Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Jett has no clue the depth of what he just said, but assuming Rae is coming on tour with us, I’ll let her teach him that lesson the hard way.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t given me a firm answer yet,” Lenny goes on as though Jett isn’t busily practicing behind me. “What’s it going to be? Are you continuing down this destructive path, or are you going to give this a real shot and hope like fuck that Rae is able to spark some kind of fire under your ass and bring you back?”
The question isn’t if she’s capable of bringing me back, I know she can. The question is if I deserve it or not.
“Yeah, all right. I’m on board,” I finally tell him. “But at the end of the day, the call is hers. If she’s willing to head on tour with us, then so be it. But if she’s not . . . I’m not going to beg for her to change her mind.”
“Okay, then we’ll wait for her answer,” he tells me with a curt nod.
He turns on his heel to stalk out of the studio when I call after him. “Lenny?” He turns back, his brow arched in question. “If you ever go behind my back again, lie to my fucking girl, or use Axel’s name as a bargaining chip, I’ll gut you where you stand. Do you understand me?”
Lenny holds my stare, and I know he’s seeing the conviction in my eyes. I mean every fucking word, and he knows it.
“Okay, Ezra. I hear you,” he finally says. “It won’t happen again.” And with that, he walks out of the studio, and for the first time in over two long years, I pick up my notepad and start scrawling the words that have haunted me for far too long.
14
Raleigh
One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. More.
“Hit me again,” I say, pushing my little shot glass back toward the bartender who’s been keeping me company for the better half of an hour.
The poor guy stares at me, his brows furrowing with concern. “You sure, sweetheart?”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “If I’m still able to remember my name by the end of the night, then we didn’t do it properly.”
“Bad day, huh?” he asks, scooping up the shot glass and quickly filling it before sliding it back toward me.
I grab the saltshaker and pour it out on top of my hand. “More like a bad decade,” I inform him before picking up my shot and lifting it to my lips, only at the very last second, it’s stolen out of my hand, and I watch Madds pour it down her throat. She grunts through the burn and licks the salt off my hand before reaching across me and completely violating what’s left of my little slice of lime.
“Hey,” I whine.
“You snooze, you lose,” she says, dropping onto the stool beside me and coiling her arm tightly around my shoulders. She drops a kiss to my cheek, and before she gets a chance to pull away, I snake my arms around her and hold her tight.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“Right back at ya,” she says, refusing to let go.
She’s not home, but she’s the closest thing I have to it, and as she continues to hold me, I feel my eyes begin to well with tears. “Hey,” she says, pulling back and holding my stare. “There are no tears on your birthday. We’re celebrating your epic new job.”
I shake my head. “It’s not an epic new job.”
“Huh? What do you mean? A tour working under Louder Records for their new band.”
I glance toward the bartender, and without a word, he nods, takes my empty shot glass, and replaces it with two new ones filled to the brim. “There was no new band,” I tell her. “The whole thing was a ruse to get me to LA to straighten out Ezra.”
Her eyes widen. “Get fucked! Tell me you’re lying.”
“I really wish I could.”
“Shit,” she says, as we take our new shots and throw them back. She chokes on it as it goes down, but I’m well past that stage. It’s basically water to me now. “So, there’s no awesome job offer? You’re just going back to Michigan?”
“Oh, there’s a job offer all right.”
“Why don’t you sound thrilled about it?”
“Because the official title for it is marketing manager for Demon’s Curse. I’d have to go on tour with them for who knows how long with absolutely no way to avoid Ezra. I’ll be doomed to have to watch him drown himself in his bullshit rockstar lifestyle night after stupid night.”
“Ohhhhh,” she says, trying to sound as though this is the worst thing that could ever happen, but the undeniable excitement in her eyes is telling one hell of a different story. “That’s so terrible. Poor little sad girl has to go on tour with the most epic band in the whole fucking world that she practically founded with her even epic-er big brother.”