When we got to the studio, we were led in through the back and politely hidden away from the world by a girl with headphones and a clipboard. She stared at Kellan the entire time she explained what amenities were available for us.
She gave Kellan a bright smile and didn’t leave until he thanked her. It made me roll my eyes. There are four of us, chica. Maybe we needed something. Looking around, I asked the guys, “Want to bail and go check out the nightlife around here? It’s been a while since I’ve kicked your guys’ asses at Find-a-Skank.”
They all shook their heads; Evan even yawned.
“Fine,” I muttered. When did our band become such sticklers for the rules? We used to be rebels. We used to be rock stars. We used to shun responsibility and laugh in the face of order. Chaos ruled our lives. I missed those days.
What felt like hours later, Kellan’s starry-eyed PA came in to tell us a commercial break was happening soon and we needed to get ready. We followed her to the stage, waited for the light to change to signal that a commercial was in progress, then stepped out from behind the curtain to take up our instruments.
The crowd watching the recording went nuts when they saw us. Johnny threw up both of his hands and snapped, “Save it for the camera, people!” They shushed a little, but the occasional “I love you, Kellan!” rang through the space between us and them.
Tossing on a fake smile, Johnny, the man too awesome to have a last name, strode our way. I clenched my jaw as he approached us. Douche was plastered in heavy makeup, giving him the appearance of a tan that he didn’t really have. “Boys! So good to have you back. Kellan, you’re our number one requested artist.” He stretched out his hand to Kellan, and Kellan, being the ambassador of goodwill that he was, shook it.
“Thank you for having us. It’s an honor to be on the show.”
I snorted after hearing Kellan’s words. Honor, my ass. It was an obligation, nothing more. My derisive noise got Johnny’s attention. His pudgy face swiveled my way, and his cordial smile twisted to smugness. “New member?” he asked. Extending his hand to me, he said, “You must be thrilled to be a part of the band. I’m Johnny, welcome to my show.”
I didn’t take the fucker’s hand. Brown hair or not, he knew full well that I was an original member of the band. “Bite me, cornhole.” Matt elbowed me in the ribs, but I didn’t care. My comment had finally wiped the smile from Johnny’s face.
“Articulate as always,” he said, then that damn smile came back. “See you boys after your set.”
Matt grabbed my elbow. “Don’t make a scene,” he hissed. “Just do your job.”
I shoved him away from me. “I’m nothing but professional…so step off, ass munch.”
Matt scrubbed his face with his hands, then stopped and took a deep cleansing breath. “It’s going to be fine,” he muttered to himself before turning to his instrument.
“Of course it is,” I answered him as I picked up my bass. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
None of the guys responded to my encouraging comment, but they didn’t really have time to anyway. The commercial break was ending. A crew member off-screen was giving Johnny a countdown, and his face split into a cheesy grin when the guy signed zero—showtime.
“Welcome back. Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I give you…the D-Bags!” He swished his hands our way and the cameras directly in front of us turned on. The well-trained crowd screamed louder than when they saw us the first time.
Evan tapped out a rhythm to start us off, then we took off. We played our new single, the song we’d been promoting nonstop for the past couple of weeks. I was glad this was the last time we’d be playing it for a while. I needed a break. Or at least variety. The same song over and over was killing me.
When we finished, I nearly said, “Thank God,” but I didn’t. Restraint was quickly becoming my new middle name.
Johnny came over and made a big show of greeting us. With a hand on Kellan’s shoulder, he led us to a line of four chairs next to his desk.
I tried to take the seat next to Kellan, but Evan beat me to it. Matt took the last seat, the one farthest away from the action, so I sat next to Evan. Matt looked green. As much as he pressed the issue that we needed to do stuff like this, he hated it. I found that weird. I loved the spotlight.
“Congratulations, guys, on your latest single. The album is releasing in March, correct?”
Kellan switched into professional gear and answered all his questions about the album and the direction of our music. I was so bored I almost fell asleep. When were we going to talk about me? My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Matt shot me a horrified look, like he couldn’t believe I’d just done that on live TV. I wanted to tell him to relax, the audience wasn’t watching me, they were busy listening to the “Kellan and Johnny Show.”
I’d just received a text from Harold. As I read it, a smile broke over my face. I hope you’re sitting down when you read this…because you are about to be star! I just signed a six-episode deal for Acing It. Book your flight, it’s time to start working on more episodes! Naturally, we can’t do much without our star, but filming is scheduled to start on Monday. Hope to see you there, and congratulations!
Fuck yes! I texted him back, I’ll be there.
As if he knew I’d just received kick-ass news, Johnny leaned forward and asked, “Are we keeping you from something more important than debuting your single on live television?”
With a smirk, I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Sort of, but I handled it.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but Johnny clearly wasn’t amused. With a tight smile, he said, “You looked like you were about to nod off for a minute there. Too many late nights? I’ve heard that not everyone can handle the life of a rock star.”
His expression and tone were so condescending, I almost told him to go to hell. Instead, I sneered, “Don’t worry about me, I got this.”
He furrowed his brows, like I’d somehow lost him with my statement. “So, from what I understand, Kellan here handles the lyrics, Matt, aside from being one of the most gifted guitarists I’ve ever heard, works on managing and promoting the band, and Evan handles the melodies. What is it that you do again?”
I was both pleased to finally be talking about myself and irritated that this guy was insinuating I had no value. His question was also disturbingly close to Matt’s complaints about me. Kellan started spouting some bullshit PC answer, but I interrupted him. “I’m the heart and soul of the band. The people person. The crowd-pleaser.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “Oh, I guess that makes sense. In my experience, the person with the least amount of musical talent is generally thrust into the role of spokesman, and you definitely seem like the type who can shoot the breeze for hours. Odd though…why have you been so quiet this whole time? Letting Kellan take the lead?”
Did he just insult me? I couldn’t quite follow what he was saying, but it seemed like he’d just praised me and put me down. “I was just waiting for a good question,” I told him.
A spark of something flared in his eyes, and the crowd got really, really quiet. Matt grabbed my arm and tugged, trying to convey some silent message, but I didn’t care. This guy was a jackass.
“Oh, so sorry if you found talking about your career to be on the boring side. Is there something you’d rather be talking about than the work that’s pulled you from the depths of obscurity, where I’m sure you would be neck-deep in mediocrity without it?”
Again, I couldn’t follow him. If he was going to call me lame, why couldn’t he just fucking say it? Kellan asked, “How about we play another song for you?” but both Johnny and I ignored him.
I decided to be blunt, since Johnny couldn’t be. “What’s your beef with me, dude?”
Johnny steepled his fingers on his desk. “Beef? No beef. Just conducting an interview. It’s what I do.” He lowered his fingers so they all pointed at me. “I’m just trying to figure out
what you do, that’s all. It might seem to an outside observer that you in no way contribute to the band. It might seem that you are riding the coattails of your bandmates’ talents. To someone on the outside looking in, it might seem that you don’t belong here. It’s my job to give you an opportunity to refute that.”
That’s when my anger flared and my restraint cracked. Dick couldn’t call me worthless without repercussions. Pulling my phone out, I held the screen up to him. “Want to know what this was? A job. I’m going to be the lead actor on what is probably going to be the hottest TV show on the planet. What do you think about my talent now, jerk off?”
Every single person in the studio turned to stare at me. Oh shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that here, but oh well. It was done now. Johnny’s mouth dropped open, and it was a full five seconds before he could speak. His eyes were sparkling though, like I’d just created a mega-holiday, just for him—Halloween, Christmas, and his birthday all rolled up into one shiny package of talk-show gold. “TV, huh? Good luck with that. But what about the band? What will you do once you’re a ‘successful’ actor?”
My mind flashed back to the numerous rejections and disappointments I’d had recently. Kellan’s voice rang in my ear: Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. Matt’s condemnation trickled through my mind: I can’t think of one thing that you actually do for the band. Even Johnny’s thoughts echoed through my head: You don’t belong here.
Just as I was contemplating how to tell the guys I might have to leave them one day if the show got big enough, Matt opened his mouth. “Don’t be stupid, Griffin. You can’t take an acting job right now. Call them back and tell them no.”
Anger ran up my spine, heating my skin and making every hair on my body stand on end. I was so sick and tired of him telling me what to do, holding me back. They all fucking held me back. Well, no more. I was making my own mark on the world, starting today.
Standing up, I ripped the mic off my clothes and dropped it onto the chair. “I quit. I quit this interview, I quit this band, I quit this life. You can all go to hell.” And with that, I walked off the set.
Chapter 11
Awesome Does What Awesome Needs to Do
My phone began buzzing before I was ten feet from the stage. I was so ticked, I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn’t; when I glanced at the screen, I saw it was Anna. Fucking hell. Even though I was fuming, a knot of dread started growing in my stomach. I should not have just done that on live TV. I should have held it in until I could talk to her first, like I knew she wanted me to. Shit, now I was going to have to tell her I lied. She was going to kill me.
“Hello?”
“What the hell did you just do…on national TV?” Her voice was strained and rough, like a volcano churning with molten lava, waiting to explode. On me. How the hell was I going to explain myself without her flying off the deep end? And how far off the deep end would she go? Fuck. This was supposed to be my moment…I needed her beside me.
Wading past people who were holding their hands up trying to stop me, I tried to deflect the rampage I felt coming with confident nonchalance. This is no big deal. “Relax, everything is fine. I don’t need this gig. I’ve got a TV thing in the bag. They want to start filming on Monday, so as soon as I get back, we’re grabbing the girls and heading to L.A.” Walking to the greenroom, I stepped inside and closed the door. I wanted to be alone when my wife erupted.
“L.A.? Is this another commercial?” she asked, clearly confused. Then she got angry. “Did you just quit the band to sell alcohol on TV?”
Closing my eyes, I decided it was time to tell her everything. She was already mad anyway, how much worse could it get? Please don’t let it get any worse. I need my chill wife right now. “Well…I actually didn’t film a commercial while I was there. It was more like a pilot…for a weekly show…which is great for us. You wouldn’t believe how much money hot shows pay their actors. This will make what the D-Bags paid me look like minimum wage.” It was only then that I wondered just what my salary was…I couldn’t remember what I’d agreed to in the contract. It hadn’t seemed important at the time.
“I don’t care about the money, Griffin!” she snapped. “The band…they’re family. You can’t just quit them!”
Her voice was superheated now; the volcano was spewing ash. Well, I had my own storm brewing inside me too. My gaze snapped to the television screen showing the stage. The guys were storming off it, while Johnny was standing at his desk, clearly asking them to stay and talk.
I scowled at the screen and let that dark fury take me over. “Yeah, they’re family…family that’s been jerking me around, Anna. They don’t listen to me, they don’t take me seriously, they never give me a chance. All they do is hold me back. Sometimes you have to get out from under your family’s wings to really fly.” Damn that was good, almost poetic. And the guys say I can’t write lyrics. Impressed with myself, I added, “Honestly, babe, I’ve been thinking about quitting the band for a while.” Maybe just as a wish, or a fleeting thought that never went anywhere, but yeah, I’d been contemplating it. And now that it was done, I felt great about it.
Anna’s breath was shaky, like she was hyperventilating, and I swear I could hear her heart thudding, even over the phone. She was having a panic attack, and there was nothing I could do about it. Except possibly make it worse. “Griff, I don’t think this is a good idea. Talk to the guys, tell them you were joking. Then when you get home, we’ll sit down and…discuss your options.”
Joking? She wanted me to tell them I was joking? Fuck that. This was the most serious I’d ever been in my entire life. And “discuss my options”? In other words, “you’re incompetent, so let me map out your life for you.” No, thank you. I might have gone about it the wrong way, but I was right about this. I felt it in my bones. “I need this, Anna, and I need you on board with it. You’re my wife.”
She took a long time to answer me, and when she did, there was an unmistakable note of pain in her voice. Fuck, I’d hurt her. “You said you filmed a whiskey commercial. You lied to me.”
Seeing where this was going, I quickly interrupted. “I said it was sort of like a commercial, and it is sort of like a commercial. A really long, complicated commercial…and my character does order whiskey in the pilot…so that’s not really lying.” Even I knew I was full of shit, but what else could I say to her? Yeah, I totally lied to get my way. Sorry. She was already hurting. If I confessed what I’d really done, she’d change the locks at the house and call a lawyer. A brief wash of ice water filled my veins. God, I hoped she wasn’t so upset that she wouldn’t let me come home.
Her tone was frostier when she responded to my outlandish excuse. It actually relieved me to hear the anger. Fury was better than pain. “Fine. Then you skated around the truth so you could do what you wanted, regardless of the consequences. I don’t like that, and I don’t like what you’ve done. You should have told me the truth about this opportunity so we could have talked about it before you up and quit the band on live TV. Ugh! You fucking suck, Griffin, and I’m so fucking mad at you right now! Why the hell didn’t you just tell me about this earlier?” Everything she was saying was completely true, which was exactly why I didn’t want to hear it right now. I just wanted her on board, with me 110 percent, no matter what.
The residual ball of anger inside me wanted to tell her that it was my career, and I didn’t have to run anything by her, but I had enough sense to not say that at the moment. I quit the band on an impulse but I didn’t want to quit her. As calmly as I could, I answered her question. And admitting it took a lot of fucking willpower. “I thought you’d say no if I asked, so I didn’t. But it’s done now, and I need this. Are you with me?”
She let out a loud growl of frustration into the phone, then she barked, “We’ll talk about it when you get home!”
She disconnected and I stared at my phone. Anger and guilt were still taking turns battering my insides, but oddly, the thing I felt the most at the moment was re
lief. I wasn’t hiding anything from her anymore and she was allowing me to come home. That was something.
As the door to the greenroom burst open, my temporary relief vanished. “What the fuck was that, Griffin?” Matt’s face was so red, he looked sunburned.
Boxing up all the conflicting emotions I’d felt while talking to Anna, I puffed up my chest and focused on my indignation. “That was me standing up for myself. Taking charge of my life.” Vindication swept through me as I spoke. I had earned this shot at greatness; they couldn’t take it away from me this time.
Matt tossed his hands into the air. “Unbelievable.” He indicated Kellan standing beside Evan. Both men looked just as upset as Matt, although they hadn’t started in on me yet. “So, when you were pitching a fit about Kellan doing a side gig, that was just hypocritical bullshit. Right? The rest of us better put the ‘team’ before everything else, but you can just do whatever the fuck you want! Right?”
He had a point, but I didn’t want to admit it. They’d wronged me too many times; I owed them a little payback. “That’s just it. We were never a team! There was you guys and then there was me. You never gave me a chance, so I had to go make one on my own.” I pointed at myself with my thumb. “It’s my time now.”
“You’re an asshole!” Matt snapped.
“Fuck you!” I retaliated. “You put me in a box and I’m suffocating. You can’t blame me for wanting a little air.”
“Yeah…we can.” Matt’s eyes were cold pebbles of steel in his blazing face. I’d never seen him so pissed.
Even though his hand was shaking with rage, Evan placed it on Matt’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Kellan shook his head. “Did you even think about what this would do to the band? The media circus you’ve just created. The album, the tour, the future…Did any of that enter your mind? Or were you too busy thinking about how awesome you were to care?”