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“You all go on at seven,” he answers me. “You’ll dotwosongs—no more. I’ll be there, don’t even think about doing more. You want to tease people. Get them excited for what’s to come but give them too much and they’ll move on. Maddox, Mathias, and Ezra will be there too. We’ll also be monitoring your behavior. Think of this as a test in school. You fail—you flunk and don’t graduate.”
For one of the first times in my life I feel nervous at the thought of performing. We’re going to perform in front ofthebiggest band in the United States, even to this day—hell Willow Creek has practically conquered world domination. They’re the band every current and new group aspires to be. They’re fuckinglegends.
“We’ve got this,” I say, trying to brush aside my nerves. “No problem.”
The words sound cocky, let’s face it I’m the king of cocky, but I say the words more for the guys than myself. I can see the worry on their faces.
If Cannon is the dad of our group, then I’m the leader. Not because I’m the boss, I’d be happy to let someone else take the reins on that one, but I’m the reason we started our band in the first place. I thought it would be cool, I had a decent voice, and after a while they gave in to my pestering and found they liked music as well.
We’ve grown a lot since those days—we were only in middle school after all.
It’s been over fifteen years since we started this venture. We were young, we still are, but fuck it’s amazing to see it come full circle.
“We’ll have fliers made and posted around town,” Hayes continues. “Griffin’s has live music every Friday, and there’s usually a decent crowd, but I want to see the coffee shop be standing room only.” There’s a warning in his eyes and I swallow thickly.
In other words, don’t screw up, be likable.
Great.
Softening, Hayes adds, “I’ve seen potential in you all from the start. I’ve seen it grow every day we’ve been in here, in the studio. But you can’t lose yourselves. You have to remember where you came from.”
Rush presses his lips together. Out of all of us, his story is the most tragic. Sometimes I don’t know how he’s dealt with it all—but I guess that’s where the excessive drinking, partying, and women come into play.
Hayes claps his hands together.
“Let’s get back to it.”
* * *
I collapseonto Mia’s couch, sitting beside her with a beer in one hand and a dinner plate in the other. I was shocked when I showed up and Mia had prepared dinner for us. Homemade lasagna.Yum.
She curls her legs under her and swirls the wine in her glass. She looks tired, lost in thought. I feel much the same, but suddenly my problems seem minimal compared to whatever is bothering my girl.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Nothing. I’m tired,” she admits. “School was exhausting and then I had work.”
She worked at The Sub Club all afternoon and evening, now is the first I’m seeing of her today, and she still managed to make dinner? She’s my hero.
“We should’ve ordered in,” I tell her.
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I wanted to make dinner.”
“Are you sure you’re just tired?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “No.”
“What is it?” I press. “Talk to me, babe.”
“It’s my dad,” she sighs. “I hate keeping this from him. I can’t even tell my mom because she’ll blab to him.”
“We can tell him. Any time,” I insist.
Yeah, it fucking scares me to admit to Hayes I’m banging his daughter but fuck it Ilovethis girl—he’ll see that, he has to.
She shakes her head. “I want to wait a little longer. I feel like if he gets to know you more on his own maybe he’ll be quicker to accept …us.”
I hate to tell her, but I don’t thinkanythingwill get him to accept there’s anus. She’s his daughter and no guy is ever going to be good enough, least of all me. I fucking deserve for him to hate the idea of Mia and I together—after all, when we first arrived here look at the situation he found us in. To him, we’re nothing but stereotypical musicians chasing any available pussy that falls in our lap. There’s no way to explain how this place has changed my point of view, how Mia has, fuck how evenHayeshas changed me. Anything I can say to defend myself will sound weak and pathetic—an excuse to cover my ass.
