Carson had been high on stage before, but this was bad. We’d given him second, third, fourth chances because he’d never totally fucked it up on stage. Missed practices, ruined recording time in the studio, and been in less-than-ideal shape at concerts, sure. But we’d all had bad days and screwed up once or twice, so we kept letting it slide. Sure, we talked to him about it, told him to clean up his shit, and he promised he would. He hadn’t.

And now here we were, performing in front of ten thousand people in Austin, and he was an absolute mess.

We got through the first song and before I picked up with the next, Townie, Will and I exchanged meaningful glances with each other. With curt nods, we came to the silent agreement that we couldn’t do the set like this.

One song in and I had no idea how to gracefully tell the crowd we were taking a break. And shit, finishing the set without piano was going to be bad news. It wasn’t as disastrous as Amy Winehouse in Belgrade, but to anyone who knew our band, we were off, way off tonight.

Instead of picking up with the song we’d planned to play second, I went with Fireball, which was quickly becoming our most popular since the album’s release last month. It only required a few basic chords from Carson, and it was the first that came to mind where he’d do the least damage. Glancing at Carson as I strummed out the first few notes, he didn’t even seem to register that we were playing the song out of order, and of course Will and Townie caught on quickly.

It was hard to sing Kick’s song when I wasn’t focused emotionally. I could go through the motions with any of our songs if I had to, since I wrote all of them and had practiced them hundreds of times. But it didn’t feel right to be on autopilot when I was singing about the woman I was in love with. Still, I was too pissed at Carson and trying to keep this performance from turning into a total shit show. I just had to get through it.

The crowd was disgruntled when I told them we needed a quick break before continuing. It was unprofessional, but far from unheard of for a band to take a random break in a performance for some reason or other. When we came back on stage one band member down, they’d know the reason, and then they’d be really disgruntled.

I couldn’t look at Carson as we exited the stage. I wanted to knock some sense into the fucker, but needed to stay cool.

“What the hell, man?” Carson said from behind me as we entered the hallway. I didn’t answer, opening the door to the green room.

Addy and Cassie followed closely behind the rest of the band. As I noted their eyes darting around nervously, I knew what I had to do. This wasn’t my band, not exactly, but I’d always made the decisions, and the rest let me, even wanted me to play that role.

Right now, I knew what decision I had to make, and I knew that Will and Townie would back me up.

“Carson, you’re done. Pack your shit. We can’t have you tripping on acid or whatever the hell you’re doing while playing in front of ten thousand people.”

Carson sputtered, tried to protest. Will and Townie backed me up. Addy took her brother’s arm. “Carson, he’s right. You were way off out there,” she said, and I was grateful she was at least on board with that part of the decision.

“Why the hell do I need to pack my bags?” Carson asked. Even tripping, he didn’t miss that. “We’ve got weeks more before this tour is over.”

I could have waited until after the show to do this, but I had to get it off my chest now before I got too sentimental about it. Besides, I couldn’t get up there for another two hours with this weighing on me.

“You’re off the tour,” I said with finality.

I heard a few gasps in the room.

Carson laughed. It was a mean laugh, one that didn’t sound remotely like the guy I’d played with for almost a decade now. “Fuck you, Jack. You don’t get to make that decision.”

He stormed out of there, and for a second I feared he’d try to take the stage, but he turned to go down the hall in the other direction.

Addy stepped forward, into my personal space, and I narrowed my eyes down at her. “Don’t do this, Jack. I get pulling him off tonight, but the rest of the tour? That’s extreme. He’ll hate you. He might not come back. It could break up the band.”

The thing that sucked for Carson was that he was the least talented player in the band. We could find another keys and piano player, probably a better one. I’d thought this through. Hell, it’d kept me up at night. I’d even talked about it with Townie and Will. I still wouldn’t be giving the guy another chance tonight or on tour if he was a more talented musician, but I knew the band could afford to take the risk that he wouldn’t be coming back.

“We’ll talk about it after the show. We need to get back out there,” I said tightly, stepping around her before she could protest.

I paused at the stairs behind the stage, turning to Will and Townie. Their faces were stoic. This wasn’t done lightly, and they knew it. Townie put a solid hand on my shoulder. “It had to be done, man.”

Will nodded. “You did the right thing. We said one more chance, and he really fucking blew it this time.”

I let out a long sigh and rubbed a hand through my hair. “Let’s put on the best damn show we can without keys. We’ll start making calls for a sub after the show.”

The guys nodded, and we climbed slowly up the stairs, stepping onto the stage and into bright lights significantly more subdued than we were twenty minutes ago. Time to tell the crowd another lie, and carry on.