Page 45 of The Twisted Beats

“Fuck the contract.”I fume inside.

The truth is, I could get through this session if it weren’t for the fact I can’t stop thinking aboutmyLily kissing another guy.

And it won’t be a one-time thing. They’ll have to rehearse, shoot it, and then do it again and again.

I know it’s her job, but it still stings. The thought has my stomach wound in a tight ball. One wrong word and I will blow up like a bomb.

My uncle starts in again. “Cash, what would you like to add to the songs to make them something you can work with?”

I hold the song sheet out and smack it with the back of my hand. “How about some edge, maybe a little bit of soul. Let’s make it raw and real. Fucking hell, anything with some emotion.”

My uncle stands and speaks to the producer behind the glass. The intercom is off, so I can’t hear them. They look over some papers, take turns shaking their heads, and throw their hands around. They’re not getting anywhere.

“Fuck this. We’re wasting our time here.” I rip off my headphones and stomp out of the room.

I’m halfway down the hall when Bren runs up to join me. “Cash, you can’t keep leaving our sessions. They’ll drop us if you do.”

“Why is that a bad thing?” I continue out of the studio.

Bren follows. “Because people will lose money they’ve invested.”

I roll my eyes. “Then so be it.”

“Jesus, Cash. What’s with you today?”

“You know how I feel about this stupid band, so my attitude shouldn’t surprise you.”

“But now you’re talking about throwing it all away. Our plan is to get enough money so we can negotiate ourselves out of the contract and go out on our own.”

I push open the door that leads to the parking lot andmarch to my silver 1955 Porsche Spyder. It’s the one thing my pops left me. I fucking love this car, even if my uncle bitches about the cost of the insurance and upkeep.

He’d make me get rid of it if it weren’t for my ma. She always tells him to back off because it’s the only thing I have left of my pops.

I gesture to the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To that back-door service dive bar where they let us drink. You know, the corrupt one who caters to us minors.”

“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“So?” I get in, jam my keys into the ignition, and rev the engine.

Bren opens the door and slides into the car. We tear out of the parking lot and are in the bar in less than ten minutes. I already feel better just being out of the studio.

A blonde wannabe actress-type waitress is serving us. “What shall it be today, fellas?”

“Guinness for me.” I slouch back, letting my leather jacket hang open.

My white T-shirt is tucked into my jeans. I glance at it and rip it loose. I don’t wanna be restricted.

Bren orders the same. Once the server is gone, he leans forward and stares at me.

I shrug my shoulders. “What?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“You already know. I’ve been pissed about it for months.”