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“Right.” Barry nodded.
“So, this isn’t really about the band.” I turned to frown at Collin. “It’s about me.”
“It’s about you and Rachel,” Andy said.
I shifted to look at him where he leaned against the metal door, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring longingly at my sister. Didn’t look like he was on board with being just friends with her.
“Okay, I’ll take it,” I said. “For Rachel and the band.” I reached out my hand, and Barry placed the phone in it. “But I’ll pay for it.”
Barry shook his head. “No way.”
“We all chipped in,” Collin said. “We care about you and Rachel, and want you reachable. Got it?”
“If you all contribute, I do too,” I said stubbornly.
A cell phone was an expense I hadn’t budgeted for, but after what my mother did, I saw the wisdom in having one. I could leave it with Rachel while I was on my shift at Dick’s or out with Collin.
Not that I would go out with anyone without my sister again.
When I’d returned from Collin’s house, my mother had been partying with her dealer and other men downstairs. Embarrassed again by her, I’d sent Collin away. Upstairs, I’d found Rachel huddled in the corner of our bedroom, a butcher knife clutched in her hand. She’d waved off my concern, but it hadn’t gone away. I wouldn’t feel we were both safe until we got out of that apartment.
“It’s part of your cut as our manager,” Barry said, his brown gaze an unyielding wall.
I scoffed. “A cut of what? We don’t get paid anything for playing at Winston’s unless alcohol sales reach a certain threshold.” A threshold that we were unlikely to hit with only underage high school kids attending our performances.
“We need to figure out how to get fans who are drinking age.” Andy dragged his blue gaze away from my sister and focused on me.
“Miranda and her friends were drinking,” I said slowly, remembering.
“She has a lot of college-age friends,” Collin said, his voice tight.
Andy nodded. “The bartenders look the other way when she and her rich, high-tipping Lakeside friends drink.”
“Okay, so we tell her about the show.” I pulled in a breath, deciding I could put aside my jealousy of Miranda for the band. “I could ask her to pass out some flyers to her friends.”
Andy didn’t say anything about my idea, just looked past me to Collin. “Is that okay with you, man?”
“It’s okay,” he said, but I noticed a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.
“I’ll call her today,” I said. “Do you have her number?”
“Yes, but—”
“I know you had a thing with her, Collin.” I cut him off because imagining him with her made me feel ill. “But that’s over, right?”
“Yeah.” He stroked the back of his hand down my cheek, the side of my face that wasn’t bruised from my mother’s slap.
“That’s the best I can do with so little time for advertising. So,” I cast my gaze around, “what songs are going on our set list?”
“We start with covers,” Andy said, and there were murmurs of agreement. “Give the audience something familiar. Brutal Strength’s ‘Burning Off and On,’ Foo Fighters’ ‘Everlong,’ Goo Goo Dolls’ ‘Iris’ and ‘Slide,’ Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain,’ Aerosmith’s ‘Sweet Emotion.’ Then our tunes.”
“The ones that are ready,” Collin said.
I nodded my agreement. “‘Busted’ and ‘Drugged and Dazed’ to start.”
“And ‘Hope in Love’ to follow.” Andy was staring at Rachel again, but she picked at her nail polish, pretending not to notice.
I shook my head. “That one’s not ready.”
