Chapter Thirteen
“So this is how it ends, huh?” Luke leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair with a long sigh. “I don’t think Ari would want this all to fall apart because he fucked up.”
Jay and Luke sat across from one another on the patio, two coffees sitting between them like lukewarm peace offerings. It was a mild afternoon, and Jay watched the pedestrians below, focusing on the mundane rhythm of their lives to keep from screaming at the man sitting five feet away.
Why did everyone think they could speak for Ari, as if they knew his brother better than he did?
“It’s not just Ari. I don’t like how Lionel handled it.” Jay tapped his fingers against the table between them. “I’m not fucking stupid. I know that any of us can be replaced in an instant.”
“You and Ari are the two that are hardest to replace.” Luke frowned. “The Wyler Brothers is basically a brand in itself at this point.”
“Then why push for Wicked Smile without us?”
“Gotta make money. End of story.” Luke propped his elbows on the table and shrugged. “I get it, man, but we signed contracts.”
Jay lifted his mug, grimacing at the cold, oily film on the surface of his coffee. He set it down harder than he intended, the sharp clack of ceramic against the table punctuating the silence.
“Riley groomed Mira.”
The words were out, naked and hideous. Jay watched Luke’s face, expecting shock, horror, or a fist on the table. Instead, Luke’s eyes dropped to his coffee.
“Look.” Luke exhaled slowly. “I’m not saying it’s right. But that kind of thing—it happens on the road all the time, Jay. You know what touring is like. The lines get blurry.”
Jay teetered above a dark void. “What?”
Luke turned his cup in his hands, still not quite meeting Jay’s eyes. “Remember touring with Gump Zone? Their bassist always had sixteen-year-olds in his room. Warped Tour and all that was a whole different world. Management deals with it. That’s what they’re there for.”
Jay flinched as if he’d been struck. “Mira is not a liability to be managed.”
“No, I know. I know that.” Luke held up a hand. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying Lionel handled it. Got her taken care of. Made sure everyone was protected.”
The world stopped. Jay’s lungs felt like they’d been filled with concrete. “So you knew.”
Luke chewed on his lip. “Those two weren’t exactly subtle.” He looked up at the sky. “I was there when Lionel got her to sign the NDA. Around her eighteenth birthday, during the Aces and Eights tour. He was trying to keep it clean for everyone involved. Including her.”
“So did everyone know?” The words came out strangled.
“Everyone knew but you and Ari.” Luke’s voice was almost gentle. “Because you both would’ve lost your shit. Lionel was protecting the band. He was protecting her too, in his way.”
“Of course we would’ve lost our shit!” Jay’s chair scraped back as he stood, needing distance. His chest heaved. “This started when she was a kid, Luke. He was beating her.”
Luke looked up sharply. That, at least, landed. “I didn’t know about that. I swear to you. I never saw Riley put his hands on her—they always seemed fine. Happy, even.” He paused. “If I’d seen something, I would’ve said something.”
Jay gripped the back of his chair, knuckles white. The worst part was he knew that Luke wasn’t lying. He’d just decided, a long time ago, that the band was more important than anything else.
A wave of nausea surged. All those years. All those shows. He’d been on stage singing about heartbreak while a predator slept in the bunk next to him and a lawyer drafted the silence.
“Why didn’t you say something when you found out? Why didn’t you come to me?”
Luke looked down at the table. “Because I knew what you’d do. And I didn’t want to watch you burn everything down.” He met Jay’s eyes. “I was wrong. I can see that now. But at the time it felt like…it’s always felt like keeping the peace.”
“Keeping the peace,” Jay repeated.
“I know how that sounds.”
“Does it sound like you chose the band over my sister?”
Luke didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Jay sank back into his chair because his legs wouldn’t hold him. He needed a lawyer. Needed to ask Mira for the NDA, go through it line by line, find some way to burn this whole fucking thing down.
“You know if you don’t come back,” Luke said after a moment, quieter now, “Riley’s subbing in on vocals.”
The news made Jay’s chest tighten. Riley singing meant he would wear Jay’s soul like a costume.
“Who the fuck decided that?”
“It was hashed out at the meeting you skipped.”
Jay closed his eyes. His nails dug into his palms.
“You remember when we started,” Luke said.
“You and Ari had the whole thing mapped out before Riley even came into it. But you didn’t want to be out front yet, so Riley sang.
And he was fine, but you were stronger and he knew it.
He stepped back because he had to, but he never got over that.
Every time a journalist called you the face of Wicked Smile, Riley clocked it.
” He leaned forward. “He’s been waiting years for you to hand this back to him. Don’t.”
Jay reached for the cigarettes and lighter he kept on the table. Lighting one, he took a desperate drag.
“Is it because you’re fucking Ava again?” Luke asked.
Jay choked on the smoke. “What?”
“She fucked you up real good the last time. You damn near killed yourself when you two broke up.” Luke’s voice wasn’t cruel. He sounded tired. “Are we going through that again?”
“She didn’t cause that. That was all my own bullshit.”
“How’d you two even start talking again?” Luke sighed. “I thought you were past this after we dedicated five fucking albums to her.”
Jay’s jaw tightened. “The albums lined your pockets pretty well.”
“Shut up. You know that’s not what I’m saying.
” Luke held his hand out, and Jay handed over the cigarettes.
Luke lit one before continuing. “When you two split, that’s when you really went downhill.
I mean, yeah, you made some of the best music we ever recorded because sad dudes always make masterpieces. But it was different.”
“Ava has nothing to do with me quitting.” Jay took another drag. “She works at the hospital where Ari is. We ran into each other.” He paused. “You know how we are.”
Luke exhaled smoke. “You two have always been intense. It’s like you can’t function without her.”
“I couldn’t even function with her. I was holding her back.”
Luke was quiet for a moment, looking Jay over.
“You’ve always held yourself back. One bad thing happens and you’re done.
” He took a drag. “The last album—I get that you needed control after rehab. I do. But you locked us out. We’ve been playing songs we had no part in writing, touring behind your therapy session.
It’s stopped feeling like a band already, and if you quit—”
“I didn’t mean to make the alb—”
“I know you didn’t.” Luke’s voice was even. “But it happened, and it’s just another example of how you’ve been disconnected.”
Jay had thrown himself into that album after rehab. Days bled into nights in the studio while he tweaked lyrics and reworked chords, mixing tracks until his eyes burned. He hadn’t meant to shut them out.
But now, sitting across from Luke—Luke who had known about Mira, who did nothing and called it keeping the peace—Jay realized he didn’t care what they thought of his creative process.
Jay crushed his cigarette into the ashtray. “You’re seriously trying to give me notes on the album right now?”
Luke’s expression tightened. “I’m not trying to—”
“You stood there while Lionel made Mira sign an NDA. And now you’re sitting here telling me I have control issues and don’t need to be with Ava?” Jay leaned forward. “You don’t get to give me life advice anymore, Luke. You lost that.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Look, I came to check on you.” Luke met Jay’s eyes. “And to tell you we’re meeting soon to finalize plans. We fly to Germany in a couple weeks. If you can’t get past this, we don’t need to drag you along. But you built this thing. Own that. Don’t just disappear.”
Jay stared at him. Luke still didn’t get it.
“Why do you need more confirmation that I’m done?”
Luke sighed. “Come to the meeting. Lionel’s stalling because he’s convinced you’ll come back.”
“Lionel can go fuck himself.”
Luke stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray. “Just show the fuck up, okay?”
“Fine.”
If they wanted a meeting, he’d give them one. He’d show up and sign the death warrant for the band himself. Let Riley have the microphone. Let them see what Wicked Smile sounded like when the heart was ripped out of it.
They’d burn it down themselves.
And maybe they deserved to burn with it.