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“When you first came to me, you were this cocky guy who played like his life depended on it.” I turn to look at him. “What happened to that guy?”
“That’s not fair, Mia,” he responds, shaking his head at me. “Not everyone stays with the first label they sign with their whole career like you did.”
I widen my eyes. “It’s about loyalty, Peter. It’s about family.”
“Mia…” He says my name like it’s a warning.
“There is nothing wrong with staying with a label that treats you like a person instead of a dollar sign,” I tell him. “It’s fine if you want to change labels, that’s your right, but you came in here with an ‘it’s all about the music’,” I use air quotes, “attitude, and your self-righteous bullshit,” I scoff.
“Just be honest about why you’re leaving.” I push off the concrete block but Peter stops me.
“Someone puts dollar signs in front of you and you can’t help but want to take it,” Peter yells as if he’s trying to convince himself and not me. “I’ve got bills to pay, mouths to feed. I don’t have the luxury of sitting on my ass waiting for the next rock star to walk in, needing my help.”
I open and close my mouth in shock. “Are you talking about me?”
“You were lucky when your band started out. That generation was begging for music that spoke about social alienation, and said it was okay to talk about abuse and neglect.” He throws his hands in the air. “The music industry has changed, society has changed, and instead of five bands you have to compete with to get airtime, there are thousands. So I’m sorry if you think I’m an asshole for going where the money is, but that’s what I have to do to stay relevant.”
Peter lets out a heavy breath.
I sigh because I don’t want Peter to be right. The industry has changed, and maybe it’s my own insecurities about what the future will hold as to why I’m so angry. I shouldn’t be so judgmental, but I wonder how Bret took the news.
I toe the gravel some more. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t have to like it.”
“I love that you are so protective of Bret, but trust me, he’ll be fine without us. It might even add a year to his life expectancy.”
That makes me chuckle. “I shouldn’t have taken it personally.” But I did.
“I get it,” Peter says. “Believe me, it wasn’t an easy decision to make.”
I’m sure it wasn’t. Peter is not the first band to leave, and he won’t be the last. Left Turn Records will go on.
“Do the rest of the guys agree?” I ask.
“Jay was worried Cash would be forced to pick sides like it was a fucking divorce,” Peter says and shakes his head, throwing the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with his shoe. They had a bit of a bass bromance going on, or rather Jay mooned over him, and Cash tolerated it as a favor to me.
I scoff, shaking my head. “That won’t be a problem anymore.”
Peter looks at me thoughtfully. “That sounds ominous.”
“We’re getting an actual divorce, so there’s that,” I say as I roll my eyes, trying to reign in the tears that are threatening to overcome me. I will not cry in front of Peter fucking Hayes.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Peter says sympathetically. His mouth opens and then closes as if he wants to say something, but he stops himself.
Annoyed, I say, “Out with it.”
“Is it because of Jack?” he asks tentatively.
“Why the fuck would you ask that?” He’s been on tour for the last few years, and I’ve barely been in touch over that period of time.
“I saw the picture,” he says with a look of remorse.
The fucking picture. I groan. It was on the cover of every fucking magazine. Someone snapped a photo of me joining Jack on stage before we drove up to Payson when his father died.
“That’s not what you think.” I feel the need to explain, only because Peter brought it up, and I don’t need him judging me too.
“Looked pretty fucking intimate to me,” Peter says side-eyeing me, and I want to smack him.
“That was taken after Cash and I separated,” I explain, and then turn to Peter. “Why the fuck am I explaining any of this to you?”
