24. Callum
24
CALLUM
“ Y ou didn’t answer my calls!”
I stood outside in the school parking lot, my manager across from me. Brady had his hands on his hips as he spoke to me. He had recently acquired a lip ring that made him look like a high school drug dealer instead of the rock star I’m sure he wanted to look like.
“So, you show up here?” I asked. Seeing him in the auditorium had been a shock to the system. At first, I didn’t think it was him. Well, I hoped it wasn’t him. But not many people in the town had bleach-blond hair and a penchant for leather jackets in the summer. Even now, I couldn’t believe he wasn’t sweating underneath all those layers of clothes.
“It was important I talk to you,” Brady explained. “I know you’re taking a break or whatever you’re calling it, but I’m getting concerned.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Sure, you’re fine. But what about the band? All of these rumors about a solo career are really hurting us, man.”
“I didn’t start those rumors!” I was frustrated to have this conversation with him when we had already talked about it. But I knew this defensiveness was also hiding the truth of what I was planning. If I stayed in town and opened this recording studio, then my life with the Horizon would change. And I couldn’t forget that moment in the hardware store when I finally admitted to Darcy just how much I wanted to write and record my own album.
“Well, you’re not doing much to dispute them,” Brady accused. He had a way of stating things as fact even when they were only half true. It had always driven me crazy, and I felt anger surging through me as I heard this.
“What are you talking about? I had the PR team write me a statement. We put it out on social media!”
“And the radio interview?”
The words stopped me. Had Brady heard it? I thought back to everything I had said. It had started out fine—I told them that I was fully committed to the band. And I had stuck to the script my team had given me. But then there was the stuff about enjoying my time at home, and the recording studio ...
“I said what they told me to,” I deflected. I didn’t know exactly what Brady was talking about yet, and I wasn’t about to throw myself under the bus.
“Oh really?” he asked, his voice incredulous. “They told you to talk about a whole new business venture? They approved you to tell the world you’re going to open a recording studio in this tiny town?”
“The world ?” I shot back. “It’s a small-town radio station! How did you even hear it?”
“That’s my job,” Brady answered. “And it’s not the point. I came here to ask you: Are you committed to the Horizon or not?”
The words were angry and felt too loud in the quiet summer night around us. I could only blink at him as I tried to think of what I could say. Of course, I cared for the band and my bandmates. And I was incredibly proud of the music we had made together. The thought of leaving the band entirely was painful. That wasn’t what I wanted.
“Of course I’m committed,” I said, lowering my voice to the level of regular conversation. If I was going to explain myself, I needed to be rational. I could only hope Brady would respond in kind. “The band means everything to me. And those guys are my closest friends. I don’t want to leave the band.”
“Well, it’s nice to hear you say that.” Brady nodded. “I’m going to need you to say it more often. And on social media. We need to fix things before this next tour.”
“Wait,” I stopped him before he could dive into whatever plans he had for our next publicity ventures. His eyes narrowed at me when he heard this, as if he knew he shouldn’t have trusted me.
“You know I don’t have time for waiting,” Brady shot back. I almost laughed at it—it was such a strange thing to say, but it was exactly something I would expect out of my manager.
“I’m committed to the Horizon, but things can’t stay the same forever,” I continued. “I’ve been interested in doing my own album for a long time. And if I’m going to remain creative and keep writing, then I need to try out some new things. Just because I want to work on something new doesn’t mean I need to leave the band.”
“And this recording studio?” he asked. His voice was dripping with disdain for the idea. I knew in an instant what Brady thought of it and, by extension, what he thought of me.
“You don’t think I can do it,” I said. It was like I was seeing Brady for the first time. Or I was finally done ignoring all the red flags that made him such an unlikeable person.
“Hey, now.” He put his hands up as if I were about to hit him. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to, Brady. I can tell what you think of me. Some rock star who can’t take care of himself and doesn’t understand the business. Well, that might have been the case when I was nineteen, but I’m in my thirties now. And it’s time for me to make some decisions about my own life.”
“Whoa, whoa!” he cried. “No one’s stopping you from living a life. I’m just reminding you you have responsibilities. Things are going well for us—it’s not the time to shake that up.”
“You mean it’s not the time to shake up your bank account!”
The words were harsh, and I regretted them as soon as I said them. But on some level, I knew they were true. Brady had a few other clients, most of them acquired after the success of the Horizon, but we were his biggest moneymakers. And I knew the sort of lavish lifestyle he led and likely wanted to maintain. If we were touring less or making fewer appearances on TV shows, it would affect Brady’s lifestyle most of all. My bandmates and I certainly had enough money to keep us going for a while even if we took a full year off.
“Is that what you think of me?” Brady asked. I thought he might get mad, but instead he played the victim. He looked at me with a pained expression, as if I had just broken up with him. “I hope you realize how committed I’ve been to this band. I’ve sacrificed my own life to make sure you all were successful.”
“That’s the problem,” I said, keeping my own voice cool and calm. “No one should be sacrificing everything. We can do this without losing sight of our families and our friends. We can leave space for people to explore other interests!”
“I didn’t think we would come to this,” Brady said. He was shaking his head, putting on a big show of looking upset. “I really didn’t want to have this conversation with you.”
“Brady, I think we should get the band together. Let’s talk about making this work. I’m not leaving, I just want a less grueling tour schedule. I think some of the other guys will agree.”
“I’ve talked to the other guys. Frankly, they’re quite upset you haven’t come to them to have this conversation.”
Was this true? I thought about my bandmates and wondered if they would really confide in Brady before they confided in me. I hadn’t talked to anyone since coming home except for a brief phone call with Liam after my concert in town. Was that proof they were upset with me? It wasn’t like them to stay silent about things like that. We had always been open with each other.
“I’ll talk to them,” I offered.
“Too late for that.”
“What do you mean it’s too late?”
“We had a band meeting last night.”
“You had a band meeting without me?” I cried. This made me angry, and I couldn’t help the way my voice raised in frustration.
“I needed to know how they were feeling. And besides, it’s not like you’ve been easy to reach these days. You’ve ignored my texts! We talked about the future and all the things you’ve said in public about settling down and putting down roots.”
“You’re taking my words out of context,” I said. “You should let me explain myself.”
Brady barreled forward, ignoring my words.
“The other guys are committed to the band. They know it still has more to achieve, and they need a lead singer who’s as passionate and committed as they are.”
“Why are you speaking for them?” I asked. I felt a sense of betrayal surging up inside of me. The guys in my band were like family to me. It was wrong for Brady to be here, telling me what they thought about all of this. If they were so upset, why hadn’t they told me?
“We need commitment from you. And if you’re not willing to commit, then it might be time to pursue other options.”
The words made my whole body go cold. I stared back at him, my face neutral.
“And what does that mean?” I asked.
“It’s been done before—in some ways the lead singer is the easiest guy to replace.”
“You want to replace me?” It was something I had never expected, and the shock of this made rage surge through me. I squeezed my fists hard beside me as I fought an urge to punch the brick wall we stood next to. “I write all our music! I’m the face of the whole band!”
“That’s right,” Brady nodded. “Which is why we need someone fully dedicated to the band. We can’t have you writing all the good songs for yourself and this solo album and then giving the Horizon all the scraps.”
“You really think I would do that?” I asked. “You really think I would actively hurt the band I created? We built this thing up from our college dorm rooms. It’s not something I can just throw away.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Brady asked. “I came here to find out if you’re committed to this thing. And to tell you that if you’re not one hundred percent in, then we’re prepared to find someone who is.”
I couldn’t speak. I had no words as Brady stood there, offering me an ultimatum. Could this actually happen? Could the band cut me out of the group I had created? Were they really willing to pull some random guy off the street and put him front and center singing all of my songs? It was too much to fathom. I didn’t want to give up the Horizon. That had never been my intention, and I felt helpless as Brady stood in front of me, taking the choice away from me.
“You can’t do that,” I protested. “You can’t just kick me out.”
“You’re only one person in a group of four,” Brady told me, his voice cold and calculating. “All it takes is the votes.”
Was this true? I had never thought about the legal side of the band or my own rights as a creator of it. Were there laws outlining these things? Did we have a contract between bandmates that said this sort of thing? I thought back to the long documents I signed all those years ago when Brady became our manager. Had I signed away my rights to my own band? Did we give him this power?
“I don’t want to leave,” I said carefully. I felt like I was walking on a tightrope. One wrong step and I would fall to my death. It made my voice tight and my muscles taut as if I were frozen in place.
“That’s good to hear,” he said. Brady had all the power right now, and he knew it. He seemed smug, as if some part of him was enjoying this. “We’ve had an offer for a summer tour. A band dropped out and they need a replacement. You leave in a week.”
“A week?” I asked. My mind flew to all the plans I had made with Liz and my promise to my niece and nephew that we would go to the theme park Liz and I had loved as kids. And then there was Darcy. I saw her in the hardware store, the sun setting behind her as she watched me sing. I saw the care and admiration on her face and the way she listened to every word. It was just the two of us and nothing else to worry about. I wanted more of that.
“If you can’t do it, I’m sure we can find someone else.”
“Someone else?” I asked, my voice full of skepticism. “Who are you going to find on a week’s notice?”
“Liam knows all the music,” Brady said with a nonchalance that made me want to scream. “Maybe it’s time he got promoted from backup vocals to our lead singer.”