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“Only a few more months, man,” I murmur, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve survived twelve years under his shoe, and we can do it for a few more.”
“The moment that letter comes in with our invitation, we’re out,” Asher grumbles with confidence, swiping a hand down his face.
“Or the moment we get our diplomas, right? We can’t put all our hope into that fucking gig. There are how many bands applying for this spot? We have to think about the worst-case scenario,” I surmise, turning to Ash, who nods in agreement.
“Either we get the letter, or the moment that fucking diploma touches our hands, we’re gone. We need something to fall back on, and that degree is it. We’ve been saving for years. You, me, Rad, and Callum are out,” Asher growls, throwing a hand around in anger as he speaks. “Callum even mentioned selling the house to help pay for our trip to California. And then you and I can work, play in the band, and wait for our break far the fuck away from here,” Asher says, rubbing his chin. “So, when his trust ends, we can get out.” A small smile takes over his lips. “Then it’s just the four of us against the world.
“Hell, we can get out,” I murmur, rubbing my hands together. No matter what–we’re out of here. The moment my diploma touches my fingertips, we’re leaving this place before my father can sink his claws into me.
“Yeah. We’ll talk to the guys about that. What do you think they’ve been up to today?” They’ve been silent throughout the day.
Rad had a race to raise money for our band fund, and Callum usually looks through venues, contacting managers hoping to play. Obnoxiously, they typically keep us updated throughout the day on their activities. But today? They’ve been silent as fuck. Which is suspect at best. But I suppose we’ll know exactly what they’ve been up to in twenty minutes.
“Six sharp for dinner! Don’t keep your mother waiting!” Nigel yells out the window with a growl. “Not a second later! Don’t give me more reason to pull the plug on your little side project. Such a waste of time,” he huffs with a snarl, perpetually hating our band with a passion. He thinks it’s a waste of time and it’ll take us nowhere in life. Just because he had nothing exciting in his life besides work doesn’t mean he gets to bash ours.
“Yes, sir,” Asher and I say in unison without missing a beat.
We’ve figured out how to stay under his nasty radar this long. The last thing we need is for him to take away our freedoms. We may be twenty-one and adults, but he’s made sure we depend on him every step of the way.
Our vehicles? His. Our phones? His. Our clothes and allowances? His. Our college education? His. His insistence that we do not get jobs—all his. And we’re powerless in all situations. Nigel has us right where he wants us, needy and dependent on his dime. So, when the time comes, and he offers us some big wig job within his company, we’d be dumb not to take it. Well, at least that’s what he thinks.
Nigel Montgomery has tainted everything we own, hoping he can twist our arms into running his company alongside him. As much as it pains him to have his sons at the bottom, he knows he can mold us like he has everyone else. The only thing he hasn’t accounted for is our waste of time hobby, which has made us our own money this past year. And he can’t touch it. Our band is ours: our home, our family. And there’s nothing Nigel can do to stop it.
Once we enter the Battle of the Bands and hopefully gain entry, we’re gone. We’ll buy vehicles under our names and drive to California without a second glance.
Nigel steps away from the window, grumbling loudly about our laziness and being unappreciative of his kindness. In his eyes, we’re never enough, and I can’t live the rest of my life like that.
“Let’s get out of here while we can,” Asher mumbles, grabbing me by the shirt. “We’ll bring up the competition and what we have to do. More live shows to film, a recording of our music as professional as possible, and a social media presence are what we need. We can’t let this shit slip through our fingers, bro. We need this or….” He side-eyes me, swallowing hard. I see the wheels turning in his big ass brain, and I know precisely the subject of his thoughts.
“She doesn’t know her family, bro,” I murmur, regret seizing my heart. “She can’t get us into the KC Club any better than we can waltz in there. The Battle of the Bands is our best hope.” I shake my head, remembering the plan Asher came up with, which has blown itself out of the water.
I’m way too deep with her, drowning in my obsession. There’s no resurfacing from this as the same man I was before I met River West again. Mine to keep. Mine to hold. Mine forever.
There’s no way I’m letting Asher use her to get to her brothers’ record company or venue. From my memories, she hasn’t had the best relationship with that side of the family. They abandoned her. And I won’t force her to see them again.
“It was worth a shot,” he grumbles, wiping his face. “You think she would ever reconnect with them?” I shake my head immediately, blowing out a breath.
“I don’t know, man….”
Asher stops on the sidewalk a block away from Callum and Rad’s house, putting a hand on my chest.
“You’ve got her in your grip,” he says with an odd glint sparking in his eyes, making me frown. “She’s your old bestie from the bad side. You’ve…”
“I’m going to punch that shit out of your head and laugh while you bleed. River West is not a toy to use in some scheme to get to her family. Sure, we thought that before we got to know her, but it ain’t fucking happening. She is not someone we fuck over. Ya hear?” I growl, curling my fingers in his shirt to get my point across. “She. Is. Mine. Asher.” I punctuate every word by dragging him closer and closer until our noses touch.
But my message doesn’t seem to compute in his thick head. His eyes roll toward the sky in exaggeration, and he mutters angrily under his breath.
“Are you sure about that?” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“Yes,” I grunt, shoving him away.
His teeth grit again when he finds his footing. “I see how she looks at you and them,” he hisses, pointing down the street.
“So?” I gape. “You think I didn’t know what I was doing when I let Rad in on our little moment? He’s fucking obsessed with her, just like me. And Callum? He’s ten seconds away from pouncing on her. Thank God. Besides, that was your whole fucking grand plan, right? Wine and dine her and make her fall for all of us. But maybe she doesn’t have to choose in the end. She gets us all. Well, except you.” His eyes widen a smidge, but he quickly covers his surprise and hurt. “You could be a little fucking nicer,” I quip.
That’s right. Asher may seem like he wants nothing to do with her, but he wants her, too. His only complaint is that he can’t reel her in with his assholeness, and he has to try. Before with other women, he’s just kind of grunted, went along with their plans, and got what he needed. But with River, she’s an entirely new breed of woman he’s never experienced. But fuck, it’s fun to watch him struggle. The way I see it, Asher will flounder for months until he’s crawling on his knees and begging for her forgiveness. He’ll be so in love with her that he’ll insist we take her with us. I can see it now in vivid imagery. Now, we have to get to that point where he digs his head out of his own ass and gets on board with the rest of us.
“Fucking nicer,” he mumbles, walking away in disbelief. “I’m fucking nice!” he yells offhandedly in disbelief.
