Chapter 5
FILTHY DESIGN
They just let me hang back there.
I don’t understand why no one else found that to be as big an issue as I did.
Am I out of line? Did I freak out prematurely?
I guess I’ll never know because instead of pulling my head out of my ass and sticking it out for the rest of the meeting, I’m pacing the parking lot, hands trembling and stomach half hanging out of my ass.
My whole life, I’ve accepted that I wasn’t really good at anything. Always average, mediocre, the same as everyone else. Even my damn self-expression was just a poor excuse to make myself seem better than I actually was.
All that changed with Dreadful, though. When Michael, Jorge, and Phoenix handed me the reins for producing, it was like every missing piece of my life slotted into place. I had a real purpose, a real talent for something, and nothing and no one could take it from me.
Because I wasn’t just another replaceable bassist.
I mattered.
Lex is trying to take that all away.
I’m sure he added it to the contract just to get back at me. I didn’t think he’d stoop so low, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he really is an evil piece of shit. I claw at my scalp, my hair tangling between my fingers as I yank on it. The pain anchors me to the moment, keeping me from spiraling.
No, I did the right thing removing myself, but I swear to god I feel worse. Alone.
Not even my best friend stood up for me because of something out of my control. I can’t help how I feel. I just try to keep it in check. I won’t lose him, too. I refuse. But it’s like he’s perfectly fine moving on without me.
Are they all going to replace me?
Get some big-time fancy market-standard producer to take my spot?
What’s next? Find a new bassist?
I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, black spots splattering over my vision. It’s like I’m eighteen all over again, getting thrown out of my ma’s stupid trailer because I wasn’t useful enough to be there.
I gasp for air, drenched in sweat from the heat.
“Devon.”
Michael approaches as I turn toward him, trying to hide my panic. My expression betrays me immediately. I manage a gruff "Hey," attempting to sound unaffected.
He folds his arms, studies me, and says, “We’re not replacing you, alright? So get that shit out of your head.”
I swallow hard. “That obvious?”
“Always,” he agrees, voice strained. He’s not happy to deal with me, but his presence lets me overlook it. “Walking out made us all look bad. You realize that?”
“I had to walk away. I was…you know how I get.”
“This is too important,” he hisses, sounding so much like his dad I want to flinch. “Too important to them,” he points back at the building, “and too important to me. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t have a fucking thing waiting beyond this. I am this. Without the band, I’m fucked.”
My gaze softens. “I know that.”
“You need to get your head on straight. You aren’t that guy anymore, so stop acting like him.
If you need to fucking yell, wait until after and yell at me.
If you need to fucking fight, we’ll find a back alley and let loose.
But if you ever jeopardize my future due to some self-centered ass bullshit like that again, it won’t be an arrangement, it’ll be a promise, and you won’t get back up after. Got it?”
His words are like razors, sharp and meant to draw blood. Before this last tour, before Germany, before that kiss, he’d never talk to me like this. Michael would never.
He’d give me that one-armed hug, murmur into my ear that he had my front, and my heart would swell so big I was sure it’d explode.
Things change, though.
And it hurts so damn bad because for once, it wasn’t me.
I didn’t do it.
“Do you really hate me so fucking much, Michael?” I raise my voice, fists balled. “Is this how it’s going to be now?”
He shrugs. “If it has to.”
“I don’t get it, man. We were never fucking like this. Never. I had your front, and you had my back.”
“Things changed, Devon. My twin is a rapist rotting in jail. My dad blames us all for putting him there and you—” He stops, shakes his head, and blinks up at the sky. After a long sigh, he continues, “For once in your life, you need to learn how to let something go. Not everything means something.”
I watch him leave, speechless.
My beer is warm. As much as I want to drown the bullshit with cheap booze, I can’t stomach another sip. Half a bottle in, I crawl into bed, arm hanging off the side, beer clenched loosely. My mind won’t turn off. I can’t stop the spiral of negative thoughts.
Everyone else is celebrating the contract at Jorge’s—pizza, movies, wings, maybe even an orgy. Phoenix told me I should go, but I stayed in bed. I wonder if Lex is there. Even he seems preferable now. I don’t understand how it got this way.
I mean, I do.
Between the drama with Phoenix and Eli on the last tour, and then the bomb being dropped about Oliver and his past. I’m surprised our band is even intact.
Everyone else seems to have found their happy ending.
Jorge is queer—no surprise there. Kelly has a borderline creepy crush on some guitarist from Norway that she’ll probably never meet, but she’s already planning their wedding.
Phoenix and Eli are one thrust away from pregnancy.
And I’m…here. Stuck.
Wedged between an impenetrable rock and a jagged shard that's bleeding me every chance it gets.
I’m so confused.
What the fuck was that kiss? Doesn’t Lex remember how he lied and almost ruined my life?
The other kiss feels like a bad dream because it didn’t mean anything, right?
Dropping the beer bottle to the floor, I roll over onto my side and tuck my knees up.
I don’t know what I want except that I do want something.
Hook-ups aren’t fun anymore. The surface-level stuff doesn’t do it for me, and I have always needed more than a stranger can offer. A dynamic that isn’t…there.
Maybe I’m like my ma. Too messed up for anyone to stay.
Maybe I’m just…worthless.
This is my hell.
Truly.
Ever since we signed the contract two weeks ago, things have been moving at lightspeed.
All my bullshit aside, I’ve had barely any time to shower, let alone think about…
everything. Today changes all of that. Our new equipment is being delivered to our studio, and miraculously, everyone is busy except me.
That means I’m alone with Lex.
I got here before him, so I could take a minute to mentally prepare.
Not that anyone really can prepare with a guy like that.
He’s both predictable and a wild card. Trying to figure him out is like chasing a headless chicken.
It’s impossible. There’s this residual nausea whenever I think about that kiss.
I’m choosing to erase the part where he punched me in the throat.
We’ve always had this fucked up energy between us.
It’s easy to get mad at Lex, easy to poke at his insecurities because being near him exposes mine. When Kelly proposed trying out a manager six years ago, Lex was the last person I expected at Jorge’s garage. I wanted to object even then, say he wasn’t trustworthy—because he isn’t.
But of course, I kept that shit to myself.
Not even Michael knows why I hate the guy.
It was easier to make up reasons, and because Lex is equally hot-headed, he made them justifiable.
It wasn’t even a full year before he dropped the sweet act and became the monster we all know and loathe today.
I wasn’t falling for it even for one second.
I’d been a fool before, and it wasn’t happening again.
If anyone did know the truth, I suspect they’d tell me to get over it.
Move on.
The past is the fucking past.
I wish I could do it. The grudges I hold sometimes matter more to me than anything else.
It’s ridiculous. But I guarantee if any of them had been in my shoes, with a teenager dry-humping their lap and begging to get railed by an adult, they’d react the same way.
Flip the fuck out. Toss said teenager on his ass whilst calling him all sorts of horrible things.
I know what I did was cruel, but it was also right. I just wish I could get him out of my head for more than five minutes.
While I could leave him to haul all this crap in alone, I’m not as big an asshole as he is. And, because I’m a twisted individual with absolutely zero self-preservation if the recent past is any indication, I really want to see what he’s wearing today.
Asshole and tiny tyrant he might be, he’s still hot.
I groan, bottle it all deep inside, leave the studio, and wait out front for him.
As expected, the giant U-Haul truck pulls into the lot, with the stupid Prius right behind.
I lift my arm, trying to be discreet, and smell myself—things have been hectic, and the funk tells me I skipped deodorant.
Great. Another thing for him to complain about.
I watch him park and get out of his car.
He’s wearing skin-tight black pants that I know will make his perky ass look obscene and an equally tight black t-shirt showing off his pecs.
Those stupid shoes are on his feet as well.
I don’t know how he thinks he’s lifting heavy equipment in that get-up without the clothes tearing right off him.
I hate that I’m even imagining what’s under them.
Probably a fuckin’ g-string. Purple and lacy.
Anyone with eyes can see he’s attractive—pretty. Stupid fucking princess.
“What are you waiting for?” he snaps at me and gestures to the truck.
I roll my eyes and go over to the back end, the driver taking his sweet time getting Lex’s signature. Just as I’m about to roll up the door and get to work, he makes a noise. It’s one I’ve never heard him make before.
Wait.
I lean around the side of the truck.
This fucker is pouting?
God, why is it…cute?
“Seriously?” he whines and even stomps his foot. My eyebrow hitches. “You aren’t going to even unload it?”
“That’s not part of my job. I deliver. You unload.”
I snicker under my breath, and Lex has somehow developed superhuman hearing because he whips his head in my direction and snarls. I bet he’s regretting that outfit now.