The only member of The Saints not currently working the crowd or entertaining groupies was Jake. He wasn't even in the building. While the rest of the band was riding the post-show high, basking in fame and flesh, Jake was off alone - physically and mentally detached.
Despite 168 live performances in front of 65,000 people - nearly half of them female - Jake had never slept with anyone besides Michelle Borrows. She'd given him her virginity the night of their first-ever show, and since then, she'd been his only partner. The temptation had always been there, sometimes almost unbearable, but Jake had learned early on to leave the party if Michelle wasn't around. That rule had saved him more than once.
If there was one moral his upbringing had successfully instilled, it was loyalty. Fidelity. Love, when it mattered. And at some point - he couldn't even say exactly when - Michelle had stopped being just a girlfriend and become the girl. The one he loved. The one he couldn't imagine being without.
Jake had been with a fair share of girls before Michelle. Most of it had been casual, lust-driven, over before it started. Even the longer relationships - if you could call a month "long" - had been more about convenience and distraction than emotion. Michelle had started out the same. But somewhere in the day-to-day of being with her - talking, laughing, laying around doing nothing - love crept in and refused to leave. It surprised him. It scared him, even. But he didn't fight it.
He loved her smile. Her voice. The softness of her skin. The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He even liked just sitting next to her on the couch in his apartment, watching late-night TV. For a moment, he'd even considered the idea of marriage. And then... things had changed.
Not suddenly. Not with a fight or a betrayal. It was slower, quieter - like watching someone walk away in slow motion, knowing you couldn't stop them. Michelle hadn't stopped loving him. That much he knew. But she was distancing herself, building a wall brick by brick. And Jake could see what was coming.
The wedge wasn't another person - it was her past. Her parents. Her faith. Her upbringing. Michelle had transferred to Cal State Heritage, where she was now in her third year, chasing an English degree and a teaching credential. Her plan was to teach at her old Catholic high school, Holy Assumption. And the girl who once rebelled so hard against that life... was starting to slip right back into it.
Jake felt the shift in a hundred small ways. The way she frowned when he cursed. The way she commented on how much he smoked, how much he drank, how long his hair was. She tried to get him to go to church with her, to confession. It was like she was trying to fix him - sandpaper down the parts that didn't fit into her vision of a proper Catholic future.
"We've been sinning," she told him one night, her tone tight with guilt. "Every time we sleep together, Jake, it's a sin. Don't you understand that?"
They'd had that argument more than once. Around and around in circles. Michelle would cry about her soul, and Jake would argue about hypocrisy - and then they'd wind up in bed anyway. It was a cycle neither of them knew how to break.
The ironic part? Michelle craved him. For all her talk of guilt and damnation, she wanted him. She'd melt the second his hands found her waist. Sometimes she'd even be the one to start things, only to spiral into shame afterward. But tonight, even that push and pull felt more distant than usual.
She had come to their Wednesday night show at Willie's Roadhouse - rare these days - but stayed cold and withdrawn the whole time. Jake had tried to break through, asked what was wrong. She gave the same excuse she always did: school. "I'm behind in my studies," she said. "State's harder than HCC."
He didn't buy it. Michelle was brilliant. School came easy to her. But Jake knew better than to call her out. Pressing too hard never ended well.
So he tried something else.
"Why don't we go check out Willie's yacht?" he suggested.
Willie Bradford, the club owner, kept a sleek forty-footer docked at the marina. Not many had access - but Jake did. Perks of being the frontman who packed the bar every Wednesday night. He had a key to the marina gate and the code to the cabin door. He and Michelle had made use of that boat more than once.
"I don't really have time," she said, curt and defensive. But Jake had seen the flicker in her eyes.
"Come on," he said, gently pulling her along. "It's only 10:30. Just for a bit."
She gave a few weak objections, but her body was already betraying her. Jake knew her too well. The way she licked her lips. The way her voice softened. She was trying to resist herself more than she was resisting him.
"I'll take care of you," he whispered, lips brushing her ear. "No pressure. Just let me... make you feel good."
Michelle shivered. "Let's go," she murmured.
Ten minutes later, they were alone in the cabin, the boat gently rocking beneath them. She sat on the narrow bed, breath shallow, eyes locked on him. There was tenderness in the way he touched her, in the way he kissed her, in the way he knelt for her like she was sacred.
And just when he rose to meet her again.
"No," she said.
Jake blinked. "What?"
"I have to go," she whispered. Her face was flushed, her breath shaky, but her eyes were serious. "I shouldn't have stayed this long."
"You're leaving now?" He stared at her, still kneeling. "We're... in the middle of something here."
"Yes," she said. "And we're in the middle of sinning. Only this time, I'm strong enough to stop it."
Jake stood, stunned. "You've got to be kidding."
"You don't have to swear at me," she snapped.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Michelle. But you knew what this was. What we are."
"I know," she said. "But I can't do this anymore. Not like this."
Jake took a shaky breath, stepping back, lowering himself into the small chair against the bulkhead. He didn't trust himself to move. Didn't trust what he might say next.
"Why are you really doing this?" he asked. "Is this some kind of punishment?"
"No," she said softly. "I told you, I have to be up early. I have class at 8:20."
He shook his head, jaw tightening. "Cut the crap. What's actually bothering you?"
She opened her mouth to lie - he saw it. But then she stopped. Her hands smoothed her skirt, her jaw tightened.
"That song," she said. "The new one."
Jake looked up. "It's In The Book?"
She nodded. "It's about The Bible, isn't it?"
Jake exhaled slowly, already knowing where this was headed.
Michelle's face hardened. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze like steel.
"You're mocking The Bible, Jake," she said, her voice trembling. "Do you think that's clever? Do you think it's funny?"
He stared at her, back pressed into the cabin's bulkhead, still reeling from her sudden withdrawal. "Funny?" he echoed. "Do you honestly think I wrote that song as a joke?"
She didn't answer.
"There's nothing in that song that isn't true," he said, more firmly now. "The Bible does teach hatred. It justifies violence. It excuses bigotry. You can pretend that's all metaphor or context, but it's there. You can't pretend it away just because it makes you uncomfortable."
"You're twisting it all out of context!" she snapped. "You're using your voice to poison people against God. Just so some stoners in a bar will clap for you and yell your name. You're blaspheming, Jake!"
He didn't flinch. "I'm not going to argue theology with you again. We've done this dance already. You knew what I believed when we started dating."
"I thought maybe you'd grow out of it," she said. "You're stuck in this... this angry teenage rebel phase. You act like you've figured it all out just because you've got a mic and a crowd. But you don't know a damn thing about faith."
He clenched his jaw but said nothing.
"I've grown up," she continued, voice cracking. "I'm not the same girl I was last year. I've found my way back to who I really am. And you..."
Jake's gut twisted as the pause dragged on.
"You're still lost," she finished.
It was like a punch to the chest. He looked down, trying to hold back the emotions bubbling to the surface. "So what are you saying? That we're done?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I love you. I do. But look at us, Jake. Look at what we're doing. This... this is tearing me in half."
He bit back a sharp reply, then forced his voice steady. "I haven't changed, Michelle. You have. You're the one walking away."
"I have changed. And I don't think that's a bad thing."
Silence settled between them like fog. The faint rocking of the boat creaked the wood beneath their feet. Jake's hands were clenched into fists on his thighs.
"You've dropped out of school," she said finally. "And don't even pretend you're planning to go back."
"If I need to, I will," Jake said. "But right now, I'm working a real job. This band? It's not just a hobby. We do three shows a week - sometimes four. We rehearse. We write. This isn't a joke to me."
"I know," she said. "But how much do you make, Jake? Be honest."
"You know the numbers," he muttered. "Five hundred a set at D Street. Six here at Willie's. Other gigs fall somewhere in between."
"And that comes out to what? A couple hundred a week once it's split five ways and taxed?"
"Sometimes more. Sometimes less."
"It's barely above minimum wage," she said. "You're scraping by, living with Bill in that shitty apartment. Is this really how you see your future? Living gig to gig, hoping your next song pays rent?"
Jake didn't answer right away. He'd had this exact argument with his parents more times than he could count. They couldn't understand either. No one did. Except maybe Matt.
"My mom keeps telling me I should be a music teacher," he said finally. "That I should get my degree and 'share my gift' or whatever. I get it. But that's her dream, not mine."
Michelle stayed quiet.
"I love what I do," Jake said. "I love being on stage. I love the roar of the crowd. I love writing something and watching people lose their minds when we play it live. That's worth something to me. Even if it doesn't pay much. Even if it never will."
She shook her head. "You're romanticizing struggle."
"I'm choosing passion," he shot back. "And yeah, it's messy. And yeah, it's uncertain. But it's mine. I'm not going to give it up just to make your parents like me. Or God, for that matter."
"That's not fair."
He looked her straight in the eyes. "Isn't it?"
More tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily. "I'm just trying to build a real future. Something stable. Something meaningful. And I look at you, and I just... I don't see how we fit anymore."
His chest felt hollow. The pain he'd been holding at bay finally spilled over.
"You used to," he said quietly.
"I know," she whispered.
The silence returned. Longer this time. He watched as she stood and smoothed out her skirt. Her face was still flushed, but her expression was closed off again. Guarded.
"I should go," she said, reaching for the cabin door.
"Michelle - "
"I can't do this anymore tonight."
She opened the door. Cool marina air drifted in. She paused, not looking back.
That one second - the hesitation - it said everything and nothing all at once.
Jake didn't move. He just watched her silhouette vanish down the dock, swallowed by the shadows.
He knew when the point of futility had been reached.
He fumbled around in his pants pocket for a moment and finally came out with a crumpled pack of smokes.
All of the cigarettes inside were bent and broken.
He straightened the end of one and fitted it onto the filter of another. He dug in his pants again and finally came up with a lighter. He sparked up, smoking slowly while he cried.
"Point of futility," he mumbled to himself, a part of his mind already composing the barest beginnings of lyrics to go along with that phrase, that concept, while the rest of him grieved.
"How's that for a fucking tune? The point of fucking futility."