Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jay held out for five days before agreeing to a band meeting.
Lionel and his publicist hounded him daily, begging him to release a statement or at least return their calls because “they needed to talk about the situation.” To them, Ari overdosing on stage in front of thousands of people was another PR problem to manage.
But all he wanted to do was lie on the couch and ignore the unease crawling up his spine every few minutes.
Talking business and media sounded torturous, but Mira convinced him to get it over with.
She said Lionel would probably show up at their front door before letting another week go by, and Jay knew she was right.
It was a stark contrast to how things used to be. He and Ari used to revel in this: the label meetings, interviews, photoshoots, the electric ego-boost of being the most important people in a room. Now work felt like exactly that: work. And without Ari, it all felt pointless.
“Coffee or water, Mr. Wyler?”
The label’s latest intern was a lanky redhead in a Belmont crewneck.
As he escorted Jay to Lionel’s office, Jay wondered if the kid was one of Mira’s classmates.
Caina Records, part-owned by Lionel, was a magnet for ambitious college kids willing to work for free to get the company’s name on their resumes.
“No, thanks.”
The intern nodded and opened the office door. Riley and Luke sat across from Lionel at his desk, their laughter dying the second Jay stepped into the room. He had brought his dark cloud with him, as usual.
“Jay,” Lionel greeted, rolling up a pale blue sleeve that contrasted with his dark brown skin. His hair sported a fresh fade, and he looked so much like a refined businessman that Jay felt self-conscious in the worn Jimmy Eat World shirt he had thrown on. “Let’s move toward the windows.”
Lionel’s office was a sprawling testament to his success.
It was practically a museum of gold records and leather-bound music business bibles.
Luke and Riley sprawled on a couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Nashville skyline spread out behind them like a postcard.
The AT Ari’s in a fucking coma.”
“I know that.” Lionel’s voice carried a practiced sympathy that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But we’ve got contractual obligations, insurance deadlines—there’s a lot of moving parts here that need decisions.”
“Then what comes next?” Luke prodded.
Lionel set the iPad down then, folding his hands together. “I think we need to start back up in about a month. We’ll add the postponed North American dates to the end of this leg after we make it through Europe and Asia.”
“Wait,” Jay interjected, his voice rising. “We don’t even know when Ari’s going to wake up.”
Riley sat up straighter. “I’ve got a friend Lionel’s talking to who can sub in on drums. He’s free for the next few months.”
The room went quiet, save for the static ringing in Jay’s ears.
“I’m not finishing the tour without Ari.”
“Jay, let’s be realistic.” Lionel perched on the arm of the couch across from Jay. “The longer we postpone, the more we bleed. We have contracts to honor.”
“I don’t give a shit about the contracts.”
“Then what about the fans? We’ve got twenty-something shows left.” Riley challenged, each word a stone thrown at Jay’s head. “There’s a lot more at stake here than your feelings.”
“Listen,” Lionel said, his voice dropping. “This is what Ari would want.”
Jay’s irritation flared into rage. “And how the hell would you know that?” He stood, gesturing wildly. “What if it’s not what I want? How are you going to do the tour without the lead fucking singer?”
“Subbing a drummer isn’t an attack,” Lionel countered calmly. “It’s business. We’re keeping the train on the tracks.”
“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Luke piped up.
Jay whipped his head toward the bassist. “Are you kidding me? You too?”
“We don’t need to punish ourselves because Ari can’t control himself.” Riley stood, squaring his shoulders. “The last album tanked. If we ditch this tour, we’re dead. I’ve busted my ass for ten years. I’m not letting it go because you’re an alcoholic and Ari is a junkie.”
Jay went very still.
Luke shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, Riley.” His hands nervously squeezed his knees. “Jay’s been clean.”
“Who knows if Jay is as clean as he says he is?” Riley sneered. “It’s not our fault the amazing Wyler brothers are the biggest addicts in rock music right now.”
Jay stepped toward Riley with fists clenched, betrayal tasting like ash in his mouth. “Don’t act like you’re all high and mighty when you’re shooting up just as much as anyone. You wouldn’t be shit without us—still playing covers in some bar on Broadway.”
“Yes, because this band has always revolved around the Wyler brothers,” Riley countered with heavy sarcasm. “What would we ever do without your drama to keep us in the headlines?”
“What the fuck is your problem, Ri?”
“You’re the fucking problem!” Riley’s words dripped with venom. “You’ve never taken this band seriously enough.”
“Alright, alright.” Lionel finally stood, stepping between them. “Let’s not say things we will regret. I already told you all that I have a plan to make this work. Wicked Smile is a family.”
Jay agreed they looked like the kind of family he was used to. Riley was stiff with fists at the ready. Luke looked between them helplessly. Lionel was acting calm, but his upper lip curled in annoyance.
“The most important thing to all of us is Wicked Smile and giving your fans what they paid for,” Lionel said coolly. “The world doesn’t stop because someone is hurt.”
Jay took a couple of steps back. “Ari’s not hurt. He’s in a coma.”
“Jay,” Luke pleaded, standing beside Riley now. “They’re right. We’ve already wasted too much time. We need to stay relevant or we’re done.”
Jay laughed hollowly. “We’ve been relevant since we were fucking eighteen. I think the world would understand if we took another break.”
Lionel closed his eyes for a beat. “It’s your job as frontman to let people know this band is okay. Hiding won’t fix this.”
“The band is not okay.”
“Ari is not okay,” Lionel countered. “The rest of you are fine.”
The words were out of Jay’s mouth before he could catch them: “I quit.”
Silence.
“Jay, don’t be a child—” Lionel started.
But Jay was already slamming the door shut behind him.
“Just like that, huh?” Mira asked, popping the tab on an energy drink Jay thought tasted like cough syrup. The sound was a tiny explosion in the quiet of their condo. “You didn’t let them say anything else?”
Jay stood at the window with his arms crossed, overlooking the Gulch. The view mostly consisted of construction cranes building more luxury condos.
“What else could they say?” He sighed, walking over to slouch on a barstool across from Mira. “They’re only worried about the money, as if we’re not already set on royalties forever. They look at Ari and see a broken line on a graph, not a person.”
He was thankful she’d ended her Instagram Live when he walked in, even though this was her scheduled “influencer time.” But he’d needed his sister, not her brand.
Tapping his knuckles on the countertop, he was ready to move on. “Do people seem excited about your EP?” he asked. “Heard you answering a question about it when I walked in. You said January, right?”
“I think they’re more interested in Ari’s…issue.” Her voice was softer now, her usual enthusiasm dampened.
That was the Wyler curse. Jay and Ari were a black hole, sucking up all the light before Mira could catch any of it.