35. Zak
“Ican’t fucking believe that worked.” Zak buried her smile against Chase’s shoulder. “What do you think they ended up paying?”
The five of them crowded around the fax machine at their hotel in Dublin, Ireland, less than seventy-two hours after their meeting with Arcane Records. Five minutes after Oscar had called the band personally to let them know his team had reached an agreement with Tribute.
Their new contract went into effect immediately, thanks to the contingency clause they had signed off on. Now, the only thing left to do was to finish up some final paperwork.
The new deal was so perfect, she could’ve framed it and hung it up next to Saint of Spades’ first platinum. If she wasn’t so optimistic that she’d need the wall space for more to come.
She had even gotten Oscar to agree to let Snickerdoodle go on tour—the contingency there being that he wanted to meet her. Their informal dog clause was off the record, but with how fair their new GM had been so far, Zak was inclined to take him at his word.
Chase smoothed a hand over the back of her hair, kissing the crown of her head. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll get their money’s worth out of that brain of yours, don’t you worry.”
She glanced up at him. “That voice of yours, don’t you mean?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Maybe the two of you should’ve started a law office instead of a rock band.” Alex popped open a bottle of sparkling cider and filled plastic cups for everyone.
“Or a greeting card company.” Dallas made a spectacle of rolling his eyes at the non-alcoholic beverage, but withdrawal could be a bitch, so Zak took his attitude issue as a positive sign rather than a negative one.
“Are you drinking in the business lounge?”
She startled at the loud voice intruding on their conversation—before Izzy’s head poked through the doorway. Zak pulled another cup off the stack, filled it, and held it out to their newcomer. “Do you want to be drinking in the business lounge with us?”
”Why”d you phrase it like a question?” Izzy grabbed the cup and shuffled into the small room. “What are we celebrating? Wait—oh my god. Did the new deal go through? Are you signed? This is so awesome! Did you like Arcane? Better than Tribute? What am I even saying, of course they’re better than Tribute. Trevor is an engorged deer tick with sour cream breath.”
Dallas’s eyes widened. “Now there’s an insult I didn’t know existed.”
Edge directed his soft chuckle down at contents of his cup.
“When is your next album coming out?” Izzy continued, though no one had answered her earlier barrage of questions with anything other than amusement. “I hope you’re not touring while I’m touring—I have to go to a few shows, at least! Oh no. I just realized how much this is going to suck.” She pouted. “Not to get all emotional on you or anything, but I’ve really liked having you guys around. It’s been fun. I don’t think I’m ready for it to be over. I know it was going to be over soon anyway, but it feels real now.”
Zak’s poor organs were about to hate her for it, but for once, she initiated the hug with Izzy. All this time around her new friend had taught her that Izzy’s talking was a great cover-up for all the things she was talking around. Because she was saying that she’d miss them and that it had been fun—both true statements—but not saying what Zak knew by now to be the case.
Izzy’s bandmates weren’t friends the way Zak’s were. They hung around each other sometimes, but were perfectly happy not to. They couldn’t talk for too long without somebody getting pissed off, narcissistic, or combative. And her sister now openly flaunted her impending retirement.
After this, Izzy would be cast out on her own in a turbulent tide. Left behind with the uncertainty of taking on a new member, the ongoing pressures of working with Tribute, and the extremely tight turnaround on her second album.
Zak was happy to share this moment with the woman who had helped make it possible for them, both by getting them on the tour in the first place, and by single-handedly executing some pretty ballsy damage control after the cheating scandal. People were still talking about her and Izzy’s collaboration during the Nashville show more than they were talking about Zak and Chase’s now-public relationship—and that was no small feat.
But, at the same time, she wished there was something she could do in return to help Izzy get the contract she deserved. All Zak could do, she supposed, was try her best to be the friend Izzy deserved.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Zak said.
Edge hesitated before adding, “We all will.”
Izzy gave him a curiously timid smile.
“Absolutely. And I’ll miss our dates.” Chase tipped his cup to her. “Best fake girlfriend a guy could ask for.”
“Wish I could say the same, but you did cheat on me with your guitarist, so…” Izzy broke away and raised her cup. “To your continued success. May your next album also piss off the critics, please international crowds, and go freaking platinum.”
Edge joined her, glancing around the group before his eyes settled on Zak’s. “To Zak, for her unexpectedly effective negotiation skills.”
“To Edge, for putting up with my bullshit longer than anyone else here and for the start of a new streak—three months seizure free.” She clicked her cup against his. “And to Dallas, for the start of his new streak—three months sober.”
“Whatever.” Dallas raised his glass. “To… Chase. For taking my best friend’s place, and doing a damn good job. And not being a dick about it, even after that thing with his sister.”
Edge and Alex both blurted out some variation of, “What thing with Chase’s sister?” Albeit, with very different accompanying tones and facial expressions.
“And to Alex,” Chase said, ignoring them. “For letting me drink out of a clean glass this time.”
Alex laughed so hard that cider fizzed from his nostrils, since he’d already started sipping at the drink pre-toast. “Though we probably could have just said, ‘To the band,’ at this rate, right?”
They all lifted their cups. “To Saint of Spades.”
Zak sipped at the cider with everyone else, then stole a few private seconds with Chase before polishing off the last bit of her drink. Life had presented both of them with opportunities to keep moving forward, but this was her chance to go back and correct the past.
She clinked the plastic rim of her cup against his and whispered the words she should’ve said to him last year, their final morning in New York. “Cheers to us. You and me.”