Tears stung at his words. She wanted to trust him. Truly, she did. But it would be a miracle if he didn’t hurt her at some point, too. “I appreciate it. I came because I met a guy a few months ago and we’ve decided to give being together a try. It’s separate to this thing with Dad. Thanks for the accountant recommendation, though.”
“Any time. Look after yourself, kid.”
Just as she hung up and was about to open her online bank account, a pain pierced her side so sharply she gasped and fell to her knees.
“Shit,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Oh my God.”
The baby.
Stress. Worry. Did her insurance cover an ambulance?
She patted her hand along the counter until she found her phone. True to his word, Luke had texted her everyone’s number. With shaking hands, she dialled Chaya’s.
“Hello,” Chaya said after the phone had rung several times.
“Chaya,” she gasped. “It’s Willow. I . . . my side . . . I need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m with Iz. I’ll be right down. Iz has a key to Luke’s, so don’t move.”
She placed her hand over her side and doubled over, the searing heat causing her to cry out again.
She couldn’t lose the only thing she’d ever wanted.
Not now.
8
The offices of Upper Street were cool. Like, graffiti murals and silver, gold, and platinum records adorning the walls cool. And to Luke, it symbolised that their struggle was over.
Not completely. Because he knew it would take a while to build up the kind of cash he aspired to, the kind of cash that made any adventure anywhere in the world feasible. But enough that they didn’t need to worry.
“Can you imagine Iz’s face if I told her we were adding a graffiti mural in the living room?” Matt asked.
Jase laughed. “At least Iz lives with you to get pissed about it. I need to convince Cerys to move in with me.”
“You know that isn’t happening,” Alex said, slipping his jacket off. “Anyway, you are always over there, or she’s at our place with you. Not like it’s really a problem.”
“At least you live with women you chose,” Luke muttered. “I got told off for picking a towel that didn’t match Willow’s out of the airing cupboard. I mean, really. Who gives a shit about matching towels?”
“It’d bug me,” Ben said.
“Me too, probably,” Alex said.
“Yeah, Alex gets pissed off if we don’t use matching mugs at breakfast,” Jase teased.
“There’s a symmetry to matching things,” Alex said.
Ben’s laughter cracked through the corridor. “Is that why you prefer two at a time?”
Alex snorted. “Never thought about it that way. But, no, that’s not why. That’s a quadratic equation. If my sexual appetite on that day is squared, added to whether I’ve performed a gig and it’s more than three days since I had sex, then how many people are sleeping in my bed that night is the square root of that added together.”
“First, I’m pretty sure that’s not the definition of a quadratic equation.” Luke opened the meeting room door. “And second, that’s way more information than I need.”
“You’re a fucking dork,” Jase said, slapping Alex on the shoulder as they stepped inside.
“I’m curious how the economics of this are going to work out,” Matt said, following Ben.
Luke let the door slip shut. “Me too. We’ve had enough warnings to know it won’t be life changing, but it will be decent.”
Music and the money they earned bought each of them different things. Matt needed it to have space to create. Jase needed the fame that came from it. Ben needed the security brought about by wealth. Alex needed its self-expression.
But Luke, he needed the freedom. Money was going to buy the travel he’d always craved. Not just the trip to Europe with his mates, but real, soul-changing travel.
He thought about Willow’s answers in the cab to her hotel. The world’s longest train ride. He’d looked it up. It was a real thing. Over nine thousand kilometres without having to change trains. Took six days.
Maybe they could take it together.
Together.
Wasn’t that a fucking word all of its own?
“Guys, hi,” Simon, their manager said, entering the room from another door. Parker Moseley, their A&R rep followed him. “Should be a great conversation today. This is exciting.”
Parker pulled up a presentation, and as soon as the gigs were up on the screen, Luke glanced to Matt who grinned. “This is the first wave, lucky thirteen. Thirteen nights across the major cities in the UK. London, Bristol, Manchester. You can see we are hoping for a big home crowd by booking the Emirates Old Trafford at twenty-six thousand. These are committed.”
Jesus Christ. It had been one thing to open for Stryker and play a stadium shortly after their song had gone viral, but to be relied on to fill the damn thing by themselves was a whole other ball game.
“What did you mean when you said these are committed?” Luke asked.
“Good question,” Simon said. “There are a second wave of dates, and also, second nights at some venues. We’ll decide on whether they happen based on how quickly tickets sell for the first thirteen. But we do anticipate needing to release the second wave.”
Ben tapped the edge of the table. “Like how many?”
Parked leaned forward in his chair. “The tour could go to twenty-five.”
Matt grinned. “Not going to lie, this might be the coolest thing I’ve seen since we signed the recording contract. How do the economics work?”
Yeah, the money. Luke had been thinking the same thing.
“Bigger tours like this run a little different to the gigs you are used to setting up by yourself. Obviously, the ticket sales provider takes nine percent and credit card sales two percent. Then, there’s the venue and promoter that take over half. But if we assume the seventy percent sell through, and merchandise at an average three pounds a head, the thirteen-date gig will make you between seventy to eighty grand each across the month. Pretty much double it at twenty-five concerts.”
“Fuck me,” Alex muttered.
“Yeah.” That kind of money would pay off his credit cards, upgrade the van. Wait, they wouldn’t need the van anymore. Someone else would be responsible for hauling their shit on tour.
And the album release would hopefully boost interest in the back catalogue of their work that they’d independently released, which would tide them over until they broke even on the album, and then, the tour earnings would kick in.
“We’ll need to talk more about the set and setlist obviously,” Parker said, closing his laptop. “But those are the bones of the tour. The good news is your fans are not expecting a major production, which means we can adapt quickly. We’ll focus on the music and not high-tech sets.”
By the end of the day, they’d nailed down a shedload more details. Some things he gave a shit about . . . song choices and playlist order. Media days versus performance days. Days off. Some things he should give a shit about, like merchandising order timelines. And some shit he had no opinion on at all, like what should be in their rider for every gig.