Chapter Six #3
Densen laughed. “No, but I get that a lot. Are you sitting down?”
Liam was snoring on the recliner, and Ollie was sleeping sitting up at the end of the couch.
Remi kicked Ollie’s shoulder. He startled awake.
“Yeah?” Remi said.
“Good,” Densen said. “I saw Tilted Haze a few nights ago. Liked what I heard. I’d like to offer you guys a record deal. How soon can you get out to LA?”
Remi scooped the remote off the coffee table and whipped it across the living room, hitting Liam in the chest. He woke up with a shout. “Jesus. What the fuck?”
Ollie was rubbing his eyes, and West walked in from the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. The only one of them that didn’t look like trash. Probably because he was the only one who stopped drinking after two shots.
“You want Tilted Haze to come to LA and sign a record deal with Sprites Records?” Remi repeated, his eyes darting around to his bandmates.
Their eyes widened, and jaws dropped. No one made a move as if they were all too scared to hope, to even breathe.
“That’s right,” Densen said. “There’s a flight at three from New Orleans that my secretary can book you all on. That enough time for you to pack?”
“Yeah, uh, yes, sir,” Remi said. “Three o’clock.”
“Great,” he said. “We’ll take you and the band out tonight and get acquainted, then I’ll see you in my office tomorrow at eleven.”
“That sounds great, sir.”
“Cut the sir shit.”
“Right, sorry, uhm, Densen.”
He laughed and said goodbye. Remi hung up and stared at his phone.
“What the fuck was that?” Liam said, jumping up and down. “Was that seriously a guy from Sprites Records?”
“Yeah,” Remi said. The shock had him nodding robotically. “Our flight leaves at three.”
“Flight to LA?” West asked, his smile wider than Remi had seen it in years. Since before—
Remi rubbed his eyes and shook his head, but then nodded again. “Uh, yeah.” He stood up and started laughing, hysteria overtaking him. “Sprites Records wants to sign us!”
The four men proceeded to make noises that men do not typically make and dance around the living room.
All of their dreams were coming true. Again.
Their second chance served up on a silver platter.
Liam was shaking his hips, humping the air. Ollie and West were talking animatedly. Remi’s face hurt from how big his smile was, but he only had half a minute to celebrate before a darkness crept up his spine, overshadowing his joy.
It’d been two weeks since Remi had made the deal with Skye. After he woke up on his bedroom floor with a wicked headache, all traces of her were gone. The black business card with her phone number had disappeared.
He assumed he’d be able to feel it—if he’d really lost his soul—but Remi felt nothing. He kept his head down for a few days, emotions flipping between indignation that Skye lied about the deal and horror that he might be losing his mind.
Maybe it was him who would need to be put in a psych ward. He wanted so desperately to make his band work that his sick mind concocted the entire thing—the sex dreams with a demoness, the deal, Hell—all of it just symptoms of mental health deterioration.
Remi stared at the black screen of his phone, at his shadowed mirrored image. He’d really done it. He’d sold his soul to a demon to become a rock star, to get a record deal, to make his band famous, to make his friends rich.
His soul must have been like an appendix—the most traumatic part had been the extraction.
He felt no different without it. None of this felt real.
His shocked eyes lifted from the black mirror of his phone to his bandmates’ happy faces.
But it was real. This was happening. It was all really happening.
The corners of his lips spread into a satisfied grin.
West grabbed Remi’s shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. He wrapped his arms around him, and Remi leaned into the hug.
“Emerson would be so pissed that our shitty band got not one, but two record deals,” West said.
Remi snorted. “He would hate it. You think he’s watching?”
West stepped back, raised both middle fingers up, and spun in a circle, yelling toward the ceiling. “Hope the fucker is.”
Emerson’s voice floated through Remi’s head. His anger and fury as sharp as the day he’d stormed into the garage and berated Remi for having no future, no plans, no hope to make anything out of himself. When are you going to stop being such a worthless piece of shit?
Right now, Em. I’ll prove you wrong, he thought to himself. I’ll prove them all wrong.
This would change everything.
“I’m hungry,” Liam said. “Can we stop and get a burger on the way to the airport?”
“We can get ya ten burgers, Liam!” Ollie said, jumping onto his back. “Cause we’re getting a record deal!” Liam caught Ollie’s legs as they wrapped around his waist, and he ran around the coffee table with Ollie on his back, shouting and hollering.
Skye’s taunts replayed in his head. Hope success turns out exactly as you imagined it to be.
Remi snorted and shook his head, flinging off any lingering moroseness. Skye had no power over him anymore. He was living his wildest dreams. He wasn’t going to let anyone stop him now.