5. Jarron
5
JARRON
M y head throbs as I push through the glass doors of Monument Records. The fluorescent lights inside hit different when you're nursing last night's decisions. Austen trails behind me, his boots dragging across the marble floor.
"Next time you suggest shots at three AM, remind me to punch you in the fucking throat," I mutter, adjusting my sunglasses.
Austen runs his fingers through his mess of brown hair. "You weren't complaining when you were dancing on the bar."
"That never happened."
I hear the sound of Lyle's laughter from behind me, "I've got video evidence that says otherwise."
"Leak it, and die," I say, brandishing a finger behind my back.
The receptionist, who I seem to have forgotten her name, but do recall she gives a nice blow job, perks up as we pass. "Mr. Haynes, they're waiting for you in conference room three."
"Thanks, darlin'." I flash her my signature smile, even though it hurts my face to do it.
We're fifteen minutes late, but what is Monica gonna do? Fire her biggest act? The conference room door swings open, and Monica's face is already set in that familiar disappointed-father expression.
"Nice of you boys to finally join us," she says, crossing her arms.
Beau's deep chuckle fills the room. "Maybe if someone hadn't spent forty-five minutes fixing their hair, we'd have been on time."
"My hair is art," Austen shoots back, sliding into one of the leather chairs. "You wouldn't understand, looking like you just rolled out of a cave."
I sink into the chair next to him, my head still pounding. The conference room spins a bit, and I close my eyes behind my sunglasses.
"At least I don't need three different products to look presentable," Beau adjusts his baseball cap, grinning through his beard.
Lyle drops into the seat across from us, drumming his fingers on the table. "Yeah, some of us just wake up looking this good."
He runs a hand over his shaved head. "Though I gotta say, watching Austen try to get his bangs just right was the highlight of my morning."
"They weren't bangs," Austen protests, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair again. "And I didn't hear any complaints when that redhead at the bar couldn't keep her hands off it last night."
"That's because we were too busy watching Jarron try to climb onto the mechanical bull," Lyle snickers.
"I did what now?" My eyes snap open behind the shades.
Monica clears her throat, and we all straighten up like schoolboys caught passing notes. Well, almost all of us. I keep my slouch. Perks of being the frontman.
I slide into a leather chair, propping my boots on the table. "Maybe traffic was hell Monica, ever consider that?"
"It's eight in the morning Jarron."
"Exactly. Rush hour." I scan the room, noting the empty chairs. "Wait a minute, where's this opener you've been hyping up? Don't tell me they're more fashionably late than us."
Austen drops into the chair beside me, immediately laying his head on the cool table surface. "God, I hope they brought coffee."
Monica's perfectly manicured nails tap against her tablet. "About that. She got stuck in South Dakota with car trouble."
"You're fucking kidding me." I drop my boots from the table, sitting up straight. My head pounds harder with the sudden movement. "First show's tonight and our opener can't even make it to a simple meeting?"
"She'll be here for the performance-"
"Oh, that's rich." I stand up, pacing the length of the conference room. "Some nobody who can't even afford a reliable car is supposed to open for us? What's next, we pulling people off the street?"
Lyle Interjects, twirling a pen around like a drumstick. "At least she called."
"He's got a point," Austen says, as he lifts his head up from the table.
"Don't start with me." I jab a finger his way. "This whole thing is because you couldn't keep it in your pants."
"Hey, DNA proved that kid wasn't mine."
"After TMZ ran with it for weeks!" The sound of my own voice makes my temples throb. "And now we're stuck babysitting some amateur because management thinks we need to clean up our image."
Monica stands, her voice sharp. "You want to talk image? How about you getting caught pissing in the bushes at one of LA's most distinguished restaurants?"
"I was celebrating our platinum record!"
"By making headlines for all the wrong reasons." She crosses her arms. "This tour needs to go smoothly. Everyone needs the good press, especially you two, and helping an up-and-coming artist is exactly the kind of story that'll win back the soccer moms."
"Soccer moms?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "We're not some Disney boy band."
"No, you're supposed to be professionals." Monica's eyes narrow. "So act like it."
"Whatever." I snatch my jacket off the chair.
Monica's perfectly plucked eyebrows draw together. "Come on, It's the holiday season, Jarron. Where's your Christmas spirit?"
"I left it at the bar with my dignity." I lean against the wall, the cool surface soothing against my pounding head. "Look, this tour is worth millions. We can't afford-"
"Can't afford what?" Monica's heels click as she approaches me. "To help someone? To show a little compassion? Because last time I checked, you weren't exactly born with a platinum record in your hand."
Beau snorts from his place at the table. "Remember when we used to play at that dive bar in Memphis? What was it called?"
"Shut up, Beau."
"Double D Debbie's, such a classy establishment" Monica answers for me. "Where you all would play for beer and tips. And now you're too good to give someone else a chance?"
"That's different." The words sound weak even to my own ears. "We weren't some last-minute replacement."
"No, you were just four kids with a dream and yard sale instruments." her voice softens. "Just like she is now."
"Jesus Christ." I push off the wall, pacing again. "Fine. But when this turns into a disaster-"
"Then it's on me." Monica taps her tablet. "Now, can we discuss the actual schedule, or do you need more time to complain?"
I slump back into my chair, my hangover intensifying with every tick of the clock on the wall. "Fine. But when this small-town sweetheart crashes and burns, I'm saying I told you so."
"There he is." Lyle grins. "Our ray of sunshine."