Avery
The message was clear. I might’ve had talent, but I’d run out of the tentative goodwill my association to Martin had afforded me. I wasn’t willing to show my throat and give in.
That’s what Wes did, after all, paying the entry fee to chase his dream. And look at him, opening for shows in the Midwest to prepare for Fool’s Gambit’s first official tour that would start in Atlanta in just a few days.
I gave the woman a tight-lipped smile and said, “Thank you for checking. I must have the wrong address.”
The only other option I thought I had was to write something so good that no one could refuse to produce it. Na?ve, but I needed to feel like I was doing something or I’d have to admit that I was wrong.
Most days, I sat outside on the porch with the sun high in the sky, scratching down hooks that bloomed into full verses. After filling pages, I’d look up to see early stars starting to speckle the melting colors of sunset.
Something was usually off with the near finished lyrics, though. A word or phrase that snagged like clothes on a fence line. I knew the answer was a text away, but that meant swallowing my pride. I’d never been great at that.
I’d been working on the same song for three days. The page was illegible with jotted corrections, my fingers tired from endless attempts to bring it to life on the guitar resting next to me. Yet, I picked up the guitar and tried again.
The chords, the strumming pattern, the lyrics were all wrong. I couldn’t get anything right. Music. Wes. My Future. What was the point?
Grabbing the guitar by the neck so the metal strings dug into my fingers, I lifted it over my head and swung. If I couldn’t create something I could have the fleeting satisfaction of breaking wood, splinters flying, and the sharp twang to mark my career dying before it had the chance to start.
But the sounds never came. Hands caught the body of the guitar before it shattered against the porch.
“I doubt that will make you feel any better,” Dad said softly, slowly wrestling the guitar from my grip and setting it on the ground. He sat while I stood, still vibrating with what felt like enough energy to run a marathon.
“Did you come to lecture me?”
“Oh no. I saw an innocent guitar at risk and had to step in,” he said.
We sat there in silence for a few long moments before he asked, “Have I ever told you that I almost never wrote my first book.”
“No.”
“My parents wanted me to take over the family business. In college, I studied finance and writing. Something for them and something for me,” Dad started.
He rarely talked about my grandparents. I’d never met them.
Didn’t know their names or where they lived.
Didn’t care to. If Dad didn’t talk to them, there had to be a reason.
“George was pissed when I let them convince me to get my MBA. She said if I wanted to be a writer, I should just do the damn thing and write. I told her I would probably fail and screw myself over. I started the MBA and hated every minute. At night I wrote, stayed up until one in the morning. I finished the book before I finished the MBA and it never got published. And I was fine. I lived through my worst fear. The worst part? I had to tell George she was right.”
“Are you telling me what I’m scared of might not actually be that scary?”
“No I was just telling you a story, if you got something out of it that’s great.” He strummed the guitar lazily. I’d promised a few times to give him lessons, but had yet to get around to it.
“Liar.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
“But it worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m scared I need him.
Music used to be my thing, and now that he’s gone it's different. But I’m also terrified that if I don’t change and become what the music people want me to be, then I’ll be left behind and music will never be the same again.
Wes promised he wouldn’t, but what if he can’t control it? ”
“You know, he’s called every day.”
“To talk to George.” Wes gave daily updates, which was how I knew they were doing just fine without me.
“To ask how you are. Sometimes when you aren’t looking, I open a window and let him listen. I don’t think he’s going anywhere. I know that I moved us around a lot and didn’t give you as many opportunities as I should have to let you have close friends. But he’s the real deal.”
“And I’m going to miss his first show.”
Dad shifted, reaching into his back pocket. “Well, I was going to use this ticket to Atlanta but if you want it more, I guess you can have it.”
I fell to the ground and hugged him as hard as I could. He’d saved me from something I was bound to regret.
I expected to have to pay for a ticket or beg to get into the concert venue, if necessary.
But when I handed over my ID and a wad of cash to pay, the worker on the other side of the glass paused. “Wait a moment, please,” they said, and then pulled out a walkie-talkie and said something into it I couldn’t make out.
Blood pounded in my ears as I panicked. I wasn’t even going to make it through the doors. They must have seen that my ID was fake. I could call Wes, but who knew if he’d pick up? I mean, if I was backstage about to headline my first concert, I doubt I’d be checking my phone.
I braced myself as a stocky man wearing a shirt with SECURITY written across the front in big white block letters approached us.
“You here to escort the VIP?” the ticket attendant asked, nodding toward me.
He gave a gruff, “Yeah.”
“What about my ticket?” I asked in a daze.
“All taken care of.” The attendant slid my ID and money through the slot in the glass to me, and I slipped everything into my purse.
I glanced behind me as the security guard ushered me away. The line wrapping around the block was about fifty people long and almost everyone’s eyes were on me. I overheard snippets of a few hushed conversations as I hurried along.
“She was in the videos,” someone murmured to their friend.
“Lucky.” The girl next to her crossed her arms over her chest. “I wonder which one she’s sleeping with.”
I hurried after the security guard, a cocktail of nerves and excitement propelling me toward the green room. After completing his obligation, the guard went on his way, and I hovered by the open door.
“We should cancel,” Wes said as he paced, fingers nervously raking through his hair. “It doesn’t feel right without her.”
“Ah yes, cancel our first big show after people are already in the venue. Dare I say your best idea yet,” Garrett remarked from his seat on the lone couch in the room, eyes fixed on the chess board in front of him.
Jared looked at Wes. “I know you thought she would—”
“She would what?” I asked, heads whipping toward me as I entered the space.
“Show up. Thank God,” Luca huffed.
That was the last thing I registered before I was off the ground, arms tight around my middle. A frantic, disbelieving, “You’re here. You’re really here,” muttered against my neck, his breath heating the delicate skin.
“Were you actually thinking about canceling the whole damn thing? That’s dramatic, even for you,” I gasped out between laughs.
“Have you met Wes?” Garrett asked.
Wes placed me back on the floor and then just looked at me, like he was memorizing what I looked like, or really making sure I was there and not a figment of his imagination.
Heat crawled all over me, pure raw embarrassment over how I’d acted the last month. “Could we talk?”
“Don’t we have to check on our instruments?” Luca asked in a funny voice.
“I’m in the middle of something,” Garrett said.
“You’re playing chess with yourself. I think you can take a break,” Jared supplied.
With that, the three of them filed past us and out of the room.
The door clicked shut and words started flying out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I was so stupid, and I know I should have celebrated and been more excited.
I ruined the whole thing. Then I blocked you out because I was so in my head.
I’ve been trying to get a manager and send out demos and nothing was working so I also took that out on you.
And the truth is I’m really scared of losing you, and I didn’t want to admit it to myself so I pretended it wasn’t true. ”
“Holy shit, you’re trying to get a record deal. That’s awesome.” Pure excitement brightened his face, allowing some of the tension in my body to ease.
“Did you not hear the rest?”
“Well, I knew all of that already.” He smirked. “You’re stubborn as hell, though you started to freak me the hell out when you waited until just now to show up.”
“You’re not mad?”
He paused, collecting his words. “I was, and I’m glad you’re apologizing.
But over the last month, so many people have been blowing smoke up my ass that I realized how much I missed you being honest with me no matter what.
I love that I can always rely on you for that, even if it’s not necessarily what I want to hear.
I really fucking missed you. And the thing is, the album is different from what we planned, but it works.
I can’t wait for you to listen to it live.
People go crazy.” He gripped my shoulders.
“They know the lyrics. Like all of them.”
I nearly kissed him. I’d thought about it before.
The midnight type of thought that you let yourself have because secrets feel more acceptable in the dark.
But I was gripped with this need to close the distance between us, because I thought that no matter what happened, I’d always have him. And I wanted it all with him.
A knock rattled the door. “Mr. Hart, you’re needed.” The voice from the other side of the door caused me to flinch and Wes dropped his hands.
“Got it! I’ll be out in five,” he said then looked at me. “I’m trying out the name. What do you think?”