before me, hands on hips, eyebrows raised practically to his hairline.

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry.”

He narrows his eyes, measuring me up. “I said: Are you guys okay with me starting the show with
Reason I Am
?”

“Oh…yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

It’s not an unusual request. Jack doesn’t sing his love song to his wife at every show. He reserves it for special times when he wants her to hear the words as if for the first time. The song entails Jack sitting alone, front and center with his guitar. It sets a tranquil tone to the show that we need to work harder to turn around, but it’s usually well received with the fans.

I take Jack’s request as a sign. Someone is trying to tell me something. I often sing the song to my wife, loving how the lyrics pertain to how I feel about her as well. I shamelessly stole his sentiments and have been using his words to my advantage since the day I married her. Jack doesn’t care. He loves that his love letter to his wife can be appreciated by anyone who hears it.

“You okay?” he asks, still watching me like I’m about to do something crazy.

“Yeah.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “What now? Spill it. I’m not going through another Hunter freak out.” Trey and Scott look on, waiting anxiously for my confession. Trey’s smirk indicates he has a feeling this is gonna be good.

I can’t confide in my friends until I speak to my wife. I owe her my first words on the discussion. Confiding in my friends first would be a gross form of disloyalty.

“Well?”

“Dude, I can’t tell you.”

Jack gawks, mouth wide open, like I just confessed to being a woman. “Say again?”

“Listen, I need you to trust me.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s between me and my wife. I can’t talk about it yet.”

Jack’s incredulous look doesn’t diminish. “Hunt, the last time something was going on between you and your wife, you fucked up playing drums. I think I have a right to be concerned. We’re opening in Hong Kong tonight. I need you on your game.”

“And I will be.”

He laughs at my promise. “Okay. Because you handle stress so well?”

Normally, I would tell him to fuck off. I don’t have it in me now. I feel like I’m crying wolf, claiming this is the worst stress I’ve graced our marriage with. Every time I stress Mandi out, I proclaim it’s the worst. I honestly feel I outdid myself this time.

Why the fuck is she with me? What does she see in me to want to be with me for better or worse?

Our five-minute warning is announced over the speakers. “We’ll pick this up later.”

“I can’t promise that. I promise I’ll talk to you when I can.”

“Hunt, we’re a team. We’ve all been through enough to know we’ve got each other’s backs.” Jack faces Trey, and Trey shrugs. “Forget Taylor, but we do. We have your back.”

Trey has the nerve to look insulted over Jack’s insinuation. “He knows I have his back. Right, Amatto?”

“Yeah, Taylor, I know.”

Scott comes over and pats my back. “Hunt, we’re here when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, dude.”

We meet up with Leila on the side of the stage. Jack gives her a hug, as if he hasn’t seen her in days and not minutes. I’ve compared my relationship to the Lairs, to the Taylors, and even to the Malones. It’s natural to wonder if you have what they have.

I often try and analyze what it is that makes Jack and Leila so strong. Their history? The trauma they’ve endured? Just like Trey and Tara did? Does that mean a couple that coasts through life, never learning how to fight tooth and nail for what they share, aren’t experienced enough to survive stress? Scott and Patti have a pretty boring life, but from what I can tell, they’re solid.

I know I shouldn’t compare us to them. Mandi handles stress in her own way. I handle it in mine. We are a team when it comes to the happy stuff. The romance and the sex is the glue to our relationship. Again, is that enough? Is it enough to get us through?

If it’s just her and me, it is. I’m not so sure if it’s enough to keep a family together. How do I ask my wife if we have what it takes without sounding like I feel that we don’t have what it takes? I’ll hurt her more by admitting I’m not so sure we can survive what having kids will throw our way. It’s not her, she’s strong enough. I’m lacking, I’m the weak link. Clearly I’m not mature enough to be a father. I’ve proven that more times than I can count.

The lights dim, cueing us to take our places on the stage. The minute Leila sees the stool sitting before Jack’s microphone, she knows he’s opening the show with her song. She gives him a tight hug and a chaste kiss before heading over to her corner. My friend smiles wide, knowing he’s about to make his wife’s night. In comparison, I move behind my drums, feeling sick to my stomach at the reality that I’m ruining my wife’s life.

I mentally chastise myself, warning myself to put it aside and play my fucking drums. Robotically I spin my sticks, waiting for the lights to announce our arrival and for Jack to greet the crowd.

Seconds later the spotlight hits the stool that Jack sits on patiently. He welcomes them and thanks them for coming. He comfortably goes through his normal rundown when he starts our shows. My eyes drift across the front row, as I do every show. The eager faces of our fans stare back, anxious to hear their rock stars give them what they came for.

Dead center, among the other frantic fans that are shouting at Jack, one dark haired beauty sits staring directly at me. She’s a complete contradiction to the energy that surrounds her. Sitting demurely, quietly, and stoically makes her seem out of place.

She smiles warmly, and my mouth lifts at the corners to immediately return one of my own. She mouths, “I love you,” and instantly all is right in my world. My wife stares at me the entire time. With every beat of my drum, my heart hammers back harder and stronger. As mad as she’s been with me, as disappointed as she’s felt, she put it all aside to be here tonight. I may be a weak link, but her steel is strong enough for both of us.

She may not jump up and down, screaming and crying for her rock star, but the strength and support she carries with her seeps through every cell in her body. It carries and reaches me, whether I deserve it or not.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she repeats. She stands side stage, waiting for me to descend the steps of the stage. The minute my band sees my wife uncharacteristically waiting for me seconds after our show, they disappear backstage to give us our privacy.

“Can we talk?”

“That’s why I’m here,” she shrugs sheepishly.

We walk side by side down the hall to one of the empty holding rooms. Once inside, she chooses a chair rather than the couch to sit on. I get it. She still needs distance from me. Although hard as fuck to do, I sit as close as I can without physically invading her space.

“I’m sorry that it’s taken me two days to talk to you. I was just so hurt.”

I move to take her hand and stop myself. I can’t rely on my normal defense mechanisms tonight. I need to react opposite than how I normally react.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She holds up her hand. “Hunter, you reacted true to form.” At my frown, she shakes her head. “Not in a bad way. When I say true to form, I mean for you. You reacted just as Hunter Amatto should have reacted. I can’t fault you for that.”

Again, my wife is apologizing for my shortcomings, and it makes me feel so good about myself. “Mandi, don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

I stand to pace behind her. She turns in her seat, watching me in confusion. “What, Hunter?”

“Don’t you see? I fuck up. You make excuses for me. I fuck up. Again, you make excuses for me. It’s a constant cycle. How can I be the father to your child when I’m in constant need of parenting myself?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” She looks up, wide-eyed and panicky at my admission.

“Maybe not intentionally, but it’s the gist of who I am.”

Clarity hits. “Hunter…”

“Mandi, I love you more than anything in this world. I love you enough to know I’m not your equal, and I bring you down.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid that I’m not father material. I can’t help how I feel.”

“Are you saying you don’t want this baby?” The look on her face makes me want to take it all back. But what good would that do?

“I’m saying I don’t think I can do this.”

“Hunter Amatto, grow the fuck up!”

She flies out of her chair and comes toe-to-toe with me. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but the way you’ve been acting these past few weeks is like some sort of panic attack or mid-life crisis come early. I know for a fact you are father material. I know for a fact that something has you spooked. I know for a fact I won’t let you throw us away because of it!”

I take a precautionary step back. I’ve never seen my wife this angry, or raise her voice to anyone, including me.

The door flies open, and Jack and Leila appear scanning the room. “What happened?”

Mandi’s cheeks tinge immediately. “Um…”

Leila becomes embarrassed. “Oh, we’re so sorry to interrupt. We thought…”

“No, don’t leave. Guys, come in. Please close the door.” I take the lead without even realizing I’m doing so. My wife is right. I need to grow up.

Now.

“Mandi and I have some news.”

Leila and Jack take a seat. Leila’s smile spreads in anticipation. “Really?” she asks, clapping her hands and bouncing her legs.

“Really.”

Leila squeals as Mandi looks to me for guidance. I wrap my arm around her and smile. “Mandi is pregnant.”

“Yes, Trey owes me a grand.”

“Dude, please. Have some respect.”

“Says the same ass who has been betting on my wife for years.”

I roll my eyes, “Anyway, I was shocked. I pretty much freaked out when she told me. But…” I glance around the room, squaring my shoulders in determination. “Like my wife just ordered me to do, I need to grow the fuck up. I’m scared. Actually, terrified is a better way to describe my feelings. How can I be someone’s father?”

Mandi looks down, trying to hide how her eyes are swelling with tears. I lift her chin, forcing her to hear what I have to say and look into my eyes to understand how serious I am. “I know one thing is for sure. I cannot live without you. I will grow the fuck up, starting right now.”

“Hunter, what you said to me scares me.”

“Babe, I don’t regret telling you how I feel.” I turn her to face me, forgetting our friends are sitting a few feet away. I hold her face in my hands, leaning in so our foreheads touch. “Mandi, admitting how I truly feel is the first step to acting like an adult. I’m not going to lie and claim I’m suddenly excited about this. I’m not. I’m scared shitless, but I have about eight months to work on that. Because the alternative, being without either of you, is simply not an option.”

I uncharacteristically make out with my wife in front of the Lairs.

For the first time ever my wife lets me.