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Jett
I check the time on my phone for what feels like the fiftieth time. Half a fucking hour until we leave. And he’s still not here. Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I scowl. Van’s fucked up this time, and I’m almost out of patience with him.
Presley leans her head against my shoulder and murmurs, “Thank God I’m with the band . . . flying on a private jet is the only way to travel.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, sweetheart, stick with me and we’ll see the world by private jet.” Thank fuck she’s here; her presence may well be the only thing helping me keep my shit together.
“Now that’s a tempting thought, Mr. Rockstar,” she teases. I know she’s teasing because Presley is one of the only women I know who wouldn’t stay with me simply to enjoy the luxuries in life. And that’s exactly why I will give her every damn thing she ever wants or everything I think she might want.
We retreat into silence and I watch Hunter and West for a moment. They’re both sitting on their own. Hunter’s scrolling through his phone, and West has his head resting on the back of his seat with his eyes closed. We’re all exhausted and pissed off. Not a great combination. So it’s probably a good thing Van hasn’t shown up. Although, th
at will only prolong the inevitable.
I shut my eyes and try to push the shitty thoughts swirling through my mind away, but all I can think about is the band and where we’ll go from here. Ten fucking years and Van’s attitude is threatening to throw all that away. Not to mention his bad behaviour. I have no idea how Tom will handle this. If he walks away from us, we’ll struggle to find a manager as good as he is. Tom’s well respected in our industry, and there are a shitload of bands who would kill to have him manage them. He’s been our manager for eight years and was instrumental in steering us in the right direction when we first started out all those years ago.
“Jett.” Presley’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
“What, baby?” I ask, opening my eyes and looking at her.
“Van’s here.” She jerks her chin in his direction and I twist my head to look at him.
He’s not as banged up as Tom is, but at least Tom got a punch or two in; Van’s face is bruised and his lip is cut. The scowl on his face tells me he’s still pissed but I don’t have it in me to care. I leave Presley and walk to where he is. “What the hell happened with Tom?” I demand, already feeling the beginning of another headache. The last one I had has only just subsided so this only makes me more irritable.
He drops his duffle and plants his feet wide while crossing his arms over his chest. “Do I even get a say in the band anymore, Jett?” The hostility radiating from him can’t be mistaken, and I rack my brain trying to figure out where it’s coming from.
“Of course you get a say,” I throw back at him. “Where is this shit coming from?”
My question fires him up. His face twists in fury and he snaps. “This shit comes from me never getting a say in the decisions we make. It’s either you or Tom or the label, and for once, I want to feel like my opinion fucking counts.”
I stare at him in confusion. Frowning, I say, “You do get a say; we all do.”
He shakes his head furiously. “No, we don’t. If we did, I’d get a say in going home today, I would have gotten a say in coming here in the first place, and I sure as fuck would get a say in our next album.” His chest heaves with a harsh breath and he jabs his chest with his finger before thundering, “I get no fucking say!”
“Do you think I wanted to come here?” I yell back at him. “And then to practically turn straight around and go home… yeah, that was high on my list of priorities. And the new sound on the album? I’m for that but like I said, we have to be smart about it. You’ve got your head in your ass if you think we don’t listen to you. No, strike that… I think your head is out of the game, I think it’s been screwed up by Caitlin, and I think you need to hurry up and sort that shit out in your mind because it’s clearly affecting your ability to think straight.”
His face reddens at the mention of his ex-fiancé and the vein in his neck bulges. He drops his arms and clenches his fists at his side. “That bitch is wiped from my memory. Don’t fucking mention her again.”
“I’ll keep mentioning her for as long as you keep acting like the dickhead you have been for weeks now.”
“She’s got nothing to do with this!”
“We’ve been friends for over ten years, Van, and I know you inside out, and I’m telling you, she has everything to do with this.”
He glares at me in silence for a minute before picking up his duffel and throwing one last statement at me. “A friend would pay more attention, Jett.” And then he stalks off to a chair, leaving me baffled as to what he means.
Before I get my thoughts together, though, we’re given the go-ahead to board the plane. I’ll give him some space for now, but we need to sort this the fuck out, and quick. Our band’s future has already been threatened by scandal. We don’t need to put a nail in the coffin by losing a member.
* * *
“You’re wide awake, aren’t you?” I ask Presley as she tosses and turns in my bed. We got home about an hour ago and came straight to bed, but she’s been restless ever since.
She shifts in the bed again and rests her head on my chest. “Sorry…” she murmurs, “I shouldn’t have slept so much on the plane because it’s coming back to haunt me now.”
I put my arm around her and pull her closer to me. It’s nearly four in the morning now and I’m past the point of exhausted where I probably couldn’t sleep even if I tried. “I’d suggest we have sex but I’m not sure I could get it up, I’m so damn tired,” I say as I press a kiss to her head.
Her body shakes gently with laughter and she lifts her head to look at me. “Jett, you could get it up in a coma. Just be honest, you’re too lazy and can’t be fucked.”
I laugh and move my hand so I can smooth her hair and then pull her face to mine. Kissing her, I mutter, “You might have a point there. Now, if someone was to do all the work for me, I wouldn’t say no.”
