Page 38 of Echoes of Him

“Get that look off your face, Kael. Dr. Copeland told me you went straight into panic mode. Christ man, what the hell are you thinking?”

“What am I supposed to think?”

“I gave you my word, Kael. You get clean, and life goes on as normal. I want you in the band as much as everyone else here does.”

“Really?”

Nick takes a deep breath and smiles at me reassuringly. “Kael, you’re the best bass player in the industry, man. We only ever wanted you to get better. Keep your nose clean, don’t go off the rails again, stop getting into fights, and you’ll be back in the studio with us by the end of the month.”

“I’ll stay straight this time, I promise.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I won’t let you guys down.”

Jaxon shakes his head at me, a weird kind of grunt sound emanating from his chest. “The only person you ever let down, dude, was yourself. Ryan’s a good guy, and he’s a great bass player, but he’s not you, Kael. And he never will be. He stood in for us yesterday because it was either that or we canceled the show altogether. We’re not exactly in a position to be turning down media gigs when we’re just about to go on tour again.”

“I guess.”

“We hit the road in eight weeks,” says Nick. “Reckon you’ll be ready to join us by then?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll be alternating between recording Reed’s new stuff in the studio and going back and forth for stage rehearsals at the warehouse. Dee’s got the itinerary for you and a couple of contracts that need to be signed.”

Before the words have even completely left his mouth, Dee’s up and out of her seat and handing me sheets of paper on a clipboard and a pen. She taps her nail against the bottom of the top sheet and tells me to sign it once I’m done reading through all the terms and conditions.

“The details haven’t been finalized yet,” she says, leaning so far forward her tits are all but in my face. “Brush up on your French, though, K, because Paris is our first stop.”

I can’t wipe the stupid smile off my face, my eyes roaming over the pages at a frantic pace, trying desperately to take in everything at once. It all seems pretty stock standard. This isn’t my first rodeo after all. I’ve signed plenty of these types of contracts before, and fingers crossed, I’ll be signing plenty more of them in the future.

It all looks pretty straightforward.

Empress Records will be putting us up in five-star hotels across seven different countries. Starting in France, the band will then travel on to Germany, Austria, Italy, Greece, back to Switzerland, and then we’ll finish up the tour playing three already sold out-shows in London.

I’m trying to absorb the enormity of what this could mean for our careers, when the familiar click of high heels walking across the tiled area just beyond the visitor’s room catches my attention.

Looking out through the open door, I notice Sienna heading toward the reception desk that’s just outside, and she’s carrying a stack of files in her hands. She looks up suddenly, as if she senses she’s being watched, her feet faltering slightly when she catches sight of me sitting there with the rest of the band.

“Hey, come here a sec,” I say, waving her into the room. “I want you to meet everyone.”

Sienna looks nervous as she walks warily into the visitor’s room, carefully placing the files she’s holding down on a table just inside the door.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, it makes me smile when I notice the tips of her ears are pink. Adjusting her glasses, she smiles politely at everyone.

She’s so fucking cute.

“This is Nick Dundas, our band manager—” I tell her and watch as Nick lifts his backside off the chair and reaches for her hand, shaking it briefly. I point to everyone else in the room, one by one, introducing them, Reed first, and then Jaxon who’s slow and deliberate sweep of her entire body doesn’t go unnoticed. “Keep it in your pants, Jax. This is Jonesy.”

“Sienna,” she corrects.

Jaxon laughs, offering her a poor excuse of a salute by way of hello. “How’s it going, Jonesy?”

Sienna smothers a sigh.

“And this is Dee,” I add, pointing to the emerald-haired chick with the fake boobs, fake nails, fake lashes, and plumped up lips, who, for some reason, doesn’t look the least bit impressed when she notices my hand resting softly on the small of Sienna’s back.

“’Sup, Jonesy” she grunts.

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