Mackenna

Guess there’s something bittersweet about a beginning, because it almost always requires an end. My beginning right now requires I end my stint with Crack Bikini.

Six years, almost.

Enough to learn, live, sing my fucking heart out. Hell, enough to realize I don’t want to die a rockstar.

I want to die a family man . . . who used to sing.

I told Lionel I needed out way back. Told him I wanted to make music my own way. At my own pace. In my own time. I told him I want to have friends at the bar where I nightly perform, build some roots—somewhere.

No. Not somewhere.

I want to build some roots in Seattle with my girl.

She’s my beginning, the beginning I’ve craved for six years—one I never knew I could have until I saw her again. But saying goodbye to Crack Bikini isn’t without some pain.

The lyrics I’m recording aren’t without some pain.

Pandora’s tormented. She keeps asking if I’m sure I want to leave the band. She says, “You don’t have to leave it for me.”

“No, Pink, it’s for me,” I promise her.

The truth is it’s for me, for my father. But mostly, for us.

We’re at our headquarters. The place where the guys and I have recorded, nonstop, several songs. Pandora waits outside, chatting with Lionel, while I tape not the one song I promised Lionel but two.

Through the window, I see her. The smile on her face? Yeah, that shit’s rare and precious. It’s what gives me the strength to go on, get these tapes down, get it over with.

The guys will get two singles from me for the new album.

The rest will be instrumental; heavy on the guitars. The boys are excited about mashing those guitar-heavy orchestral songs with a variety of popular songs from different singers. It’ll probably be the perfect music for dancing at any fucking bar.

“You sure about this, man?” Lex asks when I come out to say goodbye. We do a hand salute we used to do when we were younger, and I slap his back.

“Yeah, as sure as you are of keeping that ugly dragon up your arm.”

“Kenna, dude, anytime you feel like stopping by to work on tracks, tour with us . . . ,” Jax begins.

“I’ll just stop by without warning, catch you two bastards unawares,” I kid, doing our handshakes too.

Lionel has seen this coming, I know, since my father was released from prison and I mentioned wanting to be closer to him. Have some time to spend with the only family I got.

“Anything I can do to change your mind?” Lionel asks.

I reach out for Pandora, who’s been standing a bit to the side, giving us some privacy. I grab her by the back of the neck and pull her close to me. “Won’t ever be ready to leave my vixen again.”

“Kenna, but your music . . .”

“My music will always be with me.” I tip her head up, her gaze somehow both dark and playful. “Am I finally going to hear that song you promised to write to me?”

She flushes beet red. “The first one doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Write me another one, then. Better yet, would you like to write one with me?”