Chapter Text
Matt Sanders.
Forty-one years old – a few weeks shy of forty-two.
Husband, father, son, friend, brother.
Simplistically complex, a walking contradiction.
A man with a purpose in life, but the acceptance to believe he may not get there before his time is up.
Dedicated, humble, passionate, creative, fanatical.
Desperately introspective, deeply flawed with the awareness of both that mesh in his mind.
Calm, attentive, peaceful.
And goddamn scared to make a phone call to his wife.
Matt scrubbed his hand over his face for what seemed to be the thousandth time. His ragged right index fingernail caught his lip – just like it had the last time, and the time before that – and he winced. Let his thumb nudge over the raised skin, wondering if he’d finally split it. He let his tongue swipe over the mark and didn’t taste the metallic tang of his blood, so figured he was fine.
He dropped his hand to meet his left, splayed out on the tabletop at the small eating area in the bus, his phone ominously silent as he cupped his hands around it. The screen was dark and he could see his reflection, at least, the crease of his brow. From there were the crows feet at the outer corners of his eyes, the downturn of his lips. His dimples long gone as his expression pressed further into the morose, and he let out a sigh.
Rain was falling outside of the window, gently patting against the glass mockingly, telling Matt that he’d left it too late to make it into the hotel without getting wet, and that he should probably put on shoes with more traction than the slides he currently wore.
The weather was secondary, as most things were that morning.
He had a dull headache, an ache in his lower back, and his shoulders were pulled together tightly. He wondered what the chances were for a massage, considering his schedule was fairly tight before the show that night. If he was being honest, he could get a massage anywhere in Mansfield, but a part of him admonished his decision not to pay for his usual guy – Leon – to join them on tour.
Maybe for the second leg.
Matt’s right leg bounced under the table with a little too much exuberance, and he slammed his knee into the underside of the table. His phone jumped, sliding a little across the surface and his hands moved to correct it, catching his reflection again.
He should be inside, sprawled out on his queen bed, staring at the ceiling and attempting to sleep. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and sleep on the bus wasn’t always possible. Between the rocking he hadn’t experienced in five years, the collective snores of his bandmates, and the tight quarters of his bunk, Matt was averaging one, maybe two hours at a time.
In-between those bouts he’d roam the bus but there was only so much space to cover. Going to the bathroom felt claustrophobic and most of the time he ended up in the back room, wedging the window open half a foot to let the cool air rush over his skin. He’d probably slept more in the back lounge than his bunk, but that really wasn’t what was occupying his mind.
He spun his phone around on the tabletop, watching as his perspective changed. He almost wished it would ring, that it would take the decision out of his hands. It was early – still mid-morning – and Val always let him ring first. Mostly because Matt’s sleep was so broken, and more often than not, whenever she or the boys would ring, they’d wake him up. So they’d decided Matt would call first, unless it was an emergency.
Matt wondered if this was an emergency.
He exhaled and sat back on the bench seat, and turned his attention out the window. It was still drizzling, still morose. He knew he shouldn’t feel this turned around, two days into the tour. But, it wasn’t really the tour that was the problem, if Matt could call his predicament a problem, anyway.
They’d had a great first show.
Better than great.
Despite his ability to focus on the good, there had been some anxiety about his voice. Sure, he’d handled the Kia Forum and MSG okay, managed to throw in the surprise Vegas show, and the festival gigs. His voice had held up – no, his voice had fucking killed – but there was still that doubt that lived in the back of Matt’s mind, despite all he did to obliterate it.
What if the new technique failed? What if he forgot and went for one scream too many, and blew it out again? What if – despite trying so goddamn hard to fix it – that it was time to call it quits and accept that he was done?
Usually, he’d meditate the thoughts away, or find a treadmill for a punishing run. Or he’d talk to Val or his band for the same placations that set his mind at ease. It would take a slow second for him to claw back his confidence, to put an extra half hour into his warm up, commit to speaking as little as possible after soundcheck. He was doing the work, and there was no reason to believe things were as tenuous as that little voice of doubt so proclaimed.
Tour was the true test, one that he’d worked so hard to get to. There had been a point in late 2018 when he’d had the sobering news from the doctors and his vocal coach that he could try, but maybe it was time. Maybe he’d screamed his last scream, sung his last song. Toured his last tour with his best friends.
It had crushed him – more than he ever let on – and the sense of loss he felt at the idea of not doing it again – it; touring, creating, inspiring, travelling, growing, learning and so on – was heartbreaking. It was grief, almost as bad as it had been when Jimmy passed, the idea that despite his best intentions, maybe the band was over.
Therapy helped, as did recovery, and the psychedelics played a part.
Matt couldn’t believe his growth, couldn’t believe he’d managed to claw it back, even if it wasn’t what it once was, it was better than nothing.
Matt raised his right hand, let his fingertips slide down the column of his throat before he scrubbed his hand over his face again, and this time, the ragged hangnail caught his lip, and stung as it split the skin. He swore, swiped his thumb over the spot and wiped the bead of blood onto the leg of his shorts.
He grabbed his phone up, unlocked it quickly and pressed on his wife’s name in his favourites list, a frown of anger creased on his brow as he pressed it to his ear.
He was being ridiculous, he knew that.
Sitting there at forty-fucking-one, afraid to make a phone call to his wife of more than a decade, his lover and best friend of almost three. He trusted her more than he trusted himself, and despite the melancholy he’d felt after saying goodbye to her and the boys, she’d wished him well with sincerity and the always welcome smack against his ass that he liked to think was part of his good luck regime.
“Your son is trying me.”
Matt smiled easily, the frown disappearing as his dimples bloomed, and he admonished himself silently for not making the phone call an hour ago. “Which one?”
“Does it matter?” Val asked, a frustrated whine accompanying her tone. “I know it’s rebellion because you’re gone and they’ll even out, but I may be fully grey by then.”
“Are we going to pretend that we’re not a little mad at me for not being there?”
She huffed out a soft laugh. “Mad isn’t the word,” she amended. “It’s…well.” She paused, and let out a breath. “The world is just a little dull without you here, that’s all.”
“Trust me, my world is a little grey, too.”
“Good,” she said, her voice soft. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” he said honestly, leaning forward in his seat. “Just another week or two, right?”
“Yes,” she said resolutely. “Exactly, just a week or two. We’ve done longer.”
“My word,” he smiled. “We’ve done separate continents.”
“I could hop a plane any be there by nightfall,” she tacked on. “Plus, we’re adults and we can handle a little separation anxiety.”
Matt ran his thumbnail against the seam where the table met the wall. “I need to talk to you.”
“Funny,” she breathed. “What’ve we been doing for the last five minutes?”
Matt exhaled.
Val’s breath caught. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Matt said quickly – too quickly.
“Do I have to play the card?” she asked. “I’ve known you most of your life, I know when you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not lying,” Matt said, trying for casual, but came off belligerent. “I just,” he exhaled. “Do you remember your vows?”
“My vows?” she repeated. “Well, we are creeping up on what, fourteen years? The memory is a little vague. Something about in sickness and in health?”
Matt smiled, could remember the moment she’d said those very words. “I wasn’t,” he began, and felt his brow crease again. “The other vows.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Matt,” her breath caught again. “I remember those ones perfectly.”
“If we ever got bored,” he recalled, trying to muster up the courage. “We’d tell each other. Resentment wasn’t allowed.”
“Mhm,” she murmured softly. “Is that what this is? You’re bored?”
“Not for a second,” he assured her.
“Then, what?” she asked. “Those vows came long before you even proposed, and they were created by two twenty-somethings with no idea of what the future looked like.”
“I remember you creating them because you didn’t trust me.”
“I never said that,” she said quickly. “I trusted you.”
“Hmm,” Matt hummed softly. “I didn’t give you many reasons to.”
“I was insecure and seeing you off on a big international tour. We were official then, and all I could think about was you falling in love with someone else, and leaving me in the dust.”
“So you said, if I slept with someone else, you’d want to know.”
Val’s breath caught, and when she spoke, her voice was pained. “Is that what this is?” she repeated. “Is that what you’re telling me?” She paused. “I made up that stupid rule when you were a horny twenty-four year old,” she said, and as she spoke, her tone changed. “You’re forty-one now, Matt. It’s not the time for a fucking side chick.”
“Hey, woah,” he said, shaking his head. “Just, ease off, okay?”
“We have kids,” she continued. “I thought, I thought…fourteen years, Matt. I’ve given you fourteen years and now this?”
“This,” Matt said, sitting up straight. “Will you let me get a word in?”
Val sniffed, her breath shook.
“I broke that rule once, do you remember?” he said softly.
“Of course I do,” she whispered.
“Of all places, it was Warped Tour. After Bat Country blew up and people gave a shit.”
“I remember.”
“We got through that, right?”
“Yeah, we did,” Val said. “That was before we were married, before we had the boys, before we built a fucking life, Matt.”
“I know.”
“And now,” she paused. “The only way we got through it back then was because of Brian.”
“I know,” Matt repeated.
“But if you’re telling me that it’s different this time, that you’ve…that you…”
“It’s not different.”
“What?”
Matt swallowed, let his tongue pass over the spot of blood still on his lip. “It’s not different, this time,” he repeated. “It’s the same thing, with the same person and it’s just…it’s the same.”
“Oh.”
Matt bit down on the cut, felt the pain bloom around his teeth. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew that his first instinct – to hang up and throw his phone out into the rain – wasn’t reasonable.
“Did you have sex?”
“No,” he exhaled, letting go of his lip. “I mean, we had…something, but not…sex.”
“Okay.”
“Val,” he murmured, letting his head fall forward. “Say something else.”
“Are you leaving me?” she asked, her voice fragile and Matt hated how that was his fault. “Is that what this phone call is?”
“No,” he rushed out, shaking his head. “Jesus, no, okay? This phone call is me just being honest, and owning my shit and I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” she exhaled. “And that’s okay.”
Matt squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head. “I got caught up, last night. We both did. It was just quick and over really fast and –“
“I don’t need the details,” she interrupted. And then she laughed. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “Though I feel infinitely relieved it wasn’t some side bitch.”
Matt smiled, let his teeth graze the cut. “I don’t even think it’ll happen again,” he offered. “Things were off this morning, and maybe it was just familiarity? Either way, I just wanted to tell you.”
“God, I’m having flashbacks,” she admitted. “You were so hungover the last time we had this conversation, and I remembered laughing my ass off when you said it.”
“Believe me, there is a certain nuanced irony that isn’t lost on me,” he admitted sarcastically. “This isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“Is he still as messy as he was?”
Matt felt the ghost of a smile pull at his lips. “Are we really going to talk about it like we’re girlfriends braiding each other’s hair?”
“At least tell me if he’s still quick.”
Matt felt his cheeks flush, like he was living in an alternate dimension where his wife was asking details of his sex life with someone else, for the express purpose of future opportunities to mock and ridicule.
“Do I need to tell my sister, or will he?”
“He said he would,” Matt said, and shifted uncomfortably. That had been about all Brian had said that morning, before leaving the bus for the hotel.
That, and a hasty, awkward apology that had barely left his lips before he disappeared into the drizzling rain.
“Look, am I thrilled?” Val asked, her voice soft in his ear. She exhaled heavily as her answer. “But knowing it’s Brian? I can live with that.”
“It’s not Brian,” Matt insisted, shaking his head. “Like, this isn’t some ongoing shit. We got caught up last night, that’s all. First show, new tour, emotions were high.”
“Matt.” Her voice was still soft, still the same as it had always been. “I’ll be there in a week or so,” she reminded him.
“And I’m counting down the days,” he assured her, and hoped his words were just that – reassuring. The guilt he felt for giving in to desire and being caught up in the moment was cutting, and he closed his teeth around his split lip again.
“If it has to be anyone – anyone other than me – I’m glad it’s him.”
Matt knew that wasn’t true, that being glad he’d found gratification with someone else wasn’t something she should endure or accept. But the fact that there was room for him to atone, to breathe and to take stock in the woman she was, he was grateful for.
And very goddamn sure he was through making the same stupid mistakes he’d made fifteen plus years ago.