Somewhere in the Middle

Three A.M. Fix

Jamie hated overnight rides.

There was the obvious reason: he couldn't go out when he wanted to.

But then there were the less obvious reasons, like the fact that the high from the show immediately disappeared as soon as he stepped foot on the bus. And no matter what he did, he couldn't sleep—his brain going a mile a minute, mulling over everything he didn't want to consider, everything he no longer wanted to remember, and drank to forget.

He found himself getting up after everyone else had fallen asleep, when the only noise he could hear was the low thrum of the bus' engine, and then if he focused, the long, slow breaths of those sound asleep around him.

It was so much easier to be quiet when he wasn't drunk. The bus didn't seem to jostle so much beneath his feet as he made his way to the front lounge. And it was amazing how much more he enjoyed the small space when no one else was filling it.

He went right to the fridge, the light startling to his eyes in the otherwise dark space. But there was nothing in there he wanted. He wasn't sure why he'd looked in the first place. Besides, now that everyone was asleep, he could dip into his supply.

Carefully, Jamie opened the top cabinet in the corner, filled with to-go cups and miscellaneous items that no one really needed like extra napkins, and antibacterial wipes, and instant coffee.

Jamie stood on his tiptoes and reached past all that shit toward the back of the cabinet, where his fingers found the neck of a bottle. He pulled it forward slowly, afraid to make any noise that might wake someone, and breathed a sigh of relief when his feet landed flat on the floor again, the bottle snug in his grip, then wasted no time in twisting the top open, and taking a big, burning gulp.

It was too late for coffee, but Jamie put on a pot anyway, taking swig after swig from the bottle beside him, his thoughts returning to the show as he waited for the coffee to brew.

Greg had given him an I told you so almost immediately after they'd gotten off stage. Luke just handed Jamie a leftover roll from dinner service, and Evie was nowhere to be found. Mercifully. He didn't want to have to face her again.

It was always fucking ridiculous—to see all those faces, different ones every night, stretched into the same wide smiles, releasing the same shrill screams, shouting back the same words in unison, creating a sound that Jamie could feel as much as he could hear. It went right through him, touched him in a place only being on a stage had shown him he had.

It was something he often thought about—what might've happened had he not discovered his love for music. It so easily could have gone the other way. Where would he be if he hadn't found his father's guitar locked away in his grandparents' attic? What would have happened if he were actually good at school, if he were actually interested in anything his teachers had to say? What would have happened if he hadn't forced himself to learn the instrument, to work until the pads of fingers were callused over?

Probably nothing good.

Jamie poured two cups when the coffee was ready. One with milk and sugar, the other black, and carried both carefully up to the front of the bus.

"Figured you'd be up here at some point," Henry said, only glancing at Jamie, his eyes on the empty road swiftly moving in front of them. "And with my three a.m. fix, thank you very much."

Jamie handed him his black coffee, and sat in the seat hanging over the steps just beside the door. "Where are we?"

"New Mexico," Henry said, tossing an empty cup out of his cup holder and settling his hot coffee into it. "The Land of Enchantment. Home to Santa Fe and the black bear. Keep an eye out. If we're quiet, we might see one along the road."