Chapter 8
TRAY
I wake up to the sound of dishes clanking.
As I sit up, trying not to sway with the spinning room, I peer into the small kitchen.
Michael is dressed in gym attire. He’s wearing a backward red cap, dark athletic shorts, and a crisp white shirt.
Too busy with fixing his travel mug of coffee, he doesn’t notice me watching him for long seconds.
When he turns around, he jolts a little.
“Shit. Did I wake you up?” The way he asks and the sincerity in his voice warm my belly.
Michael is always the kindest to me, only taking Devon’s side when I’m actually wrong.
I’ll never admit it aloud because then they’d win, but I know it happens.
It’s fun to mess with his best friend, but with Michael, I never have the urge.
He scares me. There’s a quiet predator under his All-American exterior.
Deep down, I know I wouldn’t win against him.
“It’s fine. It’s your house,” I croak. Jeez, my throat is dry.
“Need anything before I go?”
Who is this gentleman? Where has he been all my life?
“No, thanks, though.” I offer a tiny smile, one he returns.
“Alright, well. Your shoes and socks are in that bag,” he points to it, “I’d suggest tossing them.”
Last night rushes back—the bar, the restroom, my shoes, and finally, Devon. Devon is here. “Where is he?” I ask, eyes darting around.
“He’ll be asleep for a while. You’re safe to sneak out.” He winks at me. “I prepped a bunch of instant oats. Feel free to grab one from the fridge. Might be good to soak up that acid.”
I nod once. “Thanks.”
He frowns like he’s forgetting something. “Stay hydrated today, okay?”
“I…will?” What is happening right now?
Shifting on his feet, he grips his mug tightly. “See you later, then?”
“Obviously…”
“Right. Okay. See ya.” The man power walks to his front door and leaves.
I need to do the very same before Devon wakes up.
My laptop burns my thighs. I’ve been forced into hovering while Dreadful gets their last few songs recorded.
Without my domineering presence, they’ll hang out and piss off instead of getting work done.
As much as it puts a strain on their careers, their bond is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
It goes beyond camaraderie. They are truly a found family, and I’m jealous.
Hunching further over my screen, my fingers fly over the keyboard while the crunch of heavy metal music pushes through the soundproof room.
Devon is at his DAW, occasionally telling Michael and Oli to replay something or start over.
Drums and keys have already been laid down, and Jorge is fidgeting beside me on the couch, eager to get his paws on his boyfriend.
“It sounds fine,” he tells Devon. “Give them a damn break!”
“It does not sound fine,” Devon mocks. “It sounds like shit.” He presses a button on his station, opening his mic so he can be heard in the room. “Michael, what the fuck?”
And everyone says I’m bossy.
Turning my attention away, I finish booking all of our plane tickets for next month.
Dreadful is scheduled to record a music video only an hour away from Elijah’s hometown.
He and Phoenix are taking a few extra days while we are there to settle an estate and serve a restraining order.
I guess they wrangled in Damien, Phoenix’s older brother, to help with the house.
I make sure to allot that extra time before purchasing theirs.
Then I click out of that browser and back to YouTube.
There’s an online war happening about Dreadful.
Most of their fan base is over the moon.
The upcoming international tour, the new album, and signing with Kingsport Records are big news, given that the sister company is home to major names, including Artificial Suicide.
Dreadful is even scheduled to open at some point during the tour.
I see it as a way to garner more attention.
They see it as an opportunity to fangirl. A win-win, I suppose.
But there’s one music reviewer who isn’t thrilled. In fact, he’s shitting all over the band. I take personal offense to it because, unlike Rune’s Metal Is Better Than Your Metal, I built this band from the ground up. He wouldn’t even know who they were if not for me.
Elitist prick.
“I swear to god, Devon, if you damage Oli’s fingers with this repetitive bullshit, I’ll toss out everyone’s deodorant when we go on tour!” Jorge’s threat pulls me out of the argument I’m reading.
Devon stops what he’s doing just as I look up. His eyes snap to Jorge’s. “I’ll put LSD in your Pop Rocks.”
“Do it,” Jorge dares. “I bet I’m a delight on hallucinogens."
“You’d be a monster,” Phoenix groans from where he’s been sitting in one of the office chairs. “Do not drug him.”
“Fine,” Devon concedes, grinning wickedly. It’s kind of hot. “I’ll put Helios’ kitty litter in it.” He leans forward, eyes alight with malicious intent. “And it won’t be clean.”
“Ew!” Jorge squeals. “What the fuck!”
“You wouldn’t dare steal from my son,” Phoenix warns.
I can’t help but laugh. It just…comes out.
Suddenly, the room falls silent. Everyone’s eyes are on me. “What?” I demand.
Jorge, who was moments from throwing up, looks downright giddy.
He’s got the biggest grin, his eyes sparkling with little anime hearts.
Devon appears stunned, Phoenix seems puzzled, and Kelly cups her hands to her chest, seconds from melting into the floor.
“Ah! Lex!” she coos. “I knew you loved us.”
“What?” I ask again, my face on literal fire.
“You laughed,” Jorge squeals. “Laughed! You think we’re funny!” The man darts across the couch, tackles me so I’m pinned to the armrest, and cuddles me.
“Oh my god, get off of me, Jorge!”
“Isn’t he the cutest!” He pinches my cheeks, jiggles them, and then smooshes them together.
I buck under him; my laptop clatters to the floor, and the room erupts in laughter. Michael and Oli emerge from the soundbooth, watching as I fight off a deranged vocalist who won’t stop pinching my face. “Jorge!” I cry.
“Alright, alright,” he purrs. “Keep pretending you don’t love and cherish us all. But I see you.” He boops my nose and finally, finally, gets off my body.
My hands fly up to my hair, desperately trying to fix the strands, while Oli saunters over and kisses the top of Jorge’s curls. The man is preening so hard I’m surprised he’s not glowing.
“You missed it, bebe. We made Lex laugh!”
Oli glances at me and gives me a look that says, smile, asshole. So I force one. It’s all teeth and strain. Everyone laughs more. And as much as I want to take it personally, view it as an attack of some kind, I can’t. The energy is so light and free.
I start to smile for real, but then my eyes land on Devon’s.
All six years of his taunts and jeers come rushing to the forefront of my mind. The smile dims before sliding off my face.
“I thought you said he was an adult, Kel? He’s barely out of middle school.”
“Why do you even want to be our manager? You don’t even like metal.”
“Stop complaining about everything we do, Lewis.”
“You’re such a hypocrite.”
“Who the fuck wears Creepers anymore?”
I’m off the couch in a blink, grabbing my laptop from the ground and fleeing the studio.
Just as I hit the door, I hear the whispers.
“What happened?”
“Did you look at him weird?”
“Maybe he doesn’t like jokes?”
“What the fuck did you expect from him?”
I all but sprint out of the building and to my car.
My fingers shake, so I drop the keyfob the instant it’s out of my pocket.
Cursing under my breath, tears quickly filling my eyes, I snatch them off the concrete and pop the trunk.
I don’t bother putting my laptop in the travel bag, just toss it in.
I palm the side of my car, willing myself not to cry.
This is why I don’t even bother.
This is why I stick with being the version of me that they know. I’ll never be one of them. I’ll never be their family.
No matter what I do, I always feel like the black sheep, the unwanted presence in a place that has no space for me.
Even laughing makes me feel more out of place.
I devote so much of myself to these people, my life revolving around theirs.
Is it all just to be mocked? Humiliated?
Hated? My head bows as I steady my breath.
Footsteps approach, and I bet they’re Kelly’s. She’s always the one they send to deal with me because we’re cousins. And while she was once like a sister, we aren’t as close anymore. She's starting to hate me, too.
“I’m sorry, Lex.”
I glance up and am shocked to see Jorge. He’s crying.
Swiping at my cheeks quickly, I take another breath and mumble, “It’s fine.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It wasn’t you,” I admit. “It rarely ever is.” He’s probably the most genuine person in the world, even though he can be a little shithead when he wants to be. The whole ‘tiny tyrant from hell’ stings, but Devon’s called me worse.
“Come back inside. Please,” he urges, reaching out and palming my shoulder. “Whatever we did, we’ll work on it, okay?”
I shrug his hand off. “I can work from home.”
“Don’t be like that. Everything was good. No one is at each other’s throats. It’s all good banter.”
Shaking my head, I move toward the driver's side door. “I’m fine, Jorge.”
“It’s Devon, isn’t it?”
I pause, grip faltering on the handle.
“You two have never really gotten along,” he mumbles. “I mean, we all know that. But did he say something? Do something back there? I’ll fuck him up.”
While he means well, that’s the last thing I need—Devon blaming me for causing a rift between his band. And he will blame me. “Just drop it. Okay? I said I’m fine.”
He groans dramatically. “You’re not fine, man. You’re out here crying! And I’m crying because you’re crying! Why can’t we all just be friends? It’s not that hard!”
I glare at him. “It is that hard because, since day fucking one, all of you have treated me differently. You might be a nice person, but you’re a fucking follower, Jorge. Leave me alone.”
I regret the words as soon as I say them.
He crumbles, his face distraught, and stumbles backward. This is going to come back and bite me in the ass, I’m sure. So I get in my car, rev the pitiful engine, and leave before the rest of his band comes for blood.
My phone hasn’t stopped blowing up for the past three hours. Every member of Dreadful, including my cousin, has been outraged by my treatment of Jorge. Even Oliver, who has barely spoken a few sentences to me, has texted me.
Oliver: You owe him an apology, Lex. Jorge didn’t have to check on you, but he did. You fuck with him, you fuck with the entire Sawyer bloodline. I expect you to make it right.
Must be nice to have someone in your corner like that. Must be nice to have anyone at all.
I turn off my phone and step into the scalding shower. Angling my face into the spray, I pretend it's only tap water streaming down my cheeks. My shoulders shake while my stomach cramps. Maybe I should quit. It’s not like they need me anymore. Kingsport can hire a new manager.
I’ve never had any other dreams, though. What would I even do? Am I good at anything else?
Since I was fourteen, I’ve wanted to be in the music industry.
I can’t play any instruments, and I don’t like singing in front of anyone, so I settled on management.
I studied PR when I should’ve been doing my homework.
I watched documentaries and reality TV shows, read countless interviews, and took notes on market strategies.
It became my entire personality. Managing the talent since I clearly have none.
If I had to, I could go back home, back to my parents, and they’d give me something to do.
My mom always needs extra hands at her salon. And my dad still insists I could intern at his firm.
I could be like my big brothers and wear suits.
The more I think about it, the worse I feel.
I don’t want to do that. I love my job even if I don’t fit in.
Having all my plotting and scheming pay off is a high unlike anything else, and the money doesn’t hurt either.
Throwing it all away because I’m too fucking sensitive isn’t an option.
I’ll push through the hurt like I always do.
They’ll never accept me, and it’s well past time I swallow that pill.
I’ve already swallowed the bigger one—the fact that I’ve ruined any chance with Devon.
There’s no fixing that.
He won’t ever forget what I did, even if all I wanted was for that moment to last forever. Because there is a part of me that wishes I could go back in time and change it. Tell him the truth and maybe get to know him first.
Maybe he would’ve waited for me.
Maybe we could’ve tested that chemistry when I was older.
But I’ve always been a selfish man, and that’s why I’m so fucking alone.