10. Chase
After the unpleasant initial album review call, Chase braced himself for the worst at the band’s next conference. But when they arrived in the City, Trevor was all pearly grins and platitudes.
Together, with the members of Abstraction, they went over run-of-show details for the tour and the new dates that had been added to the schedule. They had a morning meeting with the marketing team to finalize branding and album design, and an afternoon appointment with the PR team to receive coaching on answering questions during their upcoming interviews.
Their first tour conference with the team at Tribute Records had been both productive and upbeat. It was as if all criticisms of their songs had vanished into thin air. As if Trevor had a change of heart about Saint of Spades upon his second or third listen.
However, when their general manager came in at the end of their last workshop of the day, the atmosphere immediately shifted from collaborative to combative.
Trevor blocked the doorway with one hand on each side of the frame, a pinched smile drawn on his face. “Before you head out for the evening, there are a few final details I need to discuss with you. Well, not all of you. You two”—Trevor pointed to Chase and Izzy—“and you”—he pointed to Zak—“meet me in my office. The rest of you, enjoy the hotel. The Graf is spectacular.”
The door swung shut behind him.
“Oo, a private meeting with the real talent.” Alex and the others traded glances like kids watching their classmates get called to the principal’s office.
“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Chase asked Izzy. Surely, if Trevor wanted to drill in his point about how much he hated Saint of Spades’ album, Izzy would have nothing to do with it.
“I was going to ask you two the same thing. Maybe paperwork issues? Did they screw up your direct deposit information or something?” she speculated.
As much as Chase wanted to buy into her optimism, every corporate GM he’d ever been in contact with had beaten that sliver of positivity out of him.
“Nah, if he’s calling Zak in, it ain’t good,” Dallas said. “It’s never good news with her.”
Zak headed out first, holding the door open with one hand. “You’re not wrong, but you are a dick.”
Trevor’s office was on the top floor at the end of a long hall and even larger than the conference room, though most of the space was bare. The floors were immaculate, and the tables were free of clutter, with only a few abstract bronze sculptures serving as decorations. A massive glass desk stood at the center, with three padded red armchairs facing it.
Red flag number one: the meeting had been premeditated.
Red flag number two: it would last long enough for them to all need comfortable seating.
Zak took the center chair between Chase and Izzy, and moments later, Trevor’s assistant popped in to offer everyone refreshments.
Trevor gave Zak a once-over. “I see you finally got yourself some proper winter attire. I’m sure the weather here is much different than what you’re used to back home.”
“It is.”
She left it at that.
Trevor tapped on the folders stacked at the center of his desk before turning his attention from Zak. “Though I’m sure you two are more acclimated to the cold.”
“There’s not as much of a market for field hockey,” Chase responded dryly.
Izzy staged a polite laugh. “You know what? No matter how many winters I’ve been through back home, I don’t think I’ve ever quite gotten used to gray skies and ice. It’s not really my thing. Hopefully there’ll be better weather when we make it back up this way on tour.”
“I’ll be sure to have my fingers crossed for you all while you’re off gallivanting the world.”
Zak hated this sort of thing. Conversations about the weather. Authority figures. Ambiguity. So it was no surprise when, after the assistant handed her a warm cup of green tea and disappeared once more, she finally spoke up.
“Can you skip to the part where you tell us why we’re here?”
Trevor’s tapping halted. “Fantastic. I love a woman who gets to the point. Don’t you, Chase?”
The leather groaned as Izzy shrank in her seat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chase asked.
“Only that, in a position like mine, diplomacy can get exhausting. You know what it’s like to be in the public eye. It’s refreshing to be able to speak candidly, without letting emotions get in the way. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Huh.” Zak sipped her tea. “You must have loved Lisa, then.”
“She’s always a treat.” Trevor flashed a toothy grin. “Anyway, we’ll start with the good news. The PR team and I brainstormed a way to ensure we’re all as profitable as possible during this double release. The bad news—there’s a little damage control involved. I understand interpersonal issues can be sensitive, which is why I wanted to discuss this privately.”
Trevor flipped to the second tab in his stack and pulled out an inner sheet from a tabloid. “Whatever this is, we’ll need to clean it up before the tour.”
They all leaned forward to view the dark, blurry image of him and Zak kissing on stage. Her champagne glass dangling haphazardly over his shoulders and his pressed against her spine. To see it was to go back to that night and feel her all over him, all over again.
Chase hadn’t sought out the pictures that surfaced after their New Year’s Eve show, though he’d assumed some were circulating. For one, he didn’t care who knew about him and Zak, and for two, the prospect of getting signed and going on tour had overshadowed any insignificant curiosities about what people were saying.
Smaller music news publications had been following Saint of Spades since the end of the show, but they had yet to receive the kind of pervasive, national coverage Chase had dealt with during the start, end, and high points of his hockey career. Ignoring harmless, small-scale speculation about his love life was the sort of thing he’d been doing since he was eighteen. By now, it was subconscious.
Chase pushed the tabloid back toward Trevor. “Why do we need to do that?”
“And what does this have to do with me?” Izzy asked.
“Because you two,” he announced. “Are officially a couple. Happy anniversary.”
What the fuck?
As he was thinking it, he expected Zak to actually say it out loud. But when he turned to his right, she was silent. More concerningly, so was Izzy.
“Excuse me?” Chase hoped this was Trevor’s idea of a joke.
“Don’t take this personally. It’s not even for your benefit, mostly.” Trevor pressed the tip of his pen against a blank notepad. “Female leads outside of the pop space are a hard sell. Sorry, Iz. You’re a sweet girl and all. It’s just the truth of the business. But this will make for the perfect marketing push. It goes great with the branding of Abstraction’s Lovers album, you’ll look hot together in ads. The public will eat that shit up.”
“I fought to get them on this tour,” Izzy said. “What were you planning to do before? How were you going to sell my music before, without Chase, and why can’t you do that now instead of orchestrating a fake relationship?”
“There are other tricks of the trade. Theatrical costuming. Stage effects. Endorsements. On the marketing side, we can lean into your unique… value proposition. ‘A female metal singer. Who would have thought?’ And we’ll still do all of those things, too. But this method comes with an added bonus. Because let’s face it”—he wagged the tip of his pen between Zak and Chase—“your weird little album is going to need all the help it can get.”
Zak clutched the armrests of her chair. Her jaw set as she traded glances with Izzy. “So, let me get to the point again. You’re saying it’s too difficult to sell a woman without a man. Too difficult to sell our music without a gimmick. If that’s the case, don’t you think it says more about you being shit at your job than it does about the state of the industry?”
“If I was shit at my job, we wouldn’t be leading the industry in record sales. But I wouldn’t expect you to know how things work. This isn’t about putting anyone down. I love the ladies as much as the next warm-blooded man. Hoo-rah for feminism.” Trevor gave a brusque clap. “It’s about statistics. Facts. The public loves a good power couple. Hollywood uses it to sell movies all the time, and if you think the music scene has never used relationship drama to sell albums then you’re kidding yourselves.”
“What if Izzy and I collaborated with both bands on a single instead?” Chase suggested. “You could bring in your creative team if you’re worried about it.”
“Yeah!” Izzy jumped in. “We could do something super fun with it. Use it as a bridge between both shows. Strike up a competition in the instrumental section—Zak and Bobby, Jensen and Alex, Gemma and Dallas. Me and Edge. I think people would have an awesome time with that. They discovered us during a battle of the bands, after all.”
“There’s nothing sexy about a song collaboration. And that sounds like a logistical nightmare on stage,” Trevor shot them down. “This is about pulling people into your personal lives. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuss is all about. It’s harmless. You’ll already be together. We’ll just arrange for a few public sightings along the way and bam. Instant, free promotion. After the tour, we let it fizzle out and say the distance was too much. Amicable breakup. Nobody’s name gets tarnished.
“The only catch is—Chase? Keep it on the down-low with any groupies you pick up over the next six months, alright? No photos or videos. Especially the private kind.” Trevor snickered.
Chase didn’t entertain the other man’s attempt at comedy. He didn’t move in the stiff, polished leather seat. “And what if I don’t want to lie about who I’m seeing?”
The picture of him and Zak was still burned into Chase’s mind. That moment was burned into his mind—the first time he saw himself being with her in every way. Privately, publicly. Just when she had gotten over loathing him, pushing him away to preserve the band, and fearing the slightest idea of commitment, along came a fake girlfriend to yet again prevent him from being able to call Zak his real one.
“Then I would remind you of the terms of our agreement. Selling a PR relationship is a small price to pay for creative freedom.”
Chase had already known, but there was the confirmation. Trevor wasn’t asking them to get on board. He was telling them the train was leaving the fucking station.
“You musicians are all the same. You want all the perks of a big label like Tribute backing you up without making any compromises. Here’s a tip: leave your egos on stage, where they belong.
“Now.” Trevor opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a tape recorder. “Let’s put the rumors to rest. I’m sure no one would believe this was more than a fling anyway, but we’ll at least have a statement to release if any of these dinky little news outlets start poking around with questions.”
“It isn’t a fling. So maybe they should believe the rumors,” Chase said. Because he was sick of this shit, and he knew Zak wasn’t going to compromise their deal by punching this guy in the face like she had with Sergio. No matter how badly he deserved it.
“Is that right?” Trevor asked, uncaring. His finger hovered over the record button. “I wonder how long that’ll last.”
Before Chase could say anything, Zak set her teacup on Trevor’s desk and snatched the device out of his hands, mashing the button as she held the speaker to her lips.
“Oh, that?” A forceful laugh ripped from her. “Come on. It was New Year’s Eve, we were all two bottles of champagne deep. That was just one silly drunken kiss. I barely remember it. I’ve probably done the same with all the guys.” Her eyes darted from the recorder to Trevor, the tape still spinning around the spools as she glared at him. “And while I’m still on the record… fuck you, Trevor.”
She pressed stop and threw the device back on the desk. “There. Good enough for you?”
Trevor felt the glass tabletop for damage with one hand as he popped the tape out with the other. His mouth formed a thin line. “Nothing a little editing won’t fix. I appreciate your attention to detail. It’s the bread and butter of any believable story.”
“Excellent. Then it sounds like we’re done here.” Zak stood, collected her coat, and was out of the room before anyone could tell her otherwise.
Trevor gestured toward the door as Zak slammed it behind her, the tape of her false confession still in his hand. “Watch out for that one. She’ll get you in trouble.”
I’m counting on it.
“You all have a sweet gig going here. I’d hate to watch you blow it up.”
“She’s the reason we got this ‘sweet gig.’” Chase glanced at the empty chair beside him. “And, to be frank, I don’t think you care what we blow up as long as album sales blow up with it.”
“That’s why I like you, Chase. Humble and you understand how the business works. It’s always a pleasure.” Trevor extended a hand.
Chase shook it. Tightly. “I want this to work out just as badly as you do, Trevor. The difference is, I’m in it for the music. So I hope you get a kick out of playing matchmaker and micromanaging my free time for the next three-hundred-fifty days. Because when this contract is up, I’m not playing along anymore.”
Trevor stretched out his tendons as soon as Chase let go. “We’ll just have to see. Won’t we?”
The Graf was spectacular. Décor of rich green and polished brass filled the on-site restaurant, where Chase, Zak, and Izzy met the rest of their bandmates to fill everyone in on Trevor’s latest demands over a spectacular dinner. The spectacular hallways, with soaring ceilings and ornate archways, echoed with Izzy’s apologies—and, repeatedly, Zak telling her, “Stop apologizing,” while Chase said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
The spectacularly detailed wildflowers printed on the wallpaper in Chase’s room provided a pattern of fixed points for him and Zak to stare at as they sat in silence at the foot of his bed.
He didn’t know how to begin to make up for the way she had been treated by their record company. And he presumed she didn’t know what to say, either.
There was nothing that could be done. These were the terms they’d agreed to, and it was far from a worst-case scenario. Trevor had the power to do far more damage if he truly wanted to teach them a lesson in obedience. But as pitiful as it sounded, after what felt like a lifetime of hiding, Chase had looked forward to being himself for once.
He faced Zak, trying to find the right thing to say. Should he even bring it up? She hated sympathy and could sniff it out from a mile away, but he couldn’t help but feel like shit for her.
She already had to fight, daily, for the barest level of recognition and respect in this space. But her association with him meant the unsolicited judgments and dismissiveness would only continue to compound.
It didn’t matter that he felt undeserving of her or thought, objectively, that she was the most beautiful, talented, and remarkable person on the planet. It didn’t even matter if she agreed. Constantly hearing the opposite had to be, at the very least, exhausting. At most, demoralizing.
“I think you’re perfect.” His eyes searched hers for a glimmer of belief. Of which, he found none. “I know no one really is. But to me, you are.”
“You don’t have to try to make me feel better about what Trevor said. I know people think I’m not good enough for you. I’ve never been good enough for anyone. Especially not someone so famous, successful, and kind.”
She smiled sadly. “And I may not care what anyone else thinks, but that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with them. Not because of what I look like or who I am, but because of who you are.” She motioned from his head to his toes. “Look at us. Look at how good you are to me, and I can’t even offer you the simplest thing. Commitment.”
“You’ve given me all the commitment I need.”
“I don’t know about that. It felt a lot like betrayal earlier.” She breathed deeply. “You know what I was thinking, aside from what a puckered asshole Trevor is? I was relieved to have a reason not to be official. I was thinking he was right about my ego because I just want to be somebody first, before I’m Chase Payton’s girlfriend. Because if I ever am your girlfriend, that’s all I’m going to be.”
If. Why was she still saying “if?” And he almost asked, but that wasn’t the point. Her thoughts on being with him sounded familiar the longer he mulled them over. Identical, in fact, to the way they’d talked about music every day for over two months without her once bringing up that she was the daughter of a famous rock star.
“That won’t be your legacy,” he said. “That will neverbe who you are. Not to anyone with half a brain. And anyone who ever says something like that to me will get to hear all about how I’m Zak Parker’s boyfriend. How I wouldn’t be here today if not for you.”
He brought his palm to her jaw. “I can’t change what anyone else wants to think or say about us. But I can promise you I’ll never shut up about how incredible you are. They’ll think you hung the stars if they listen to me for five seconds, alright?”
“I know you will. And that’s exactly why I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t think it, don’t feel it, don’t say it.”
Chase laid on his side and patted for her to join him. So, she did, still wearing her street clothes from earlier. So, they rested. Until everything rebalanced to their unsteady equilibrium. Until he was brushing the hair away from her face and she was toying with the hem of his shirt.
“I think you should talk to Scott,” Chase said when the blanket of silence grew heavy again. “Not to make him feel better, but to make you feel better.”
To make you realize that you deserve better.
It could have gone terribly. He didn’t know, because he’d never put himself in the middle of her decision-making before. But she had inspired him to speak freely to his parents, and though things weren’t perfect, he was finally untethered from the added burden of managing two other adults’ feelings in addition to his own.
Zak’s situation was different, but maybe laying everything out with Scott would be the first step toward her having some peace of her own.
She could have just as easily said, “I think you should mind your own fucking business, how about that, Chase?” but instead, she said, “And what if it makes me feel worse?”
“Would anything make you feel worse than you already do?”
She considered the question. Then shook her head no.
“There’s your answer.”
“It doesn’t feel like much of an answer.”
“At least you’ll know. Right now, you know just as much about his life as the rest of the world. He owes you more than that. He owes you an explanation, even if you hate it.”
“He owes me nothing,” she stood firm. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know. I just don’t think I can face him without turning into an emotional wreck again.”
“You know you’re human, right?” he said. “It’s okay to have emotions.”
“Even so, you have to admit—they’re pretty fucking inconvenient.”
He weaved his fingers through hers on the mattress. “I hope it goes without saying, but I don’t want to be with anyone else. I don’t want to sneak around to spend time with you. I want to check into the hotels together under one room, more than I want to blow Trevor’s money by making him pay for two. And I want nothing to do with any groupies. Ever.”
“Had enough puck bunnies to last a lifetime, did you?”
Chase sat up on his elbow. “Where the hell did you learn that term?”
“Where do you think?” She smiled. “Your sister.”
They chuckled softly. Synchronously.
“And I hope it goes without saying, but I didn’t kiss any of the other guys.”
“I assumed—”
“Well, except Edge.”
He tilted his head.
“Once, when we were fourteen. I just wanted to get the first one over with, but it was gross,” she clarified. “It would have been like you kissing Lydia.”
“Uh, no, Zak. That is not even close to the same thing.”
“How would you know? You—”
Could words alone induce vomiting? It looked like they were both about to find out. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”
“I was going to say, ‘You don’t have any close female friends.’”
Oh, thank god.
“Well, I’m glad it was gross.”
The next laugh thawed the tension, the uncertainty. Chase wished they could laugh off the reality of the lie they would be living from now through September.
Zak gave him a prolonged look, halfway between a smile and a grimace, before finally blurting out, “You would have been my first, otherwise, you know.”
Somehow, that was enough to make him nervous all over again. Like it really was his first time when he tucked the hair behind her ear and kissed her now. Slow and soft. Speaking in broken words against her lips as they parted for air.
“Worth the wait.”