Chapter 9
Angus
I don’t know what the hell Alden was thinking. My youngest brother is twenty-one and a royal pain in my ass sometimes. We’re fairly close, considering our eleven-year age gap and the fact that I barely talk to anyone else in the family other than my grandfather, but he’s aware that no one in the band knows my identity. And then the little shit bribed his way backstage. I can’t even yell at someone on the crew because it’s the arena’s security who guard the entrance.
Thank fuck I saw him before anyone else and got him out of there before he could make a mess of my life. Then right as I was heading in his direction, Ryleigh stopped me. I could have handled that better, but her timing couldn’t have been worse. I’ll find a way to make it up to her, but right now I have to think about what to do.
I need to come clean to the band. Shit like this is going to continue to happen. If we play in New York City? My sister lives there and she would absolutely bribe her way backstage just to fuck with me. And she does not know that my band has no idea who I really am.
I toss and turn all night, anxious to get back on the road and as far away from Minneapolis as possible.
My phone is buzzing as I get out of the shower, and I wrap a towel around my waist as I go to see what’s going on. It’s still early so I don’t usually get messages until late morning.
SASHA: Looks like someone you know spotted you. Story dropped this morning about your identity and the band is… let’s just say they’re not happy. My phone has been blowing up all morning, but I’m not sure how you want to handle this.
Fuck. Me.
I guess she does know who I am and always has.
Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I stare at the phone for a few seconds, cursing Alden.
Someone saw us.
Or overheard us.
Some eagle-eyed fan put two and two together…
God fucking dammit.
I clench my fist as I try to breathe.
What am I supposed to say?
How can I excuse such a colossal lie?
But I don’t want to talk to the band on the bus—with Kirsten, Ryleigh, and the driver there to see it unfold.
No, this is something we have to handle privately.
I owe them a huge apology, but they owe me the chance to explain—on my own terms.
ANGUS: Can you set up a private meeting in someone’s room? We’re not going to talk about this on the bus. Band only—no girlfriends, no crew, not even you.
SASHA: Give me five minutes.
ANGUS: Thanks.
I yank on shorts and a T-shirt, fighting off a plethora of disparate feelings. On one hand, I’m nervous the band is going to give me the boot, even though legally they can’t. On the other hand, I’m a little relieved. I don’t have to hide anymore. Good or bad, in the next hour or so, I’ll be past the worst of it.
I run down to the lobby to get some coffee and then steel myself.
Sasha sent a text saying everyone would meet in Tate’s room at eight thirty.
It’s currently eight twenty-eight.
I lift my hand to knock just as the door opens.
Jonny stares at me for a second, his eyes shrouded, and then moves past me. “Going to get coffee. Be right back.”
I walk into the room and it’s just me and Tate.
“Hey.”
He looks up from where he’s perched on the arm of a chair, the questions in his eyes as plain as day.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was trying to protect us.”
“Protect us?” He shakes his head. “By letting us get blindsided?”
“I know.” I look away.
There’s a knock on the door and Mick and Sam arrive together. They have coffee cups, so we’re just waiting for Jonny to get back.
“Is it true?” Mick asks me without preamble.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus fuck, you didn’t think that was something we needed to know?” Sam asks, hands on his hips.
“Okay, let’s wait for Jonny to get back,” Tate interjects. “No point in going over everything more than once.”
I take a sip of coffee and try to figure out how I’m going to make this up to them. The thing is—I’ve been surreptitiously taking care of them since the get-go.
We have a top-notch crew because I subsidize their salaries—personally.
Except no one but management knows that.
When we didn’t have the money for our demo tape, I said we could put it on my credit card and told them they could pay me back whenever we started making money.
There have been a thousand times I’ve bailed them out of financial scrapes, but they never noticed or simply took it for granted that I, for some reason, had unlimited credit on my cards.
The signs were there that I’m not just another broke musician, but they chose not to see them.
Either that or I’m a way better actor than I thought I was.
Jonny arrives a few minutes later, and the four of them look at me.
I guess this is the hard part.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. I have a feeling I’m going to be saying that a lot today. “It wasn’t intentional. I legally changed my name long before I met any of you. Long before we formed Crimson Edge.”
“And you didn’t think telling us who you used to be was important?” Tate asks. “I thought we were friends— brothers .”
“Brothers don’t lie to each other,” Jonny adds.
“I was trying to protect us,” I repeat. “People despise my family. You mention the Hollingsworth name, and they immediately think about the people who tripled the cost of the latest chemo drugs and announced another price hike is in the works. I was afraid that any link to the real me could potentially tank any chance for success. And frankly, the way you guys used to drink and party? I didn’t trust that it wouldn’t slip out if you knew.”
“You didn’t trust us.” Sam looks frustrated. Hurt .
This sucks.
“All the times we sat there eating fucking ramen and you had millions in the bank?” Mick makes a face. “I mean, did you just go home after that and order Chinese or something, laughing at the poor saps you just left?”
“No! What the fuck?” I glare at him. I know I fucked up but that’s ridiculous. “I’d like to think you know me better than that. I understand I kept a big secret from all of you, but there was never anything malicious about it—I didn’t want the Hollingsworth haters to tank our careers.”
“Does management know?” Tate asks quietly.
I hate throwing anyone under the bus, but Sasha and Casey can take care of themselves.
“For safety reasons, they had to do full background checks on all of us because of our potential proximity to the royal family, so they found out that way.”
“But why didn’t you tell us?” Jonny asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“I was afraid,” I admit after a minute. “I knew you guys were going to be pissed. In the beginning, I didn’t know how far things would go musically so I figured it wasn’t your business. By the time I realized we had something special, it was too late. And then every time I thought about telling you, I knew you wouldn’t take it well. I guess I was chicken shit.”
“You even lied about your age,” Tate says after a moment.
“I thought it would help keep my identity hidden. If anyone started digging, they’d be looking for a twenty-six-year-old, not someone who was thirty-two.”
They’re all quiet, and I can see the wheels turning.
Tate and I are the closest, so I know he’s more hurt than mad.
Sam is always the voice of reason within the band, and I imagine he’s mulling it over thoughtfully, trying to see both sides.
Mick’s a pretty easy-going guy who hates confrontation, but he won’t hesitate to call someone out on their shit, me included.
Jonny can be hot-headed and temperamental, so my guess is he’s going to take the longest to forgive me.
“That’s how you paid for the demo tape,” Sam says suddenly. “You could afford to finance the whole thing, even though you said it was just going on your credit card.”
“And dinner last night,” Mick says.
“And my car last year.” Jonny stares at me. “Your guy didn’t fix it for parts only—you just paid for the labor without telling me.”
“When my sister needed to go to urgent care after that gig in Wisconsin,” Tate says. “You said you’d pay the bill and then send the info to our parents so they could get it back from their insurance carrier—but you just took care of it…right? You never sent my parents a bill.”
I don’t say anything because they already know the answers.
“All the times you picked up guitar strings for us,” Sam says. “It wasn’t because they were on clearance at random stores—you bought them because you could.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I answer finally. “I was never trying to hurt you. I also didn’t want to step on anyone’s pride by flaunting the fact that I could buy shit for us. I tried to make up for my duplicity by being a good friend.”
“Good friends don’t lie,” Jonny mutters.
I honestly don’t know what else I can say.
Either they’re going to forgive me or they’re not.
But the band is a business now, which means we have to work through this.
There’s too much at stake.
“What can I do?” I ask. “I’ve apologized. I tried to show you how much I care about you guys but at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can forgive me. We just released an album and we’re on tour… we have to talk things out so we can get back out there and do what we do.”
There’s another awkward silence.
“Do you want me to take a few days off?” I ask. “Let Bash fill in for me while you guys decide what you want to do going forward?”
“No.” Tate, at least, doesn’t hesitate. “Fuck no. You’re not going anywhere. Whatever we decide, you don’t get to walk away. You’re going to have to own it.”
“I don’t want to walk away, but we can’t become one of those bands who hates each other. Where we play together every night and then flip each other the bird the minute we get off the stage.”
“Don’t we do that anyway?” Mick quips.
Okay, he made a joke. He can’t be too mad.
“You sold the most girl scout cookies for my niece,” Jonny says suddenly. “But you didn’t really sell them, did you? You just bought them.”
I sigh. “I did the best I could under the circumstances.”
No one says anything.
“Look, bro, I’m good.” Mick shrugs. “Going forward, you’re going to have to earn my trust back, but I’m not mad about it. You’ve always had my back. That counts for something.”
“I appreciate it, man.” I hold out my hand, and he just pulls me in for a quick hug.
“You and I are going to talk about this over a bottle of something,” Tate says after a moment. “But we’re good.” He nods in my direction.
“Thanks, bro.” I nod back.
“Frankly, my only concern is the fallout for the band,” Sam says.
“Sasha said she’s working on a plan if things go sideways,” I reply.
“And that’s the problem,” Sam says. “If we’d known , there would already be a plan in place.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll hire separate PR, on my own dime, if necessary.”
There’s another weird, awkward silence.
“I have to think on it,” Jonny says finally.
Then he turns and quietly lets himself out of the room.