Nik snorts. “You can write songs?”
“He’s actually extremely talented,” Ward breaks in, looking at me curiously. “Whose vocals did you write them for?”
I suppress a smile, his question outing that I’ve got him hooked. “Yours, of course,” I assure him. “Except one song.”
“You’re going to sing?” Ward asks hopefully.
“I’m going to sing.” And even with all the progress I’ve made, something about saying those words unravels the last bit of fear coiled in my chest.
“Well, color me shocked. This could work,” Ward murmurs.
“Why the one song?” Michael asks curiously.
I take a deep breath. “Because the rest of the songs are to get the fans and, hopefully, the label back on board. But my song? That one’s for a girl. The girl. The one who started all of this. And she needs to know I haven’t stopped thinking about her this whole damn time.”
“You’re in love with the reporter,” Nik accuses me with a gasp.
I huff a laugh and nod. “Sure am.”
Nik grins in response. “That’s so fucking cute. I’m in.”
“You’ve had a busy couple of months, haven’t you?” James asks contemplatively.
I chuckle. “That I have.”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “All right, kid. Let’s hear this album of yours.”
24
We Will Rock You by Queen
* * *
West
“No, you’re still going early,” I tell James. I replay the bridge, pausing at his cue. “Then you come in here.”
James nods, so I keep going as he picks up on the cue, finally. At least, I hope he does. Ward watches on while trying to look like he isn’t. I flick him a look and he grins, holding up his hands.
“Just keeping an eye on things,” he says defensively. “We hit the recording studio Monday, after all.”
“This is nothing,” I assure him. “We’re ready.”
And we are. Still, I heave a sigh and set Rosie aside. It’s been an exhilarating — but exhausting — few weeks.
James continues to practice as I pack up for the day, and Ward sidles up to me.
“So. Recording next week at the good graces of our friendly L.A. indie rock network. Concert the Thursday after that, venue by the good graces of the stunning Frankie Greco and her towering intimidator of a husband. And Nik’s girlfriend is on promo, sticking flyers to anything in L.A. that’s not moving. Everything’s falling into place. How about you? Got all your ducks in a row, West?” he asks. Except that’s not what he’s really asking.
“Nothing fell anywhere, we’ve been busting our asses 24/7,” I point out. “And no, to answer the question you’re really asking, I haven’t talked to Jason about the article yet, you passive-aggressive jackass.” I say it with a laugh, because I’m mostly teasing him. “But I’m meeting him for a drink tomorrow night.”
Ward tries to look cool, but I can tell he’s relieved. He’s so tightly wound sometimes, I wish he’d find a girl he cares about as much as I care about Maxi. Because there’s nothing like a woman who makes you want to be a better version of yourself.
And that makes me remember … fuck, I miss Maxi. I’ve tried not to think too hard about it these past few months, but this is all because of her. Don’t get me wrong, getting my shit together was for me. But this concert? This apology? It’s for her. I mean, if it gets the fans and the label back, great. At this point, though, I honestly couldn’t give a shit.
Because, shockingly enough, my self-worth no longer hinges on the whims of the masses. And thank fucking god for that.
But a life without Maxi Marshall? That’s like Simon without Garfunkel. Hall without Oates. Jimmy Page without Robert Plant. In other words, unthinkable.
Still, I put off the meeting with Jason because this is the part I’m most nervous about. What if he won’t go along with what I have in mind? What if he tells her?
I shake my head as I zip Rosie back into her case. Dr. Marks is right. If I’m not careful, I’m going to what-if myself into an early grave.
With a chuckle, I head home with the hope that I’ll find something to distract me until tomorrow evening.
Distractions or no, time marches on, and Saturday evening finds me entering a café near Rock Scene’s office, looking for Jason.
I spot him at a table near the back, and I glance around nervously at the packed room. I should’ve thought this through a little better. The whole point was to keep this on the down-low. Not just from Maxi, either.
I slide into the seat across from Jason, his eyes landing on me in surprise.
“You showed,” he remarks.
I smirk. “Yep. I did.”
He nods. “All right then. I’m going to guess this little meeting has something to do with the buzz that Violent Mood Swings is putting on a concert in a couple weeks?”
I’m secretly pleased that he knows. That means our grassroots marketing plan is working.
“Sort of,” I admit. “But it’s also sort of about the fact that I created a shitstorm for you guys a couple months back. And I’d like to make amends for that.”
Jason arches an eyebrow, disbelief written all over his face.
“Is this another ‘apology’?” he asks, with air quotes and all.
I laugh, despite myself. “Cute. I’m pretty sure saying ‘I’m sorry’ would go over like a lead balloon at this point,” I reply. “So I’m here to offer you an exclusive.”
Jason snorts. “Well, I have to admit everyone’s curious how and why you guys might be getting back together. What exactly will you give us?”
I smile, spreading my hands out. “Everything, Jason. The whole story, from cradle to grave to rising again.”
“Still think you’re God, do you?” There’s no humor in his voice.
I realize it did come out sounding like that, especially since the version of me he knows is pre-rock-bottom.
“I like to think of it more like a phoenix rising from the ashes,” I offer. “Don’t you want to be the magazine that reveals why I burned it all to the ground?”
Despite himself, I can tell he’s intrigued. And I know he can’t afford to pass up this opportunity.
“When do you want it to run?”
“As soon as possible.”
He considers. “I can get it online within a few days of you sitting down with Max. But print doesn’t go out until the day before the concert.”
“I’m not looking for publicity,” I tell him. “And I don’t want Maxi on this particular article. Hell, I’m pretty sure she’d tell you exactly where you could stick this interview if you even asked her.”
Jason snorts a laugh. “Yep, that sounds about right,” he agrees. “Though I don’t blame her for being pissed at you.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I reply. “Which is where my only condition comes in.”
He folds his arms over his chest with a dubious expression, one that says he was waiting for the catch.
“I want to do the article for two reasons: First, to give you guys the edge back and hopefully put to rest any doubts about your involvement with the lies I told. Second, to show a certain feisty-as-hell reporter that I’m not fucking around this time,” I explain. “That’s why someone else needs to do the article. So it gets printed. So she sees me laying it all out there.”
“And the condition?”
“I want her to cover the concert.”
Jason narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I frown. “Does it matter?”
“She’s like a little sister to me so, yes, it matters. I’m not sending her there so you can publicly humiliate her.”
“You’ve got the wrong end of this, man,” I respond with a grin. “Because it’s all about publicly humiliating myself. And then making sure she damn well knows how I feel about her.”
Jason leans forward on the table, looking at me intently. And he does have that big brother “I’m going
to beat your ass if you fuck with her” vibe going.
“And how do you feel about her?”
I rub my lips together. If she hasn’t told him anything, I’m not sure whether it’s a betrayal of her trust to. But then, as far as I know, she doesn’t reciprocate my feelings anyway. And I’ve probably got a snowball’s chance in hell with this woman. But for Maxi, I’ll take those odds.
“I’m in love with her,” I admit quietly. “Even if she doesn’t love me back. I need her to know. I need to show her how fucking sorry I am.”
“You sure about this? Because from where I’m standing, I’m pretty sure she’s hated your guts for years.”
I smile sadly, still hoping that’s not true. Still willing to take the chance.
“What do I have to lose that I haven’t already lost?”
25
Missing You by John Waite
* * *
Max
“Max?” Alexsis’s voice draws my gaze to the door. “Do you have a minute to look over an article for the website before it goes to Jason?”
I pull a face. “That’ll take more than a minute.” I throw my pen down with a sigh and gesture for her to hand it to me. “But for you, of course.”
She hands me the small sheaf of papers nervously, settling down in the extra chair in my cubicle.
“You’re going to watch me read it?” I ask dryly.
She shrugs. “I just … thought you might want to discuss it with me while you go.”
I furrow my brow. “You know if I have to ask you questions, it’s not ready for Jason, right?”
“I know.” Alexsis bobs her head, and her nervous energy is weirding me out.
I fight the urge to pull a face, unsure what’s up with her today but assuming she just needs reassurance. “Well, you’re a talented writer, I’m sure it’s fine,” I mumble as my eyes start to scan the page.
But I only take in the headline before my eyes snap back up to hers, suddenly understanding her nerves.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask plainly, dropping the pages on my desk like they’re on fire.
“Just read it. Please?”
“This is an interview with Kristoffer fucking Westberg, Alexsis. When did you do this?” I demand. “Why did you do this?” Even I can hear the hurt in my voice. She knows this subject is off-limits.
“You’ll understand when you read it. And you need to read it,” she urges. “Trust me.”
I snort. “Trust you. Like I trusted West?”
“It’s okay to be mad at him. But this is going live, and it’s going to be a big deal. I figured it was better if you read it before everyone else. So you weren’t unprepared.”
I furrow my brow and frown. I hate to admit it, but she has a point. The last thing I need is to be blindsided by West again.
“Fine,” I snap, snatching the pages back. “But I don’t have to like it.”
Alexsis presses her lips together and her nostrils flare. She’s clearly trying not to laugh at my petulant attitude. Because I know I’m being a little over the top, it almost snaps me out of my funk. Almost.
But as soon as I start reading, the funk is back in full force.
Until it’s replaced by my stomach dropping into my shoes. And maybe a tear or two. And a hand over my mouth.
When I finish, I gently place the pages down and lean back in my chair.
“He really told you all of that?” I ask in a whisper. But I already know the answer. Of course he did. How else would she know?
She nods. “Yep. I think it was harder on me, actually. He seemed surprisingly okay talking about the whole thing.”
I shake my head. “It seems like an odd publicity stunt and totally not like West to share all that. But then, I guess they need all the help they can get ahead of whatever farce of a concert they intend to put on next week.”
“So you know it’s all the truth?”
My eyes meet hers. “Why? Do you not believe him?” I ask curiously.
“That’s not what I meant, but yes, I believe him. He’s … different.”
I snort. “If I didn’t know this” — I pick up the article — “was all true, that statement alone would make me think this whole thing is an act. Then again, the publicity stunt angle still fits, even if it is true. Why else would he do this?” I drop the article back on the desk, disgusted.
“Oh, Max. Isn’t it obvious?”
I level a don’t-go-there look at her. “No. It’s not. Not to me at least. But I also don’t give a shit.”
Alexsis gives me a look filled with pity. She hesitates. “It’s okay to miss him, Max. Even though he hurt you.”
Indignation tingles over every inch of my skin. “I do not miss him,” I scoff.
Alexsis’s expression turns to exasperation. “Oh really? Then why have you been sulking around for the last three months doing google searches and scanning social media for news about him when you think nobody’s looking?”
My eyes go wide at being called out and my face flushes. “I’m not sulking! And that was just … morbid curiosity,” I stammer defensively.
God, I’m so lame.
I’ve totally been sulking.
I totally miss him.
I’m a stupid, stupid woman who is obviously a glutton for punishment. What he did … it went beyond potentially trashing my career, which thankfully has mostly recovered. He trashed my trust. Again.
And I shouldn’t worry about him. I shouldn’t look for him in every headline. I shouldn’t want to know what the band’s doing back together and what’s going on with this concert. I shouldn’t love him.
Because that leads to only one place: more heartbreak.
But … what if everything he was quoted as saying in the article is true? I rifle through to the last page, trying to remember exactly how he worded his response to Alexsis asking why he was sharing all of this. When I find it, I realize I’d merely skimmed it the first time.
“Because this time, it’s real. And to prove that, I need to set right what I did wrong. At least, as much as people will let me. But I also get I may not deserve that in some people’s eyes. And that’s okay too.”
On a second, closer read, I wonder … he couldn’t have been talking about me … could he? Tears prickle at the backs of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to contain them. On some level I want to believe it’s the truth. But even if it’s his truth, does it change anything? Trust isn’t so easily rebuilt. Even he gets that.
I look up to find Alexsis watching me. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Jason’s going to ask you to cover the concert. You don’t have to interview the band or anything, just go. I thought you might like a chance to think about that not in front of your boss.”
She rises, making to leave.
“Alexsis, wait,” I call after her.
She turns back to me and I offer her the printed article. “Here.”
“I meant for you to keep that one,” she says softly.
I sigh heavily. “Thank you,” I murmur.
And she knows I don’t mean for the printout, because she gives me a sad smile, then leaves.
After she’s gone, I contemplate reading the article again, now that I’ve calmed down a little. And maybe I should. Maybe I should take off the bitter filter I’ve been viewing the world through lately.
But then again, maybe I need to look at it that way because the truth is so much scarier. Risks always are. And West is a risk I can’t imagine myself taking ever again.
26
I Won’t Back Down by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
* * *
West
Preshow jitters rarely used to be an issue for me. Maybe it was the drugs and alcohol. Or maybe I was high on the energy of the crowd, the adoration of the fans.
Or maybe no show has ever mattered quite like this one.
Six days ago, I exposed myself to the world. Digitally, as it were, not in the perverted way. Though I have been known to do that in the past.
But no, this time it wasn’t physically. This time everyone knows my story. Facts and happenings I tried hard to ignore for most of my adult life. It’s all out there now, and the show sold out not long after. So clearly people are curious. Hopefully some even show up for the actual music.
Either way, today I expose the only part of me I didn’t in that article: my heart. Today is my grand gesture. My Say Anything moment. Except instead of a boombox, I’ve got Rosie, a kickass sound system courtesy of Baltia, and an epic ballad written expressly for one Maxi Marshall to end what I hope will be an equally epic evening.
But first, I’ve gotta get there. And fuck if today didn’t make me miss having our own crew. Fortunately, the backbreaking work of lugging all our gear into the club, setting up, and doing soundchecks kept me from thinking too hard most of the day. But we’re minutes to doors open now, and there’s nothing to distract me from the swirling pit of nerves in my stomach. I should’ve gone with the rest of the band to get something to eat ahead of the show, but I have zero appetite. And I don’t want to have something in my stomach to throw up if the nerves win. God, the nerves.
They’ve been made worse by not knowing how Maxi took the article, or if she even read it at all. And while Jason said he’d “do his best” to get her here … well, not knowing if she’ll show is another level of torture I was unprepared for.
I feel the equipment crate I’m sitting on shift and a voice to my right says, “So I hear tell from Ward this show isn’t just about getting your career back.”
I huff a breath out of my nose and turn. “It’s still a trip seeing you without crazy-colored hair,” I say.
Frankie grins over at me, tugging at her now-dark-brown locks, though at least she’s still wearing the bright red lipstick she’s famous for. A few years ago I was a falling rock star when she was a new, unknown face on the rock scene. She’d just bought Baltia, but now she’s a legend in her own right for what she’s done with it and several other clubs since.
Finding His Redemption Page 16
