by Shandi Boyes
“You don’t make as much from the first album as you’d expect. Your contract is based more on the number of hits than actual sales—”
“How much?” My irritation rises right along with my snapped tone.
I hate that we’re discussing band shit the day after burying my fiancée. It was my obsession with the band that saw me wasting away the last months I had with Emily.
“You’re just shy of one point two million dollars.”
My teeth grit when my quick calculation goes against us. We still owe a little over eight hundred thousand dollars.
“How the hell are we supposed to come up with eight hundred thousand dollars? I just had a baby, for fuck’s sake.” Nick pushes back from the table so he can pace back and forth. He weaves his fingers through his hair so violently, he tugs a few strands from his scalp. Usually, Slater would laugh at his dramatics, but even he’s too shocked to respond.
My disbelieving eyes shift to Jacob when he sits in the chair Nick just exited. “You don’t need to worry about this. We’ll work out something.”
“Did you read the contract?”
He’s good with legal jargon, so if anyone has a clue if Cormack’s facts are accurate, it will be him.
“Yeah, I did.” His pause isn’t good. “It’s as Cormack stated: if you fail to comply, you’ll have to pay the compensation they’re claiming.”
I inwardly curse. Neither me nor the men surrounding me can afford this. Slater gave up his job in construction when the band signed a contract with Destiny Records. Nick used his first lot of royalty checks as a deposit on the house he lives in with Jenni, and she just gave birth to Jasper a couple of weeks ago.
Emily fell in love with Jasper on sight. When she was asked to be his godmother, she cried happy tears while whispering, “Yes,” on repeat. She’d never forgive me if I’m the reason he becomes homeless. I don’t want to disappoint her again. I disappointed her enough, but can I do this? Can I go on the road to help my friends who are more like brothers to me?
I can for her.
“I’ll do the tour.”
Nick freezes with his hands hanging mid-air. “No, Noah, we’ll work this out. I’ll sell the house, then we’ll get a loan to fund the rest.” His wide eyes stray to Cormack, “Can the studio give us an advance on a second album?”
Cormack shakes his head. “With everything going on... We're... Ah—”
“He knows I’m not recording another album.”
Cormack knows I can’t come back from losing Emily because he discovered firsthand how much I loved her when I begged him to let me perform “Surrender Me” on MTV. The TV execs wouldn’t let me change the schedule without permission from someone in our record company. Delilah would have never agreed, so I called Cormack. After I explained what happened, he gave me permission without hesitation. He even called the producer of MTV directly to inform him of his decision.
When silence falls around me, I raise my eyes from the tabletop. Slater, Marcus, and Nick are staring at me with their brows furrowed. It’s just dawned on them that they didn’t only lose Emily five days ago; they lost me as well. After this tour, I’m done. I’ll no longer be the lead singer of Rise Up.
“On one condition, though.” Cormack watches me with wary eyes. “I will not perform ‘Surrender Me’ on any stage.” Before a rebuttal can seep from his mouth, I shut down any ideas of a negotiation. “It’s not negotiable. If you don’t agree to this, I’ll walk tonight.”
Chapter 47
Noah
I never thought I'd be the one convincing the band to do the tour as stated in our contract, but that’s precisely what I’ve been doing the past forty-five minutes. As much as it shames me to admit, they’d never survive an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar debt. We’ve just started receiving royalty checks after twelve months of hard work, and before we were signed to a label, none of us were financially stable, so I can’t burden them with this.
Emily would want me to do this; she’d want me to help our friends, so after a heated discussion, it’s been agreed that we’ll finish our tour. We won’t be paid a cent since the two-hundred-thousand-dollar payment we negotiated with our contract will compensate for the loss in revenue of the San Francisco gig, but we won’t be in debt either.
So, just five short days after losing my fiancée, and a day after burying her, I’m packing to go back on the road—back to the very thing that took me away from her for months. To say I feel guilty would be a major understatement, but how much worse would it be if I watched everything the guys worked so hard for go down the toilet? I can do this for them... then I won’t feel so guilty when I leave them.
Music has pumped through my veins since the day I was born. My dad lived his life through music, and I was following in his footsteps, but my passion was extinguished when I lost Emily. She was the reason I worked so tirelessly the past year. I wanted to give her the world. Now, I'd give anything to have another day with her. I'd give it all away in an instant if I could see her beautiful face one more time.
I scrub at my cheeks to make sure they’re dry when I detect I’m being watched. Happy I’ve kept my emotions at bay, my eyes float to the door. Jacob is standing watch—as he always is. After taking in my suitcase splayed across my bed, he steps into my domain.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” He stops next to me with his arms folded and chest heaving. “Everyone will understand if you change your mind.” He commands my eyes to his with a bob of his chin. When he gets them, he asks, “Do you want to do this?”
No. No, I fuckin’ don’t. I can’t breathe without Emily, let alone perform, but since I can’t tell him that, I pretend to consider his question before nodding. “Yes.”
He exhales a big breath. “Alright, then I guess we’re doing this.”
We?
I follow him out of my room and down the hall. “We?”
“Yep, we.”
He pulls down a suitcase from his closet before grabbing a handful of clothes out of his drawers. “I said I’d be at your side through this, Noah. I wasn’t kidding. If you’re going on tour, I’m going on tour.”
He can’t pack everything up and come on the road with me. He has a life here. A life he should be living—and I don’t need a babysitter.
“What about Lola?”
He stops shoving his clothes into his suitcase as turmoil about his decision drains his face of color. After taking a few seconds to think of a comeback, he looks me straight in the eyes while declaring, “I know why you're doing this.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his throat works hard to swallow. “You think this is your final penance to the band. Your last kind act before you can go be with Emily.”
I nearly shake my head until I remember how well he knows me.
Taking my silence as confirmation, he continues packing. “I told you I’d fight with you, Noah, and that's what I’m going to do.”
With my anger close to boiling point, I sit on his bed to rest my head in my shaky hands. I need a few seconds to calm down before I do or say another stupid thing.
I’ve barely got a grip on reality when Jacob crouches down in front of me. “I promised Emily I'd always be there for you. Don’t make me break my promise.”
The shake of my hands jumps to his when he places a white envelope on my thigh. It's unmarked and feels as light as a feather. When I shake it to check if there's anything inside, Jacob's face pales even more. He looks genuinely panicked, even worse than he did when I nicked my thumb on the razor yesterday morning.
When I tear open the envelope and upend the contents into my hand, a jabbing pain hits my chest. There’s a wooden guitar pendant nestled in my palm. The lines of grain throughout the wood and the varnish coating it matches the guitar Emily gave me for my birthday last year.
If that doesn’t already start an avalanche of emotions, I’m seconds from being shoved under a mountain load of snow when Jacob flips the pendant over. Emily’s name is written on the b
ack. It’s her handwriting with a cursive Y and an elaborate E. It’s scrawled in the same thick black ink she used when she signed my guitar. It may not be the whole inscription, but it’s the most vital part.
Emily xx
“How?”
“It was found in the remains of your guitar. I wish I could have gotten the whole inscription.” Jacob runs his thumb over Emily’s name. Just like last year, the ink doesn’t budge. “They sanded and lacquered the original shard onto this pendant.”
The craftsmanship of the pendant is undeniable. It’s made out of solid wood and handcrafted into the same shape as my 1957 J-45 Gibson guitar. It’s even varnished in its original sunburst color. The necklace holding the pendant is made of woven guitar strings, pieced together by a silver clasp.
I get a little choked up when Jacob removes the necklace from my grasp so he can place it around my neck. “Happy Birthday, Noah.”
I balk. I had completely forgotten that today is my twenty-third birthday.
As I struggle to find something to say, I glance down at a gift I wish I could return but am so grateful to have. It sits so low on my chest, it rests right near my heart.
Now I have Emily back where she belongs: right beside my heart.
Chapter 48
Noah
As we depart the San Francisco domestic terminal, we’re inundated by the paparazzi. This is the first time the band has been seen together since our album reached the number one spot on the Billboard charts. The paparazzi could never be accused of being reasonable, but today is an entirely new type of hysteria. I feel like I’m about to be trampled as they push against the security personnel the concert promoters supplied for us.
As usual, they yell a range of questions at me, hoping to spark a response. I learned early on in my career that ignoring them is best for all involved. Today will be no different.
“Noah, do you wish to comment on your relationship with Hope Bennett?”
“Noah, where have you been hiding the past week?”
“Why did you cancel your first San Francisco concert?”
“Noah, this way, Noah.”
With my head down low, I scan the area, seeking out the black limousine the studio sent for us. It’s not an easy feat with how bright the paps’ cameras are, but I find it a few seconds later.
“This way.” I jerk up my chin, requesting for the boys to follow me.
We’re halfway to our car when one question completely stops me in my tracks. “Noah, whose funeral were you attending last week?”
My heart sinks into my gut as my fists clench. I noticed the paparazzi at Emily’s funeral, but because we kept our relationship a secret, no one knew how important she was to me. She was my everything, but it’s being reported that I attended the funeral of a “family friend” last weekend.
Family friend, written in ink, as clear as day for the world to see. Not fiancée, not soulmate, not even girlfriend, just a family friend. I'll never forgive myself for not fighting harder for our relationship, so you can sure as hell be assured I won’t take their disrespect sitting down today.
Marcus stops me from whipping back around by curling his arm around my shoulders. “Keep walking. By responding, you’re giving them exactly what they want.”
“They need to know she meant more to me than they realize.”
“Why?” Marcus asks as his remorseful eyes dart between mine. “Emily knows what she meant to you, so why does it matter what they think?”
Stealing my chance to reply, the boys huddle in close before pushing through the swarm of hungry rodents surrounding us. I don’t know whether to be relieved or pissed when we land in the back of the limo a short time later.
“Holy fuck, those fuckers are crazy.” Slater braces his middle finger against the window the paparazzi have their camera lenses pushed up against. If they can see past the tint, all they’ll see is him flipping the bird.
I’ve noticed a massive increase in the number of followers I’ve gained the past few months, but the rest of the band remained relatively unnoticed while going about their day-to-day lives in Los Angeles. I don’t see that occurring anymore.
I jackknife to the left when a snarky voice says, “Good afternoon, boys.”
From the craziness going on outside, I failed to notice the Ice Queen had joined us. Delilah is sitting on the bench across from us.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
This woman is the sole reason Emily and I kept our relationship a secret, which means she’s also responsible for the public being none the wiser to the fact I buried my fiancée only two days ago. I never thought I would despise someone as much as my mother, but Delilah is a close second.
I handled my mother’s attempt at making the public believe I had abandoned her by throwing money at her. A cool one hundred thousand dollars was all it took for her to shut her mouth. When she accepted the check, she agreed to never discuss the band or me in public ever again. If she breaks the agreement, she’ll be slapped with a lawsuit faster than she can blink.
If only I could throw money at Delilah to get her to disappear as well.
Delilah’s bitch façade falters from my angry outburst. After swallowing harshly, she rolls her shoulders high before slipping a professional mask over her face. “It’s nice to see you too, Noah.”
She gets straight down to business by handing me a sheet of paper, our tour schedule for the next two weeks. We have three days to finalize preparations before our first concert at AT&T Park in San Francisco on Thursday night.
While scrubbing my tired eyes, I spot a crystal decanter in the wooden cabinet under the window of the limousine. After sliding across the dark leather seat, I pour myself a generous nip of the whiskey. Jacob eyeballs me but remains quiet. He knows as well as I do that this is the only way I will cope. If I don’t drown my sorrows, I won’t survive the next five weeks.
The rest of the trip to the hotel is a blur. The guys discuss concert dates, whereas my focus remains on the remarkable blue sky as the sweet numbness of alcohol dulls my feelings.
I spend the next three days of practice heavily intoxicated. The songs we’re rehearsing I’ve sung hundreds of times before. I can sing no matter how wasted I am, but even when I miss the occasional line in a song, the guys don’t say anything. They just continue playing like I’d never made a mistake.
Tonight we're playing at AT&T Stadium. It’s supposed to be our third concert in San Francisco, but it will be our one and only show due to delays. AT&T is a massive outdoor stadium usually used for baseball games with incredible views of the San Francisco Bay behind the stage. Marcus stated earlier today that they’re expecting over thirty thousand fans at tonight’s concert. That is pretty impressive considering it’s a Thursday.
When I met the O’Reilly Brothers earlier today, I remembered how Emily gushed over them when I told her Rise Up was their opening act. She said they were one of her favorite bands. If everything had gone according to plan, she would have seen them perform straight after us. Instead, I fucked everything up. I put the band before her. I made her feel less important.
When grief gets the better of me, I throw a glass of scotch across the room. Dangerous shards spray the dressing room, narrowly missing Nick, whom I didn’t realize was sitting on the sofa until my glass collided with the wall. He gawks at me, but once again, he puts up with my appalling behavior. What could he possibly say? He’s aware I’m only doing this for them, so he has no choice but to put up with my shit.
If only Jacob would follow suit. “You alright?”
He stands from his post in the corner of the room to clean up the mess I made. I should have known he'd be standing there, watching me like a fucking shadow. Usually, he stands in the doorway, so his big frame blocks the fans milling past our dressing room, hoping for a sneak peek.
I'm about to nod to his question when I spot Delilah heading my way. I need more than a bottle of scotch to drown her out. She spreads her hands across her cocked
hip when she stops to stand in front of me. “I've been informed that you’re refusing to sing ‘Surrender Me.’ Is that correct?”
I jerk up my chin.
“Would you please reconsider?”
I nearly fall off my chair, shocked she knows the word “please.”
Although stunned, there’s no chance in hell I’ll perform that song. I penned those lyrics the night I made love to Emily, so if I were to sing it now, it may fucking kill me.
“Not a chance.” My tone is calm even with my aggravation rising.
“It’s the number one song in the country, Noah. Your fans will expect you to perform it—”
“I don’t give a fuck what they want. I said no.”
Pretending I can’t feel her wrathful eyes boring into my head, I finish tying the laces on my boots, stand from my chair, then follow the sound engineer out of the dressing room. We’re five minutes from showtime, so I don’t have time to deal with Delilah and her unreal expectations.
While waiting in the wings of the stage for my cue to go on, I exhale some big breaths. I'm wearing my regular clothes I always perform in: black jeans, a white shirt, and my black stomping boots, but today I have the added accessory of the guitar pendant with Emily’s name curled around my neck. Knowing she is here with me adds to the energy electrifying the air.
The crowd's cheer is near deafening when the lights dim, signaling it’s almost time for us to go on stage. This is it, right here, right now: the beginning of the end for Rise Up.
After squeezing my pendant, I raise my eyes to heaven, where my angel now lives. “I love you, Beautiful.”
In the roar of the crowd, I swear I hear Emily whisper back, “I love you, Noah.”
Her voice is so crystal clear, I’m tempted to let my eyes dart across the stage seeking her, but with my heart not up for more disappointment, I keep them planted on the eerily starless night.
