Chapter 5
Maddy
Two hours later, and we’re rolling up to the offices in full rock royalty regalia. It’s hotter than hell for this early in the afternoon, but we’re all in black leather regardless. It’s just our thing.
Jude ruffles my hair, “If you can’t stand Jett that much, like why are you even here?”
I can stand him, sometimes, that’s the problem. I never know when I will or won't be able to. I smooth my hair in a huff.
“I don’t need to answer that. Why are you here?”
My brother, with his chocolate button eyes and curly brown hair pulled into a silly, attempting to look serious man-bun, replies, “I need to be here. I’m Dad’s publicist.”
My laugh sounds like a crow giving its best caw. “Since when?”
Jude straightens his collar. “Since last month! Keep up, Baby.”
My mum smacks us both and when we exit the lift on the thirtieth floor, we’re cool, calm, and rock ‘n roll following Mum, Dad, and Lola into the office.
We’re escorted to a white room filled with adorable puppies, and Jett is on the floor in all black under a dog pile of baby black labs.
I ignore the familiar and yet utterly confusing squish my insides do when I see Jett, covered in puppies, no less.
A photographer snaps shot after shot right as Jett’s face lights up like a megawatt bulb at the sight of us Morningstars.
The reporter leading whatever this is tries to make formal introductions but Jett leaps up with a tiny pup in each hand and wraps my mum and I in an embrace like we’re long-lost family, handing us each a dog.
No one else hears it but I swear Jett whispers a, Did I fucking miss you!
Right in my ear before he heads over to Lola.
He hugs and thanks my siblings profusely, and then he stands before my dad like a devout Catholic in front of the Pope.
“I’m not worthy, my king,” Jett says with his hands out. I try not to bust out laughing, but my dad puts his ringed hands into Jett’s freshly tattooed ones, and I’m speechless that he’s buying this.
“I keep being told you’re the next me, and this record is the closest I’ve heard. And I loved it! Your singing is so much more melodic, and the sound of your Gibson was immaculate. But Jett, I need to feel that rock, man! Talking into the mic has gotta stop! Right now. Give me a wail, I mean it!”
Jett steps back, and I’m not sure what to expect.
“Said you were mine, but you’ve been lost in time, forever! Whaaaaaaaa!”
Jett emulates a line of Dad’s and his signature scream, letting out a wail that rattles the light fixtures on the wall and scares the puppies.
I stagger backwards against the door and my body lights up like a switchboard, thank God no one notices.
Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath waiting for Dad to respond.
My dad pulls Jett into him, and the photographer goes mad at the sight of the king of rock squeezing his princely successor. “My son! I didn’t doubt you for a second!” Everyone breathes a sigh of relief and I realize it's the first time I've seen Jett speechless.
The staffers set up two overstuffed black velvet chairs facing each other for Jett and Dad to sit.
They have us crowd around them for a few photos, and Jett unexpectedly pulls me into his lap.
I catch his eyes with mine, and damn if it’s not even harder to peel my eyes away from them than it was staring at his album cover.
Jude raises a questioning eyebrow in our direction, and I ignore him.
The camera clicks away as Jett holds my hips.
“My own personal heaven,” he says under his breath.
My brain swims and my eyebrows pinch in the middle.
I turn my head to lock eyes with him again, but he doesn’t backtrack.
He looks at my parents and back at me, doubling down with a hazy grin.
My head feels like it’s chock full of cotton as I stumble off Jett’s lap and walk to the far wall with my sibs so Dad and Jett can start their interview. What the hell was that?
Once situated, their laps are loaded up with the little cuddly canines. I’m not even going to question the reason for all these dogs; we’re too focused on the insanity in front of us. The insane connection between my dad and Jett.
“This is fucking mad,” Lola says in a hush.
“Like some sort of twisted time warp, seeing both sides of the mirror,” Jude agrees.
“It’s like they’re the same bloody person.” Lola shakes her head. Mum is too fascinated at the exchange to hear us at all.
After the first question, Dad and Jett begin talking so fast that they forget there are questions or a reporter, for that matter.
They use this thicker-than-thick northern accent, so different from my mum and siblings.
I’m not even sure the reporter knows half of what he’s hearing, so he smiles and nods.
Finally, he speaks up. “Earlier, Jett told me what he wrote on your copy of his new album. What did you think?”
“Bugger wants me to sing with him at the Bowl in a month! It’s ridiculous, but I haven’t said no … sing what, Jett?”
“Any one of yours, whatever you want, sir.”
“Don’t call me that! Call me Dad.” I don’t miss Jett’s eyes, suddenly wet.
“How about … one of yours and one of mine. I wanna sing Dying Love with you, Jett. That track was truly fucking cool.” Jett nods, catatonic.
Dad grabs Jett’s arm and inspects his old lyrics tattooed there with a chuckle.
The reporter beams like he’s struck gold, and so does the photographer.
“You wanna do this one, son? You clearly have a thing for Soul Apocalypse.”
“You know it!”
Jett jumps out of his chair and hugs my dad and everyone else in the room, cheering, chanting, and fist pumping.
“Hell yeah! Max is doing the Bowl with me, yeah baby! Fuck yeah!”
He hugs me last, and the way his eyes shine when he squeezes me and grins? Well, let’s just say, it’s the moment I tell myself it's time to drop the Jett’s an annoyance act. I’m not gonna lie, it’s the most bromantic meet-cute of all time, and the beginning of a truly epic bromance.
First, it’s the Hollywood Bowl performance that goes completely viral.
It’s Jett’s turn to blow up, and yeah, he deserves it.
Plus, it gives Dad some more cred with Gen Z.
Then, he begs Dad and me to do cameos in his music video, which now has more views than any he’s made so far.
Finally, Dad invites Jett into the studio with him to record tracks together, and finds a permanent place on the favorites list on my dad’s phone.
Right next to me. It's like they're two peas, one pod.