Restraint is Useless Here

Brian found it odd that the smell of the gym comforted him. It wasn’t so much that he liked it, because no one enjoyed the stench of other people’s physical exertion. Rather, it reminded him of progress. The familiar, artificial aroma of the vinyl floor mats and the biting iron scent that lingered on his hands long after he bench pressed—it exhilarated him. All that negative energy he stowed away deep within him found its way out.

He loved the pain. It gave him an outlet for the nightmares; for the moments when he thought, I wish I’d finished it. With a final heave, he eased the bar into its cradle and ducked under to sit up. After taking a moment to relish the burn coursing through his muscles, he grabbed the towel he’d rested across his abdomen and wiped the sweat pouring down his face.

His pinky throbbed after the benchpress. He still wore the damned splint; the last hurdle before he could jump back into jiu jitsu—well, ease back into it was more like it. He’d still need physical therapy. His doctor had said a total of six weeks, so they were still 2 weeks out. He was aching for it, but strength training would suffice until then. And even when he’d received the all clear for physical contact, he knew he’d need to take it slow.

Living with Matt helped with accountability; the guy was a total gym rat. The singer went full-on bro the moment they pushed through the doors, puffed out chest, exaggerated grunts, and never removed the aviators—every time they slid down his nose from the sweat, by God, he’d nudge them back up.

Brian scanned the perimeter looking for his friend. The mid-afternoon turnout was primarily soccer moms, primped and surgically enhanced, and usually a senior citizen or two donning sweatbands on their foreheads. A sweet old lady watched him as she sat on a bench, curling her 2lb dumbbells, her eyes crinkling as she grinned. Her arms quivered as she lifted, but her determination didn’t. She reminded him of his nonna and his heart swelled a bit—until his eyes landed on his friend just beyond her.

He didn’t know whether or laugh or punch him.

Matt Sanders stood on his tiptoes with his back to the wall mirror, twisting himself around at the waist and appeared to be snapping a cell phone photo of something on the floor. “I’m embarrassed to be in the same room as you right now,” Brian mumbled as he approached. He gestured grandiosely to his friend’s contorted stance. “What is this?”

Matt turned to face him, a relieved grin stretching across his face. “Perfect timing. Hey, will you take a picture of my legs? I think my calves are asymmetrical and it’s tripping me out. I can’t get a good photo.” Matt held his phone out to Brian, who recoiled like it was a grenade.

“Can you just...?” “Jesus, can you wait until we get home? This isn’t Sports Illustrated. Or fucking Vogue.”

An eyebrow arched above his friend’s sunglasses. “That’s quite some shit talk from a guy who hides out at the gym because he’s scared of my girlfriend.”

“No, it’s some shit talk from the guy who doesn’t give her regular orgasms—which I can hear down the hall, by the way—so she has no problem being mad at me.” Brian snatched the phone out of Matt’s hand, earning a triumphant smirk from his friend. “You vain motherfucker.”

The morning after running into Val at the foyer, Brian had earned himself a set of ground rules through Val’s whitened and gritted teeth, consisting mostly of “keep it in your pants,” “don’t be a slut,” and “I swear to God, Brian, if you even think about it I will send you to live with Johnny.”

He obliged, of course. He loved Val and he knew it came from a good place. But this was the most he’d ever wanted her to shut the fuck up in his life.

As far as Anna, he had genuinely enjoyed living with her and getting to know her over the last two weeks. Aside from the fact she she was a culinary goddess, she was also kind and funny. She babbled during prolonged silences sometimes. She hummed off-key when she brushed her teeth. And he wasn’t sure if she realized it, but every morning right before her first sip of coffee, she’d hold the mug just under her nose, inhale deeply, then closed her eyes and smiled to herself.

Not to mention she smelled like a fucking meadow in springtime. He’d never seen a meadow before, let alone smelled one, but Jesus Christ if it wasn’t heavenly.

But they were friends.
It’s all they could be.
And that was okay.

“Man, I’m sorry. You know I am.” Matt’s tone grew earnest. “You can’t talk to me about serious stuff on tour. My brain’s not right. Plus, this was before everything went down with Anna. I didn’t expect she’d be moving in, too.” Matt turned around at Brian’s gesture and stood on his tiptoes, flexing his calves as Brian leaned in to snap a few photos. “It’s you, anyway. You’re practically Val’s brother. I figured it’d be a non-issue.”

Brian spat a laugh. “Apparently, I’m some sort of predator now. Out to steal virtue from women everywhere when she’s never questioned a damn thing about my character in the past,” Brian replied, the ire in his voice slipping out. He regretted it immediately and his face fell as he handed back Matt’s phone. “Sorry. I just... It’s me, like you said. It’s fucking me. I wouldn’t ever purposely hurt Val.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Matt clapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Val’s just freaked out by what happened. I don’t think anyone could fault her for wanting to protect Anna. She gets wild when things spin out of her control, you know that.”

Brian exhaled and raked a hand through his damp hair. Matt was right, he knew this.

That past January in Philly, the northeast was stricken by a snowstorm. Merle, their bus driver, had hit a patch of ice and nearly careened into a ditch five miles outside the venue. Val forbade Merle from driving further due to his California upbringing, held his keys hostage, and made several phone calls in search of a “local professional who was used to arctic conditions” to man the wheel until they reached the arena.

They went on stage an hour late, but Val took every opportunity to remind them that she’d saved their lives.
She was insane, but mostly love fueled that insanity.

Matt must’ve seen some tension in Brian’s shoulders slip away, because he grinned and tugged Brian into a headlock—literally for only a second before releasing him. Matt and his ridiculous sweat-phobia. “In the presence of a threat, Val’s first instinct is always to fight and protect. She only sees red, not reason.”

As of late, Brian empathized.

“Give her a bit, man. She’ll put away the claws.” Matt said before they started toward the locker room.

____________

After they’d both showered and dressed, Matt took a call from Val. Brian didn’t hear any of what she was saying, but assumed by Matt’s replies that cleaning and grocery shopping was involved. He was grateful they’d driven separately.

He glanced in the mirror and the dark circles under his eyes made his skin look extra pallid. He rubbed them hard with the heels of his palms, as if he could wipe them clean. Bumping his pinky, he swore as he shook it out and sunk to the bench.

Two more weeks.

“Everything cool?” The bench creaked as Matt took a seat next to him, jerking his chin toward Brian’s hand.

“Yeah. A little tight, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Matt nodded. His heel tapped the floor a few times before he asked, “And, uh, how’s everything else? You doin’ okay, with like...?” He finished with a vague wave at Brian’s head.
“Yeah.” Brian hadn’t spoken to anyone but Anna about it. And even then, he hadn’t admitted to the nightmares. After a moment, he continued. “I guess. I don’t know. I don’t sleep well.”

“I’m guessing it’s not the bed. It’s Tempurpedic, dude. It can’t be the bed.”

“It’s definitely not the bed,” Brian said with a wry grin. He felt his knuckles tighten, clenching the bench as he said, “I can’t stop thinking about that night.”

Matt didn’t respond right away. After several heartbeats he muttered, “None of us can.” His voice was low, still creaky from the vocal strain that came from months on the road. He rubbed a hand over his shaved head before replacing his hat. “Jesus... I mean, I thought you’d killed him.”

Brian’s molars ground together, top versus bottom. “I wanted to.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” Matt said, casting a paranoid glance at the door. “The message was loud and clear, if you ask me. If he has any common sense left in his busted skull, we won’t be hearing from that piece of garbage again.”

But the fact remained: that human shitstain was still out there. And he would heal. Brian hoped Jack was smart enough to see the battering for what it was: a warning and, if needed, a promise. But he also knew that addiction had a way of distorting reality, the deeper one fell into its clutches.

“Sometimes, I wish I had killed him,” Brian continued, shoulders tense. “And up here?” The guitarist touched a finger to his own forehead. “Up here, I do. Every night. Whether I want to or not.”

Matt’s lips thinned before he said, “Just as long as you keep it up there.”

“I know,” Brian breathed. Looking down at his hands—the hands that created, but also destroyed—he said, “It’s so fucked up. During the day, I’m good. I know I’m a good guy, goddamnit. But at night, I’ve got all this violence swirling around in my head. And I wonder if I might not be anymore.”

“I’ve never seen you like that. I don’t think any of us have. It was scary shit. But it’s over now.” Matt pulled his cap off now, turning it over and over in his hands as he spoke. He shook his head. ”You’re not a killer, Brian. Whether it’s self-defense or in defense of somebody else. You are good. She’s safe.” He held out a fist. “You stopped when you should’ve. Before things got, like... complicated.”

Before I murdered someone. Before the band was implicated, Brian thought. It was unspeakably irresponsible. They weren’t just a band. They were best friends; they were a family. They had built something powerful and it grew by the day—and he’d been a strike away from destroying it and taking them all down with him.

Brian offered a half-hearted grin and bumped his friend’s hand. “No worries. Any further violent crimes will stay in my head. Safe in my fucking nightmares.”

“You probably saved a life that night, not ended one. You’re a damn good person, Gates. Don’t forget that.” Matt’s smiled back, dimples creasing his cheeks. His face grew thoughtful. “Huh. ‘Your fucking nightmares.’ We should put that in a song.”

With a laugh, Brian asked, “Do you ever turn it off?”

Matt quirked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Truth be told, Brian had been up messing around and writing new music every single night since he’d moved in returned. And he was certain the rest of the band was, too. One corner of Brian’s mouth curved up, confirming what the singer already knew. “Hell, no.”

———-
The pair made their way to the parking lot. The sun burned in the western sky, low enough to cast long shadows of the swaying palm trees, but still high enough to make Brian squint.

Their black cars were parked side by side, Brian’s 1973 Camaro was dwarfed by Matt’s Jeep Wrangler. Brian admittedly knew very little about classic cars, but he looked like a badass in it.

Which was all the information he needed.

Matt’s truck chirped as he unlocked the doors. He could’ve just as easily unlocked it manually, as the top was off. Tossing his gym bag into the backseat and leaning against the rear bumper, Matt said, “I’ve gotta stop at the store and pick up some things. Anna’s making some kind of concoction that calls for like, goat’s cheese and caramel onions or something and I don’t even know where you get ingredients like that. And it honestly doesn’t sound super appealing, but she knows what she’s doing in that kitchen, man.”

“Goat cheese and caramelized onions,” Brian corrected, literally facepalming. “You can get goat cheese in the deli. Caramelized onions start out as just regular onions.” Matt’s face remained blank as Brian leaned back against his own car, crossing his arms.

Brian judged.
Totally, 100% judged.

“Listen, I was gonna head up to HBJJ to see Cyrus,” said Brian. “But I’m also super hungry and you sound like you might fuck this up. Seriously, have you never eaten at a restaurant before? Have you never seen a menu? We were in Paris this year, dude.”

Matt chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. Before Anna showed up, the kitchen was purely for show and alcohol storage in the Sanders-Dibenedetto household. “Nah, go meet up with your trainer, man. I know you’re dying to get back.”

Truer words were never spoken. God, how he prayed going back would temper the chaos in his brain. Simply knowing he’d be there, among those who taught him discipline, control, and patience, Brian felt his muscles relax. They lay in wait, just as he was taught to do. His trainer, Cyrus Luther, was a black belt and master of his craft. Luckily, he owned Huntington Beach Jiu-Jitsu just minutes from Matt’s house, so Brian had no reason to put off going. But as excited as Brian was, he didn’t quite know how to explain the nature of his injury to Cyrus. He could lie, but he didn’t want the sport to feel tainted. He needed to address it to overcome it.

“Speaking of Anna,” Matt paused before opening the car door. “I might never let her leave. Oh my God. I can’t go back to frozen pizzas and fast food, dude. I’ve seen the light.”

“Yeah, she’s something else,” The way Matt said I might never let her go irritated Brian a little. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

His friend waited several moments before clearing his throat and asking, “She’s cute, yeah?” Matt still did not get into his car.

Brian narrowed his eyes, but Matt suddenly found the surround palm trees fascinating. Brian felt a bit defensive at the question. Shouldn’t Matt be on Val’s team by default? “Yeah. So?”

Matt shrugged, offering nothing but another throat clearing in reply.

Brian went on. “It’s weird, having someone new in the group. It’s always been just you guys and Val for me. Just making music. Then making better music. Then finally making good enough music to release it and tour. Being crazy and being shitheads.”

“The craziest,” agreed Matt with a laugh. “But I’d have fucked it all away without Val. I’m even more of a shithead than you are, but she grounds me.” Matt was practically giddy. “She tamed the shithead in me.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like the two of you haven’t been married since middle school. Like anyone could forget that time you cut your school ID into strips and made her a shitty little ring out of it.”

“We were kids. I was broke! But it made a statement, didn’t it?” Matt beamed, all teeth. “She still has that ring, you know. Then she heard me sing and it was all over.”

“Don’t let your head get too big. Val could out-scream you any day. Hell, she might be better than Jimmy.”

“Shit, don’t ever say that in front of Jimmy,” Matt chuckled as he finally climbed into his car. Brian followed suit. But apparently the conversation wasn’t over, because Matt called out, “Anyway, sometimes it’s cool to uh, find that person to make it all worthwhile. Like, our missing piece, you know?”

“We’re in a parking lot right now, having a conversation in above average volume from our respective cars, and you want to talk about feelings?” Brian scoffed. “Not so weird for, say, Jimmy—but it’s exceptionally weird for you.”

Brian deflected hard and he knew it. But he had to. Partially because Matt really was being weird. But also because it sounded a whole lot like Matt was encouraging something Brian had halfway accepted wouldn’t happen. Something he probably wasn’t even emotionally equipped for.

But no, there was no way in hell Matt would intentionally go against Val. The lack of sleep obviously fucked with Brian’s head.

His friend quietly considered Brian a moment, a pensive V carved between his brows, then muttered, “Ah, forget it. I’ll see you back at the house.” Matt started his engine. Once more, he turned to Brian, shouting over the rumble of his car. “Hey! Do you think we still have that tour video where Val came on stage?”

“God, I hope not,” Brian shouted back. “I’m pretty sure that was our nail polish phase and I’m not ready to rehash the idiocy of fingerless gloves and smeared eyeliner.”

“Hate to tell you, brother,” Matt grinned as he pulled the gearshift, eyes glinting mischievously. “But your eyeliner game still fucking sucks. Let it go, already!” He backed up and peeled out before Brian could respond.

No way in hell was he getting away with that. The Camaro roared to life as he shifted into reverse. Brian’s head jerked back as he punched the gas—easily catching up to Matt as he signaled a left turn at the parking lot exit. Pulling up next to the cackling singer, Brian’s pressed his foot down gently, garnering a warning snarl from the Camaro.

“Hey dickhead,” Brian taunted. “Your left calf looks like a half-eaten chicken leg.” Then, with a grin sharp as a blade, he exploded out of the parking lot.

Notes