Without You

4. Old Friends

Lindsey drove down the interstate, the chaotic way his curls blew in the breeze reflecting his state of mind. The foundation of everything he believed to be true had been seriously shaken—he would have to go back to the beginning, re-evaluate everything. If this was really a cover-up, if Stevie Nicks had faked her own death, there would have to be more people involved than just Jess Nicks. And what was the catalyst? Retreating to that dark time before her passing, all Lindsey could remember was how out of her mind in grief she had been after losing her best friend. She isolated herself, and her using became exponentially worse—so bad, it was like watching her wither away. No matter what they said, she would not see reason. And really, who were they to say anything, they were all snorting the same shit. But Lindsey knew when to stop. Stevie no longer had such qualms. The only ones who sometimes got through to her were him and Christine.

Christine. After Robin's passing, Stevie would have needed another close friend to confide in. Someone who wasn't him. And considering how recently they had been on tour when everything fell apart, Chris was the obvious choice.

The bigger question, however, was whether she would pick up the phone.

They hadn't seen each other since...well, it had been a long time.

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Lindsey stumbled in the door, clothes wrinkled and hair slightly mussed. None of them had seen him since the funeral. They'd been calling nonstop for at least two weeks, trying to get him to come in to the studio. When it was clear Christine's calls would make no difference, they got in touch with his manager and the bands legal team, threatening to fire him if he did not come to this meeting.

And so he was here, wanting to at least have the last word before he cut all ties with the band.

"Well, now that we're all finally present." Mick began, voice clearly already irritated.

"Not all of us." Lindsey mumbled.

Mick pressed his fingers to his temples.

"Quite right—that is the matter of business at hand."

Meeting no response, Mick continued, "we need to determine...what's going to happen going forward. This band has seen many incarnations but this particular situation is...more troubling that previous transitions."

"Cut the bullshit, Mick. Just tell us what you want. That's why we're here." Lindsey demanded, head already pounding. He hadn't been this sober in weeks.

"I think it would be in our best interest to continue with the two writers we still have but somehow find a suitable...alternative when in concert—"

"Sorry—I thought I just heard you suggest we replace Stevie."

"Well I wouldn't never use that word but we have to be pragmatic about this—more than our feelings have to be considered here. The band—"

"—means shit without her! Nobody cares about all of us—it's her they screamed for, her they loved."

"Fleetwood Mac existed before Stevie Nicks came along." Mick declared firmly, knowing he would have to be the one with their financial interests in mind.

"You're—I can't even believe this. Stevie's—she's not even cold in her fucking grave and you're already looking for knockoffs? God—don't you even feel a little guilty? You know why she's not here right now—all that fucking shit you fed her."

"Lindsey, stop." Christine intervened warningly.

"Ha, that's rich coming from you, Buckingham. Stevie knockoffs, really? Isn't that more your specialty. As for your accusation, she begged me for it. Because she was hurting so bad from you belittling her all the time, you goddamn asshole. God knows why she loved you so much, all she got for it was you fucking some other chick in her face all the damn time. I might have provided the materials—but you, you fucking drove her to it!" Mick yelled, fed up.