Noah
I’m halfway done restocking the vinyls behind the counter, sleeves crinkling in my hands when the bell over the door jingles.
“Dude!” Omen shouts. “You aren’t gonna believe this.”
“If this is about you fucking that blonde bitch last night, I don’t wanna hear it, because she was loud as hell.”
“Not that.” He tosses a folder onto the counter, and my stomach does a somersault. There’s a logo stamp in the corner. Metal Blade Records.
“No way.”
Omen leans forward, both palms pressed against the counter.
“They want us, the whole band. Even without the demo. They said they’ve heard enough from our live clips and the social media trending.
They think your voice has more potential than anything.
A few coaches to tweak some areas, but holy hell dude. ”
For several long seconds all I can hear is the low hum of music playing from the yellow-stained speakers on the wall, and the folder sliding across the counter.
“There has to be a catch,” I say.
“No catch, dude.”
My hand shakes as I open the folder. There it is. An actual contract. Printed. Signed by their Rep. Looking at the fine print, we are recording an album, touring for nine months straight as an opener. Which isn’t bad at all. It’s everything I’ve worked for since I was old enough to hold a guitar.
“They said if the first album performs well, they’ll bump us up from the opener, and we could be the headliner.” Omen’s eyes gleam. “This is it, man!”
I place the folder down and stare at the vinyl I was stocking, and the letters blur. I think I might be sick. “Nine months,” I repeat quietly.
“Yeah. We’ll be on the road for almost a year.”
I nod. “That’s insane...” I’m trying to find an ounce of happiness that I’m gonna be shoved and crammed into a bus with all three of them.
“Insanely good.” Omen studies me. “You should be jumping out of your damn skin right now.”
“Yeah...” I swallow hard and turn my back to him and grab my pocket knife that helps me pry open boxes of merchandise.
“What is it?” Omen asks as I round the corner with the box in hand.
The box slams in front of the shelves, and I gather up the different band shirts. “What do I do about my grandfather?” I can’t even fold these shirts correctly.
“Tony’s mom already offered to help,” Omen says. I’m just getting sloppy. I’m OCD, so where the hell is that quality about me? “You’re thinking about her? Aren’t you?”
I throw the shirt down and kick the damn box across the carpet floor.
“She started college today.” I dig my hand into my hair.
“I mean, I told her the other night I wanted a relationship with her.” I’m pacing back and forth.
I don’t even know why I'm upset. It’s not like we are serious.
“I mean, she’ll understand. She’s gonna be busy, and we’re touring.
I probably won’t be able to talk to her much anyway. We can try, right?”
“The fact you're even considering a long distance relationship is pathetic, dude.”
“She’s not gonna wait around for a guy who’s living out of a van with sweaty guys,” I let out a deep breath.
My own dream of being a musician is stabbing me with a knife.
My chest hurts more than I would like it to.
She’s just a girl. I’ve been with girls.
You taste them, you fuck them, and move on.
But I can picture her now, how she looked underneath me, how she sounded when I touched her.
Telling Charlie this is gonna be the death of me.
“You’re gonna have to break it to her, and soon.” Omen holds up his palms. “This offer won’t last forever. You can’t sit on this like you’ve done with the demo and avoid it. You have three days to figure this out.”
“Three days?” I ask, and everything goes still, even the flakes of dust flickering in the sunlight stop in place. “Fine... let’s sign the contract, but just give me some time to figure out how I'm going to tell her.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
Yeah, I’ll figure out how to break it to her. Without hurting her. But that’s just me lying to myself. Even if I tell my own heart I’ll be fine, I know I won’t be. Telling her I’m leaving will probably end whatever fling this is.