The auctioneer smiled with uncertainty. “Excellent. Three thousand. Going once. Going twice. Sold to the man in black at the back of the room. A wonderful selection, I might add. David Willardson is the premier Disney artist on the planet.”
Gabe smiled at the elderly woman, pulled out a pair of sunglasses from the inner pocket of his jacket, and put them on. “Oh, yeah. Jessica’s all mine!”
“You didn’t come here to buy a Disney painting,” Scott said. “What’s going on?”
“I saw you on YouTube,” said Scott, getting to his feet and heading down the aisle so they could talk outside in the hall. “I’ve gotta say, you rocked the house, bro. You killed it.”
Scott couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s compliments. Although he’d written lyrics with some of the best songwriters in the business, Gabe had written music and performed with even more songwriters; everyone from Richard Marx and Tim McGraw to Sheryl Crow and Jon Bon Jovi. Songs that the public might give credit to others, Gabe had claimed for himself. Every time one of his hits debuted on the charts, he sent out a tweet to let everyone know the truth. While most artists loathed that type of egotistical behavior, some singers he worked with actually encouraged his behavior. As a guitar legend with a charismatic personality, Gabe noticed that people gravitated toward him (at least those outside of high society) and he basked in their adulation. Gabe wasn’t only a gifted artist but also a celebrity.
“But you don’t plan on sticking with cover gigs forever, do you?” Gabe asked, opening the door to the hall for Scott to pass through. Once he did, Gabe said, “Because that would be a waste of your talent.”
Although intrigued by his brother’s comment, Scott didn’t want to place too much emphasis on Gabe’s remarks: he’d been stung too often by his brother’s enthusiasm in the past, so he just shrugged. Scott couldn’t lie: he’d thought about reforming the band with him hundreds of times since they broke up. But with Gabe’s out of control drinking habits, which affected their ability to cut songs and record albums within a reasonable amount of time, they weren’t able to agree on the musical direction of their band.
While Gabe wanted to move in a heavier direction, one with more keyboards and technical virtuosity, Scott wanted to introduce layers of country and blues into their hard rock sound.
Not only that, but after a couple years, Scott got fed up defending Gabe whenever he insulted others who didn’t agree with his opinions. And the women! After every show, Gabe just needed to flash that magnetic smile, and beautiful women always ended up visiting his hotel room.
But soon afterwards, for reasons Scott never understood, these women inevitably wound up leaving his room upset – not that he’d abused them in any way; they appeared more irritated or frustrated than anything else.
Despite this, when sober, Gabe was the best friend a man could ever ask for: loyal, trusting, supportive, and honest. He took everyone at face value, using their words and actions to guide him in determining who to befriend. He also approached business matters in a logical, emotionless manner, which helped because when it came to those situations, Scott often lost his temper when others tried to take advantage of them.
Although Scott wanted nothing more than to believe everything his brother said, their past dictated that he not become too enthusiastic.
“What have I been doing these last seven, eight years?” Gabe asked. “Sure, these singers pay me a good buck, and I get plenty of credit. But you’re the best songwriter in the business. We’ve both evolved light years since our last album. Can you imagine what we could become?”
Although he’d sobered up, Gabe hadn’t changed a bit when it came to vanity: he knew that he had unparalleled skills. And although he’d always acknowledged Scott’s talent, he’d never been so complimentary and humble.
“So what do you say?” Gabe asked. “Let’s get the band back together.”
“You’re sober now, but what about… later.”
Gabe flashed a sincere smile, one void of pretense or uncertainty. “I want this. I’ve never felt so good, so coherent. I want a legacy.”
Scott stared at him. If Gabe just wanted to become as famous as the artists he’d lent his skills to, Scott had no interest in working alongside him.
His brother had to give a better reason why they needed to work together: an emotional investment in their future; the countless time, energy, and focus needed to create songs that people would want to hear day after day, year after year; and a desire to challenge themselves as artists as well as that of what the music industry had come to expect from rock ’n’ roll.
“Artists in every genre know your name,” Gabe said. They know you bring it. Just imagine what we can accomplish now that I’m sober. We’re one, brother. You…” He glanced away, emotion rolling over him. “You saved me from dealing with… what you had to deal with.”
Scott wondered if, behind those sunglasses, tears developed in his brother’s eyes.
“I won’t forget that,” Gabe said. “I’ll never forget how you fought for me. I got caught up the last time around. I felt sorry for myself. I… became a drunk. But it won’t happen again. I won’t be like dad. Goddamn it, I want our band back. I want to be brothers again. I want…to be what we should have always been… the greatest band in the world. And we can do it. If you want to record a track fifty times, I won’t argue. If you want to play five shows a week, I’m up for it. I trust you. And I swear to God, I’ll never let you down again.”
Scott felt so touched by his brother’s sincerity and his utter lack of ego that he felt moisture build in his eyes. He’d never seen his brother so emotionally available, and rather than question him, he decided to trust it. Rather than give way to cynicism, he wanted to believe in his brother without doubt.
A smart man would have given that proposal more time. A smart man would have reflected upon the past and examined how that might affect the future. A smart man would have balanced the pros and cons. But Scott didn’t give the proposal more than a second’s thought. The prospect of his songwriting capabilities paired with his brother’s unmatched gift for crafting melodic hooks on the guitar overwhelmed him. It was impossible to think of anything other than what they could accomplish now that Gabe had matured and sobered up. He imagined what the future might look like, but he didn’t voice his ambitions, fearing that doing so he might jinx them.
“Let’s do it!” Scott said. That they would once again work in the recording studio and play together on stage energized him to such a degree that he couldn’t imagine the negatives that might come between them. He wanted to believe in his brother. And although others would no doubt regard his decision as misguided, Scott needed to believe in his brother, the same way he needed to believe in Ashley.
They’d both wronged him. In one way or another, they’d abandoned him. And while a careful person might acknowledge the past and admit the possibility that they might not change, Scott wanted to trust them. No, he needed to trust them. Because living without trust was not really living at all.
“Really?” asked Gabe, his enthusiasm brightening his expression. “We’re gonna kick ass! And I’m not talking about crowds of 500 or even 2,000. I’m talking arenas. Maybe even stadiums. We can do this, bro. Me and you. We’re going to finish what we started.”
“That’s what I want,” Scott said, this time unwilling to let his excitement get the best of him. “But we’re going to have some rules. First, we both have to agree on our agent and manager. And I need you to take part in all negotiations to keep me faithful to our vision.”
“Done,” said Gabe.
“Second, we won’t take longer than two months to record each of our next few albums.”
“Few albums?”
“I’ve written over a hundred and twenty songs,” Scott said. “And you can make each of them better than what I’ve come up with. Do I have your word?”
“But what if—”
“Don’t second-guess yourself, Gabe. You’re the be
st guitarist on the planet. When you overthink things, you come up with crap.”
Gabe smiled. “All right, I’m game.”
“No,” Scott said. “That won’t work. I need you to challenge me. Just like when we started out. You make me a better songwriter. But I want to be the best. I want us to be Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora. Bono and the Edge.”
“What about Lennon and McCarthy?”
“Let’s not get cocky,” Scott said, although for a brief instant he’d imagined that same comparison the moment his brother mentioned it. Not that they’d produce music on nearly the same level as the Beatles, but he wanted to believe they could. Why not take a stab at becoming the best? If they didn’t, they’d just end up disappointing themselves…and their listeners.
“Fine,” Gabe said. “What else?”
“World domination,” Scott said with the deepest resolve he’d ever felt. “I want every goddamn person on the planet listening to our songs!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I wanted to apologize,” Ashley said while standing outside Scott’s room at Winter in Serenity.
He stared at her, startled by her unannounced arrival. He’d wished that she’d chosen a different moment to drop by. At any other time, he’d have been ecstatic to see her, especially since she came to apologize, but another factor had come into play that would be difficult to explain.
“May I come in?” she asked in a hushed tone. She stood on her tip-toes, looking over his right shoulder. “I didn’t know you brought an acoustic with you? Are you writing now?”
“Yeah,” he said, stepping aside from the doorway. She walked past him, leaving an intoxicating scent of perfume in her wake. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, wanting that fragrance to wash over him, giving him something to remember her by every second she wasn’t nearby.
Then the weight of the situation forced his eyelids open: Nina Gilford, the beautiful, young waitress he’d met at The Witching Hour the night he’d performed had stepped into the bathroom only seconds before Ashley knocked on the door. He got very little sleep the night before. The thought of reforming Scrap Mettle had his mind racing in so many different directions that he couldn’t shut it off.
But one aspect concerned him: he needed to release a single, one that listeners would find uplifting rather than melancholy, to kick-off the Scrap Mettle album. And none of the songs he’d written had that buoyant quality. So he’d called Nina in hopes that her enthusiasm would rub off on him. He just needed that initial spark to set him in the right direction. And he thought Nina could supply it. Not only that, but intuition told him that within a couple years she would be an annual staple on the Hot 100, and he wanted to be the one to introduce her to the world, preferably by having her perform a duet to a song they wrote together. So far, they’d already come up with some promising material, but he needed more time to mold snippets of their lyrics and music into a cohesive unit.
Despite the tenuous predicament, Scott forgot all about Nina, instead enjoying the view as Ashley sauntered toward the bed and picked up his guitar.
“Anything good come to you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, staring at her ass. “Real good.”
She spun around and waved at him. “Hello! I meant about your writing.”
Her hand movements broke his dazed expression.
“Wow,” she said and gestured to the building tension between his legs, “that head seems to be paying more attention to me than the one on your shoulders.”
“Just a natural reaction.”
“Let’s hope it’s not as natural as a geyser at Yellowstone.”
He feared that might happen, but in the future, he’d do his best to prevent her from seeing how she affected him. It brought to mind the reason she’d stopped by. “You said something about an apology?”
“Yes, I misjudged you.” Her breath came short until she took a deep breath, releasing some anxiety from her expression. “For fifteen years, I hated you. But we’re alike in that way. We hold onto feelings long after we should have let them go. I hated you so much because… I loved you so much. More than anyone. Ever.”
That statement made him want to smile. How could it not? She’d finally said the words he’d always longed to hear. He liked this more forthcoming Ashley Lawford. What other ways had she changed over the years? What other surprises might she have locked up inside her?
“Everything I said the other day, I said out of anger. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me.”
“But I told you I didn’t—”
“I know,” she said, cutting the space between them in half. “It’s my fault.” Moisture built in her eyes. “And I’ll always have to live with that.”
Scott had never seen her so emotionally available. As the torment slashed away at her heart, he felt the pain lacerating his own body, and he wanted nothing more than to vanquish all of her regrets. At the same time, he wanted to see how she suffered; if they ever hoped to move beyond their past, Scott needed reassurance that she cared enough about him to never make that same mistake again. And seeing her eyes glassy with tears told him that she’d meant every word she said.
“And I did keep up with your career. I bought your albums. I played them over and over, year after year. I sang along with your voice in the car, in the house, on flights from one shoot to another.” Tears slipped between her lashes and cascaded down her cheeks. “I understood how you felt, because I felt the same way.” She stepped up to him, now standing only inches away. “I know you still love me. I know you still care. And I’m so glad you didn’t give up on me.”
The painful memories of their past, the ones that Scott stored behind a dam inside his mind, threatened to break free. But he wouldn’t release the agony that crippled him for so many years.
“I realize now that I’ve never stopped loving you.”
Scott didn’t need to search her eyes for the truth. Ashley left herself bare. The twin beads of moisture that clung to either side of her jaw told him that much. And since so many thoughts rushed through his head, he decided to say nothing. Instead, he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him, holding her tight, so tight that he wouldn’t let anything or anyone tear them apart.
“Scott?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m having a hard time breathing.”
He immediately relaxed his grasp. But the moment an inch separated them, Scott slid his palms up her waist, up the back of her arms, and up her shoulders, until he cupped her face in his hands. So much emotion clogged his throat that he couldn’t talk. Instead, he did what came naturally: he pressed his lips to hers.
Ashley put her hands on his chest. “Wait.”
His eyes snapped open. “What?”
With closed eyelids, she licked her lips, entranced. “Um, what was I saying?” She opened her eyes.
“Nothing,” he said, unable to think about anything, except putting his hands on her again. “Yet.”
“I wanted to say something important,” she said, looking up at the ceiling, trying to remember.
Scott, flustered by her inability to call upon what she wanted to say, clenched the muscles in his toes to lock his feet in place. Now that she’d put an end to that sweet moment, he wanted to run his fingers up her thighs. And he wanted to tear the buttons free from her blouse. He wanted to caress her breasts with his mouth.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, smirking.
“Really?” He closed in and hooked his fingers in the belt loops of her pants, drawing her toward him. “What am I thinking?”
“That you can’t keep your hands off me.” Her smile broadened. “I feel the same way.” She placed her hands behind her back. “But you know what’s even hotter? The anticipation of not knowing when it’ll happen next.”
“Are you kidding? But we already had sex.”
“Yes, but it’s different now that we both know how we feel. We didn’t…” Her eyes drifted to the bed. “I’m looking
forward to that… very much.”
She backed toward the door without spinning around toward it, as though turning her back on him would give him another shot to grab hold of her and persuade her to stay a little bit longer. “Now get back to writing.” Her right hand found the doorknob behind her and she turned it. “About us.” She opened the door, twirled around, and exited the room in a flash.
Scott stared at the door, hoping she’d return.
A few feet away, the bathroom door opened, revealing Nina Gilford.
He stared at her, pulse pounding in his ears. “I completely forgot about you.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear.” Nina stepped halfway out of the bathroom with a smile. “I tried not to listen, but I wanted to wait until Ashley left before coming out. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
“Thank you,” he said, silently acknowledging that any misinterpretation might set Ashley running in the other direction. Besides, Nina wore a thick-knit red sweater, tied her long hair into a ponytail, and wore no make-up: far from a seductive outfit. “I really appreciate that.”
At that moment, the door to the hallway opened again, and Ashley stuck her head in, grinning. “And this time, how about making a song about second...” She caught sight of Nina, and her eyes widened in shock, before turning her attention to Scott. “…chances?”
Scott’s mouth went dry. It didn’t matter that Nina appeared far from alluring. It only mattered that Ashley got the wrong impression. Seeing her cringe in anguish sent shockwaves of fright surging through him. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“I’m… so stupid,” Ashley said, shaking her head. She put her palms to her temples and winced as though she was suffering from a migraine. Tears flooded into her eyes as she met Scott’s gaze. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“No,” he said, rushing for the door. But before he even reached Nina, Ashley jumped free of the threshold and slammed the door shut.
Scott left Nina behind, shot towards the door, and opened it in time to see Ashley race down the stairs at the other end of the hall. He would never reach her before she got in her car and drove off. And once again, the only woman he’d ever loved thought that he’d cheated on her.
One More Chance (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 3) Page 22
