Legendary

“You can’t just keep ignoring us, Patrick. We’re going to have to talk some time. We can’t just stop showing up together, stop putting out albums, stop doing shows; we have to make an announcement, and it won’t be the same if you’re not there. I know you’ll listen to this, so how about tonight at seven we meet at my house? We’ll figure this out.”

I waited for the voice to tell me to either press seven to delete the message, or nine to save it, but there was only dead air. I waited, and before long, Pete’s voice kicked back on.

“We miss you.”

I waited a little longer; somehow wanting to hear a little more, wanting him to say just a little extra. This time, though, the automated voice instructed me to either press seven or nine; neither of which I could bring myself to do.

Instead, I clicked the phone off. I could decide that later.

“You know, it has been two weeks. You’re going to have to talk to them sometime.” Rachel gave me a weak smile and continued to stir whatever was for dinner tonight. “As much as I know you don’t want to.”

I hoisted myself onto the counter next to where Rachel stood by the stove. “He wants me to come over tonight.”

“You should, it’d be good for you,” she assured me, her eyes locking on mine.

The way she said it bothered me, as if there was something wrong with how I was taking this all. Maybe there was, maybe I was overacting, maybe she was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She flipped the stove off abruptly. “You hardly eat dinner with me anymore. Why do you think I’ve been making homemade stuff for the past week?”

“You’re mad that I haven’t eaten dinner…?”

“It’s more than that, Patrick. It’s everything. You sleep in until noon, long after I’ve left for work, and when I come home you’re in your pajamas watching cartoons. You barely talk to me, or anyone else for that matter. Remember that adorable sense of humor you had? It’s gone. It’s more than you eating dinner with me, it’s how you’ve completely mentally checked out from life.”

She took a deep breath, trying to recompose herself, I’m sure. To see her flip a little was definitely not right, it wasn’t like her. Usually she’s the most steadfast person in all of L.A., Chicago, and New York combined, it took pressure to make her break.

My feet hit the floor with a thud as I pulled myself off the counter and over to her. A hand on her shoulder, another on the cheek of her pale, freckled face.

“I’m sorry; I’m scared is all. You’ve still got a job and people who need you. I, well, I don’t, and it scares me, because it really points out the fact I have no clue where I’m going now.”

She grabbed my hand with hers, holding it to her face and pressing a small kiss to the palm.

“I’ll always need you.”

---

I fixed the hat atop my head for the umpteenth time as Rachel tells me it looks fine. So I fixed it again.

My palms are hot and clammy and grabbing my keys off the counter suddenly seems like such a difficult task. Somehow, I managed, swinging them around my index with a nervous sigh.

It’s an eighteen minute drive to Pete’s, I remembered, even though it was already ten ‘til seven. Either way, I was going to be late.

I stalled a little, checking the news, filling the cat’s food bowl, strumming a little on the guitar. It felt as if I’d wasted a good hour, but when I check the clock, it was only five minutes.

If there’s ever a better sign, I thought, deciding I couldn’t wait any longer, it’d be this.

A kiss for Rachel and another minute of stalling in my car, I finally started it and began towards Pete’s.

Every turn, every stop, every detail of this path I had memorized; I could’ve driven it with my eyes closed considering I’d taken it so many times, I couldn’t even count.

It wasn’t the prettiest drive through Beverly Hills; then again, we weren’t the richest people here either. It didn’t wind through six story houses with thirty-six bedrooms or through places where you could point out ‘Brad Pitt shops there, and that’s Miley Cyrus’s favorite restaurant, OH, and there’s the Queen. Hey Lizzie, back in the States, are we? Wish I could stay and talk, but I’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll text you later.’

We weren’t that band, and I wasn’t that guy, which was okay with me. I liked my privacy, being able to leave the house without twenty paparazzi cars on my tail. As much as I wanted to despise him right now, I still had to feel bad whenever Pete had to take a twenty minute detour to lose the stalkers and photographers and everyone else that wants a snapshot of him screwing up.

I silently thanked god I didn’t have that. Hell, if they ever took to following me, my life would be ruined. It’s not like that’s something I’ll have to worry about now, though, definitely not. Of course the fuck not. There was no Fall Out Boy. No awkward, overweight, bald lead singer. Nope. None at all.

I slammed onto the brakes, realizing I’d already passed Pete’s house. I made a U-turn, pulling into someone else’s driveway, backing out, and changing my direction.

Another minute or so of stalling and I somehow convinced myself out of the car. I’m not even sure how the hell I made it up the walkway, and, after knocking on the door, my whole mind contradicted itself as it asked why I was so fucking scared.

Which I didn’t have an answer for.

Pete’s face probably what you would’ve seen in the dictionary next to relievedwhen he opened the door: eyes, big and round; eyebrows, tilted up; smile, gentle and genuine; and a comforted sigh.

He stepped forward, his arms lifting up slightly as if bracing for the bro-hug, but he stifled them and resumed his position.

“Patrick, I’m – we’re glad you made it.”

I pursed my lips and gave him a tight nod. I hated being this way to him too, hated it with a burning passion. So why was I still doing this?

He stepped aside, motioning me in with his hand. “How’ve you been? Rachel too, you guys doing good?”

My voice failed me. Hundreds of thousands of times singing on stage and, now, my pipes can’t crank out a few words.

“Mhmm,” I hummed, wishing I could, would give him more. Fucking ego, back down a little, would you?

He guided me into the living room, where Joe quickly jumped off the couch to greet me, bro-hug and all. At least I hadn’t scared him off yet.

Andy, still seated in the armchair, waved, smiled, and gave me a simple hey ‘Trick, by far the easiest to reply to. I nodded his way with a forced smile, which was enough for him.

Pete gestured for me to sit down and, as I did, everyone’s eyes stayed glued to me. And me alone.

For the first time in awhile, I was the Odd Man Out. I was the one who wasn’t in on what everyone else knew. I was the one that had people had talked about with me knowing. I was the one who didn’t know anything anymore. I was the outlier.

“So, you got my message?” Pete took a seat on the couch across from me, his hands tense as he began to cross and uncross his ankles, legs, arms.

Nods seemed to have been working for answers, so I gave him another. Lips pulled together tightly, but he smiled nonetheless, tucking his hands into his pocket. It shocked me; I hadn’t seen him this skittish since… well, since our first show we played.

“Alright, so, I mean, we were thinking about calling a press conference, like we did for Folie á Deux. Maybe not make so much hype this time.”

Andy chuckled, Joe snorted, even though their eyes were completely focused to the TV.

“Sound good, Patrick?”

“How ‘bout this…” I was stunned by the sound of my own voice, but carried on nevertheless, “I’ll leave you guys up to this. You decide. This band’s over, right? I don’t have to babysit you guys anymore, not my job. Never was. Then you can call me when you need me to be a fill in for the hotter, skinnier singer you guys never had.”

I was up, my feet carrying me towards the door without my say-so. Though, it didn’t take me having to stop them to be yanked back by the collar of my polo.

“You want to make this harder than it has to be? Fine, we’ll play this way.” Pete shoved me back onto the couch and I scrambled to get back up, planting my feet on the floor and thrusting myself into the sitting position, just to make Pete happy, even though it wasn’t good enough for him. He pinned my shoulder back against the leather and concentrated his eyes directly on mine.

“You aren’t that. You never were that. You know it too, so stay quiet for a few minutes and let me talk. We may not be Fall Out Boy, but we are brothers. And I sure as hell want to get through this without losing family.”

I huffed and strained against his grip, only giving him reason to push down harder. That son of bitch could take me down any day, and we both knew it.

“I know, this isn’t fair to you. Fall Out Boy was never fair to you. The spotlight stayed on me and never even caught a glimpse of who you were, who you are. And that, my friend, is a whole lotta talent, brains, and more love than I’ve ever seen one person possess.”

For the first time, I realized Joe was now sitting next to me and Andy was standing next to Pete, trying to pull his hand away, carefully, so he wouldn’t land up on this end of it too.

Pete wouldn’t relent his grip though. “I’m sorry, ‘Trick, far more sorry that you’ll ever comprehend. I wish I could sit here and make sure that this wouldn’t affect you negatively whatsoever, but it’s going to happen to us too, and there’s no way to prevent it. I hate myself for it, quite honestly.”

His hand fell away and he took a slow breath.

“You’re smart, genius even. When I say, you don’t need us, I mean it. You could go so far. Singer, guitar player, pianist, hell, we all know you’ve always wanted to be a drummer-“

“And you know what I want?” I spat back, Pete’s hand twitching with the desire to pin me down again, I’m sure.

Instead, he ran it through his hair, clutching onto the ends with frustration.

“I know what you need, Patrick.” He settled for turning away from me and walking around in circles aimlessly. “And, it’s not us.”