Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ross
“What’s it like being the frontman for Onyx Knight?” The journalist is a bald, middle-aged guy with two arm sleeves of tattoos and more piercings than I’ve seen on anyone in my entire life.
“I mean, how do you answer a question like that?” I ask with a smile.
“This is the dream—everyone’s dream. And even though I’m just filling in, it would be silly to pretend like I’m not having the time of my life.
The crowds they draw are some of the best, most devoted fans in the world, and I’m grateful they’ve been as understanding as they’ve been. ”
“Rumor has it, Kingston is on the mend. What does that mean for you?”
I smile. “As much as I’ve loved my time helping him out, I also love my job as their tour manager. It’s not like it’s some kind of punishment to go back to that.”
“That being said, when can we expect a new Ross & the Rock-its album?” His grin is meant to be disarming but I just find it smarmy.
I tense, just a little, and manage not to smack the smirk off his face. “There has never been a plan for a new Rock-its album. If there’s any new music, it will be solo music by Ross Rockit. And that’s just something we’ve been batting around.”
“Why not have Onyx Knight be your back-up band?” he asks, laughing like he’s funny.
Once again, I have to bite back a snarky response and just laugh along with him. “I think the guys have more than enough to do without backing me. Know what I mean?”
I don’t remember journalists being this annoying twenty years ago.
Or maybe it’s just me.
I’m older and a lot crankier.
“Well, rumor also has it that you’ve met with Hart Records about this.” His voice drops conspiratorially, like I’m going to confide in him or something.
Fat chance, dickhead.
“You like rumors, huh, Eddie?” I give him a pointed stare. I’m polite but my tone indicates I’m not thrilled with this line of questioning. “Look, I’ve been talking to the people from Hart Records but I’m committed to finishing this tour with Onyx Knight. So right now, it’s all just theoretical.”
“But do you have music for a new album?” Eddie presses. “Like, if you made that decision?”
I smile. “That’s a conversation for another day. Thanks, man.” I turn and head out even though I essentially left him hanging. I don’t know why it annoys me so much when people ask about the idea of doing another album.
It would be amazing to put out another album, but I think it’s the idea of finding a new band that’s tripping me up. I don’t want to replace my friends, and I also don’t want to work with the equivalent of hired help. It feels disingenuous somehow, even though lots of solo artists do it.
I don’t want to work with anyone else, and I’m not sure why that is. Until I can figure it out, I can’t make a decision.
For some reason, it feels like everyone is pushing me to do the solo album, go on tour, dive headfirst into being a rockstar again.
And I’m starting to feel like I don’t want to.
“You look like a man carrying the weight of the world,” Kingston says to me as I grab a bottle of water. He’s close to coming back full-time so this might be one of my last nights singing in his stead.
It’s a bummer because this has been the most fun I’ve had since the accident. I knew it had to end but I’m not ready. Especially with Wynter leaving soon and me having to make a decision that’s got me twisted up in knots.
“I don’t know what to do,” I blurt without looking at him.
“What do you want?” he asks quietly. “Deep down in your heart of hearts, what do you really want? Take away all the bullshit, the money, everything else. In a perfect world, what does your heart want?”
I turn to him. “Can I be honest?”
“Absolutely.” There’s a faint smile playing on his lips, like he knows what’s coming.
“I want to be you.” I hold up my hands. “I’m not stupid. I know that’s not possible. Onyx Knight doesn’t need another singer, and you’re one of the best. I just don’t know if I can start over. I’m older, and things are—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupts, not even a hint of anger or surprise in his tone.
“From the outside looking in, who the hell wouldn’t want to be us?
I get it. I thank my lucky stars every fucking day, and never more so since this thing with my vocal chords.
I need to be a lot better about resting, being more cognizant that I don’t overdo it.
” He pauses. “But as far as what you need going forward—tell me this: Do you have songs you’ve written? ”
I laugh. “So many fucking songs, King.”
“Next time we have a day off, let’s sit down and look at some of the ones you think are your best. Just the two of us.”
“For what?” I’m momentarily confused.
His eyes meet mine. “So I can give you some brutally honest feedback on your stuff. I’ll tell you whether I think it’s the kind of thing that’ll sell. Whether I believe you truly have a shot. That way you don’t get blindsided after you’ve already signed a deal or whatever.”
Part of me is pissed off he would suggest such a thing because I don’t need validation from anyone. I’ve already written hit songs. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing… Well, except for the almost nineteen years since I’ve actually done it.
At the same time, he’s not being a dick. He’s genuinely trying to be helpful, and if anyone knows what sells, it’s Kingston Knight.
“I appreciate it,” I say after a beat. “I’ve been writing lyrics my entire life but I stopped thinking about melodies or making them into full songs until recently. And I don’t know what that means.”
“Everyone carries grief and trauma differently,” he says thoughtfully.
“Maybe this is your trauma finally letting go. Or maybe it’s just the right time for you.
Whether you sign with Hart Records or not, who said you can’t write music, sell your music, whatever the case may be.
There are a lot more options than just the two you’re grappling with, my friend.
” He nods and then heads in the opposite direction.
I stare after him thoughtfully.
Why did I give up on writing music for others? I guess there’s a part of me that’s selfish, wanting to keep my songs for myself, but I’m still struggling with the idea of starting over in my forties.
Selling my songs for others to perform might be lucrative, keeping a finger in the rock and roll pie I love so much without actually having to give up the security I have as Onyx Knight’s tour manager.
Fuck.
Now I’ve got yet another option to consider.
In fact, there are probably a couple that I haven’t thought of yet either.
I need to sit down and write down the pros and cons of all of them.
But not tonight.
It’s time to get out there and rock the house.
“Break a leg, babe.” Wynter squeezes my arm and leans up for a soft kiss.
“Thanks.” I kiss her soundly, letting our lips linger as I pull her close with my hands on her hips.
Her body molds against mine and I kiss her again, this time sliding my tongue against hers.
She winds her arms around my neck and our mouths move together hungrily.
Even though I was inside her just a couple of hours ago. It’s never enough.
How the hell am I going to survive months at a time without her?
I don’t want her to leave.
It’s that simple but also that complicated.
“Ninety seconds!” Pete calls out.
I squeeze Wynter’s arm and then turn, ready to focus on the music. The crowd. And maybe play guitar in front of a crowd for the first time in…nineteen years.
I’m itching to do it and Z offered up one of his amps so I could try out the new guitar.
Give me a sign, Joey.
I don’t know what the hell to do and every day I put off the decision makes things that much harder.