Chapter 2 #2
“You know that’s not true.” He smirks. “And this is an actual concern of mine. I can’t be carrying my daughter around backstage and suddenly walk in on an orgy.”
“Maybe knock?” I suggest only half kidding, but then ask, “Wait, what orgies? ’Cause I seem to have missed out on those when I visited you on tour.”
“It’s a hypothetical question.” He rolls his eyes. “And I’m sure Darius has had his share.”
“But not Asher. That guy is a monk.”
He snorts. “I don’t know if he’s a monk, but Ash is super careful about what he does in public. He has to be. If he’s getting laid, you’ll never see it. He’s discreet.”
“Okay, so no actual orgies to worry about,” I say, and before he can throw out another excuse, I add, “But just in case, maybe we make a family-only space backstage? No horny crew members. No girls. Just you guys. And maybe a nanny to help out?”
“No nanny,” Elena says firmly.
“It’s not a terrible idea. It’s going to be a lot.”
She sighs. “We can talk about it.”
“Okay, here’s our next issue. What if she gets sick?” Zander asks the question as if he’s quizzing me now. What do I look like? A tour manager?
“Then you take her to the doctor?”
“So I’m just supposed to waltz into where, Hendrix? The local ER? The urgent care down the street? That’s what normal dads do. Not a dad who has to use a fake name in hotels to dodge the paparazzi.”
Shit. He’s right. I struggle to find a quick answer. “Oh!” I snap my fingers in the air. “What about the rock docs?”
Rock docs is a term used by tour managers to refer to doctors who have been vetted and approved to be on call in specific cities.
If someone on the tour gets sick or needs IV fluids after a particularly rough night of partying, they are sent to a rock doc for treatment, knowing it will be handled discreetly and professionally.
“It’s not a bad solution.” Elena nods in approval. I mentally high-five myself for coming up with it. “But I am concerned about availability. What if she gets sick in the middle of the night, and we can’t find anyone?”
“For what they’re being paid,” I emphasize, recalling some of the conversations my dad has had with the bands he represents. “Believe me, they’ll be available.”
“Okay, but what if they don’t treat children? They’re called rock docs for a reason.”
She’s got me there. Most of these docs are probably called in to treat reckless rock stars. Not a snotty toddler. Not that I imagine they’re all that different.
“What if we just hired someone full-time?” I throw out as a last-ditch option because nothing will stop me from going on this tour. I’ll drag my best friend out of this house blindfolded with his arms duct-taped behind his back.
“Hire someone?” Zander raises his brow in interest as he continues that weird thing parents do, gently rocking back and forth without even appearing to notice. It’s so subtle. It’s almost hypnotic.
“Yeah, why not? I’m honestly not sure why Asher hasn’t thought of it before.”
“How would we even find someone like that?” Elena asks as the idea seems to be growing on both of them. Yes.
“Leave it to me,” I say. Leave it to me? What the fuck? “I’ll talk to my dad, and we’ll take care of everything. You guys just focus on that little angel.” I point to the tiny demon on his shoulder.
“You really think he can get us a qualified doctor this late in the game? One who would be willing to tour for five months and sign an ironclad NDA?”
Fuck, when he puts it like that…
I let out a nervous laugh, hoping they don’t notice the tiny bead of sweat dripping down my temple. “Yup.”
“Great!” Elena exclaims, rubbing her hands together, which makes her look a little like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. “Can we order food now? I’m starving.”
“See?” Z lifts a hand and gestures to his wife. “She’s obsessed with this place. I have to say, though, their churros are fucking amazing.”
“Orgasmic.” Elena corrects him. “They’re fucking orgasmic.”
“Damn, dude.” I chuckle, grateful for the change in conversation. “She just compared a fried dessert to an orgasm. I think you’re slipping.”
“Shut up.” He laughs, but he quickly stops when the sleeping baby—toddler?—shifts in his arms. “Sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks, his voice a bit softer.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’ve got plans.”
“Date?” Elena’s brow arches as her head snaps up from the menu that appeared from…actually, I don’t know where. I would call her out for being nosy, but I really don’t have room to talk when it comes to the shit I pulled when these two first met.
To say I meddled would be an understatement.
“Nah, I’m going to this fancy engagement party over in Brentwood.”
“An engagement party? Anyone I know?” Zander asks, continuing to sway back and forth absentmindedly. Does he even know he’s doing it? Probably not.
“Edwin,” I say, carefully gauging his reaction.
His eyes narrow, and Elena’s brown eyes shift between me and her husband. “What? What am I missing?” She then pauses for a moment before asking, “Wait. Isn’t Edwin your former bandmate?”
I nod. “He was the lead singer.”
“Until he decided to go solo and fuck all of them over,” Zander adds, not bothering to mince words.
“Why would you go to his engagement party?” Elena asks, leaning on the counter, the menu forgotten. “Also, what an asshole.”
“Yeah, he is,” I agree. “A total asshole, which is why I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
“And so you thought his engagement party was a good time to drop by and say hello? Why did he even invite you? You didn’t exactly part ways on good terms.”
That’s an understatement, but at least I wasn’t the one to walk away with a black eye.
“He’s marrying some hot model, and he likes to show off. I’m sure all the guys were invited.” Although I doubt any will show. Not that I would know. We haven’t spoken in years, thanks to Edwin.
“Of course they were,” Z scoffs. “He never misses an opportunity to one-up anyone, even a friend.”
“We aren’t friends.”
“No, but you were.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah, we were, which is why I thought he’d have our backs when the recording studio started courting him and when our own fucking agent started whispering ideas about a solo career into his ear. But I guess I should have known. He’s always wanted the spotlight for himself.”
I couldn’t believe it when the record label execs called us in to announce that, moving forward, they would only be representing Edwin. Everything said after that is still somewhat of a blur, but there was a lot of bullshit about needing a new sound and pursuing a different direction.
All I knew was our dream—the one he and I had been working on since we met our freshman year at Stanford—was dead.
The rest of the guys and I were dumped by our agent less than a day later.
“I’m not going there to mend any fences, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I tell Zander. “It’s just seeing that invitation in my mail brought up a lot of old feelings. Resentment, regret, and a lot of anger. And I hate feeling this way.”
“So you gonna go egg his house or something? ’Cause I could help.”
I laugh. “No, but I was thinking about giving him a very special engagement gift.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, rumor is, his tour might be canceled after his last album tanked, so I thought he might enjoy knowing all about ours. Assuming it’s not delayed?”
He grins. “Nah, it’s not delayed.”
I throw a fist pump in the air. “Now that that’s settled. Feel like signing a T-shirt for me?”
“That’s savage.” He grins. “I’ll go get a pen.”