Chapter 32 Micah
THIRTY-TWO
MICAH
Finn’s words haunted me for days.
You always considered yourself the leader, right? Then lead.
It had hit me straight in the gut. I’d always been the one to take care of the others, and it hurt, deeply, that this time I wasn’t.
Not for the first time, I’d wished my dad was still here. He hadn’t been a music person, but he would have understood what I was going through. He might have been able to give me some advice.
But I was all alone with this. I’d been the one people relied on my whole life. But who did I have to rely on, when it all came down to it?
The door to the studio opened widely, startling me.
“Oh, sorry,” said the man who walked through the door. “Didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
My eyes went wide. The man was tall with blond hair and ice blue eyes, standing with a straight back displaying both confidence and ease. For a second I could have imagined him wearing a crown on his head, his bearing was so regal, even though all he was doing was standing in the doorway.
“August Summers!” I blurted, sitting up straight. I hadn’t really been doing any work, just staring listlessly at the mixing console in front of me, and I felt a surge of panic that one of the most admired musicians in rock music would see me wallowing in my depressed state.
“Oh, hey kid,” he said, eyes brightening. Then he laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t do that. Micah, it’s good to see you again,” he said with a nod.
August Summers was a drummer, songwriter and producer for not only his own rock band Darkest Days but also for a multitude of other bands on our shared label. He’d even worked on a few songs with us for our debut album. I’d learned so much from this man.
“It’s good to see you again, too,” I said, trying not to stutter in his presence and remain composed. “Did you want to use this room? I can leave it to you.”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll go somewhere else,” he said easily. Then he gave me a look up and down, scrutinizing me. There was an oddly piercing look to his gaze, like he was seeing more than I would ever want him to. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing, everything’s cool, I’m doing great.”
August’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head, clearly not believing a word I’d said. I suppressed a cringe. I hadn’t realized I’d let myself go to the point where other people would notice.
“I’ve been hearing rumors,” August started.
Oh, shit. Had other people found out? And if they had, what about?
There was so much going on with the band it could have been anything.
The long delay on recording our second album.
The band fighting. My relationship with Kaylee.
The fact that our contract was a completely worthless piece of paper.
Fuck, but we were in some deep shit.
“What kind of rumors?” I replied, trying to keep my voice even and smooth as I probed for more information, not wanting to give anything away.
“I normally wouldn’t pay attention to gossip, but this one worried me,” he said, his brow creasing. “I heard your band is not on speaking terms at the moment.”
Well, it could have been worse.
“We’re having a bit of a disagreement,” I acknowledged hesitantly.
I knew most bands would disagree and fight at some point in their careers, but for some reason I felt like I had to hide the extent of ours from August. Like it was something shameful, something to be embarrassed about.
We were supposed to be professionals. If we couldn’t get over a disagreement, what did that say about us?
August gave me another one of those probing looks, then pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat it in backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest, just like Finn had done.
It was an oddly casual stance for someone who seemed so refined.
He looked at me expectantly with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say a word.
I looked up at the ceiling and let out a breath.
As much as I hated to display weakness in front of this man, I’d just been wishing for some kind of help, some kind of advice, and it seemed the universe had answered my wish…
with one of the rock stars I idolized the most. Talk about watch out for what you wish for.
“It’s both straightforward and complex at the same time,” I started.
”Isn’t everything?” August said with a curl of his lips.
I let out a snort and looked down at my hands. I didn’t want to talk his ear off. How could I explain everything in the simplest way possible?
“We haven’t chosen the track list for our sophomore album and we’re already six months behind. We’re fighting over which songs to choose.”
“That’s very common,” August said consolingly.
I shook my head. “It’s not just a difference of opinion. Half the band wants to go in a new direction. Change our sound. The other half wants to stick to what our fans want. What the label wants.”
August’s mouth dipped down into a frown.
“That does complicate things,” he acknowledged. “It’s more than just disagreeing on what songs you like.”
I let out a derisive laugh. “Kaylee calls it a fundamental difference in philosophies.”
“She’s a smart woman,” he noted. “So, which side do you come down on?”
“I’m on the side of practicality,” I answered. “The band has certain expectations, from the fans, from the label. If we deliver something completely different they might shelve our entire album. They might decide to sideline us in favor of other bands that are giving them something marketable.”
“Ah.” August nodded. “Marketability, is it?”
“If bands don’t sell, they get dropped,” I said. “That’s the world we live in.”
“How do you know it won’t sell?” August asked, the same thing half our band members had asked me.
“It might,” I said with a shrug. “Our fans might love it. But our fans won’t get a chance to listen to our songs if the label won’t release it. If the label can’t guarantee people will love it and shell out their money for it, they won’t back it. They’re a business. That’s how it works.”
“Hm.” August leaned back and laced his hands behind his head, looking at a distant point above me. “Sounds like the problem is, you don’t know how the fans will react to your new songs. Your new sound.”
“Exactly,” I said with a nod. “The label won’t take on the risk, they won’t gamble with millions of dollars for promo, on something that might flop. They want a safe bet.”
“And what about you?” August said, turning his ice-blue eyes back on me. “What would you risk?”
It was exactly what Kaylee had asked me about our relationship. I’d known the answer. I would risk everything for her, but I couldn’t stand her taking on those risks, facing their consequences.
I was doing the same thing here. Trying to protect the band from the consequences. But was that such a bad thing? It was my job to protect them.
“Let me a question,” August continued before I could answer. “If you bring these new songs to the label and they reject them, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“They drop us,” I said bluntly.
“And then?” August asked plainly.
I blinked. “And then… we don’t have a label anymore.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” he agreed. “What happens then?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, not sure of how to answer. I’d been so worried about the label dropping us, I hadn’t considered what would actually happen after that.
“You’re scared of what might happen, precisely because you don’t know what will happen if the worst comes true,” August answered for me.
Scared. There was that word again. Was I scared? Was that what I was feeling? Was that what was driving me? Again?
“Why did you start making music?” August asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “I know you first started up your rock band because of the youth center you all attended. Why did you decide to sign up for an after school music program?”
“Because I loved music,” I said immediately.
“When we first started that rock band, I’d never felt anything like it before.
It was exciting. It gave me so much satisfaction.
I’d found something that made me happy. Something I could immerse myself in.
Something that distracted me from all the problems in my life. ”
“Problems like?” August prompted.
I knew August had already heard some of this from having worked with us, so I didn’t feel as self-conscious revealing my past.
“We were poor,” I said. “We never had much money for food. I know my parents sometimes worried about making rent, about being evicted. Then my dad got sick and the bills piled up. All the band members had part-time jobs, but it was just barely enough to survive. I was only able to pay off my family’s debts because we hit it big,” I added.
“We’d all been struggling artists for so long, but we were so good.
Signing with the label felt like both a miracle and an inevitability.
When I got my first royalty check I’d never felt such relief.
I knew I’d never want to be in that same position as I’d been in as a kid.
I’d never want to put my mother through that again.
And it was music that had done that for me.
I’d found something that made me so happy, so complete.
It was the music that had saved my life, in more ways than one. ”
August nodded and smiled as I talked and talked, spilling out my innermost thoughts, the kind of things I’d only ever confessed to Kay. All worries about being seen as weak or unprofessional had been cast aside. August Summers was a surprisingly good listener.
When I finally wound down, I felt winded, drained. August let the silence hang for a few moments.
“So there’s your answer,” August said, spreading his hands wide.
“I already forget the question,” I said ruefully. “Sorry.”
“I asked, why did you start making music?” August replied. “You had two answers. It saved you emotionally and it saved you financially. The music made you happy, and the money it brought made you feel secure. And now that security is threatened, so you can’t find the happiness in it anymore.”
I swallowed heavily. How had he managed to pinpoint something so accurate about me, something that I hadn’t even realized myself?
“But you only recently started making money,” August added. “You said it yourself. You were poor struggling artists for so long. But you kept going anyway. Because the music made you happy. So it sounds like you have your answer,” August added easily.
“Do I?” I asked dumbly, my mind whirling with every word August spoke.
“I want you to think about something,” August said as he stood from the chair. “Your worst fear is that the label will drop you, right?”
I nodded slowly.
“If that happens, will you stop making music?” August asked.
I drew in a sharp breath, pain shooting through my chest at the thought.
“No,” I said. “I’ll always want to make music. I’ll always want to share my music with the world.”
“Then I think,” he said with a grin, “now you know what you need to do.”