“Try me.” Vanessa stands her ground with her hands on her hips. “The label has given you boys so much leeway after the accident, but you refuse everything we’ve organized for you. We don’t know what more we can do. You don’t seem to care. So why should we? If you are a no-show, there will be no more chances. It will be grounds for instant termination. Got it?”
We nod because there is little else we can say right now.
Story of our lives.
People don’t give a shit unless we pay them to care, and even then, it’s only until the money runs out.
We all grew up in the foster system—Zeke, Eli, Brodie, and I—shuffling from one home to the next, dealing with drunks, druggies, and pedophile families. It wasn’t until we were all placed in a home together when we were fifteen that we didn’t feel alone anymore.
When the four of us met, that was it—brothers for life.
Nothing anyone threw at us could get to us. Not our foster father’s fists or another’s wandering hands. Nothing they doled out could hurt us as long as we were together. We were an armored shield around each other, keeping out the evil for as long as we could.
We lasted one year in the last hellhole until Brodie was found battered, bruised, and bleeding because our foster dad’s drunk friends used him as their personal toy. That was the last straw for us.
Zeke, Eli, and I were given detention for some bullshit thing that day, so we weren’t there. Brodie said he would go home and grab his guitar so we could practice during detention. We were going to busk in the mall later that evening. Friday nights were when we made most of our money. We wanted to save everything we made to get out and away from our life. When he never returned, we rushed home, and that’s when we found him on his bed, lifeless. It took everything in us not to kill our foster dad and his friends, but there was no time for that. We needed to rush Brodie to the hospital.
That night—it broke him.
It’s what started his addiction to drugs.
He struggled for the rest of his life trying to exorcise the demons inside him until that night six months ago.
We were touring with the band.
We had made it.
Our fifth number one hit.
Our first album had gone platinum.
We were on top of the world.
Then came the news that our foster dad had gotten out of jail. We pressed charges after the hospital called in the authorities. Luckily, there was enough evidence at the crime scene to prosecute all the men involved. The asshole had been given ten years, but unfortunately, he’d been let out on good behavior after only six years. When Brodie heard the news of his release, fear radiated through his body. He changed back into the shell of the guy he used to be.
Dirty Texas Records had insisted he get clean. They hadn’t realized the extent of his drug abuse when they signed us. Their label has a strict no-drug policy. They paid for his rehabilitation and did everything to ensure he was fit and healthy for our first tour. He was doing so well. Eighteen months sober.
When he got the news about our foster dad’s release, he jumped on his bike and disappeared. We couldn’t get a hold of him, and we had no idea where he might have gone. In the end, we searched everywhere, but as each minute went by, every one of us had a sinking feeling in our stomach that something terrible was about to happen. That Brodie’s trauma had resurfaced with a vengeance and he’d retreated into the depths of hell again, where this time, no one would be able to reach him.
Three days later, a police cruiser turned up at our home, and we all knew the outcome.
Something had happened to Brodie.
He wasn’t coming home.
They informed us that Brodie had died, and from what they knew of the incident, he was high, it was raining, and the road was wet. By all accounts, he aquaplaned into oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, he slid off the road and over an embankment. They found his lifeless body at the bottom of the ravine on the beach.
Losing Brodie broke us all.
The sobriety we had all given in solidarity with him disappeared in that split second.
None of us cared.
Nothing else mattered.
How could we go on? It had always been the four of us. We were never meant to be a threesome.
“We want to help you,” Christian says, pulling me from my thoughts. I can hear the sincerity in his tone, and I know he means well, but we are nothing more than a commodity to the label.
“Whatever.” Eli grunts. “Guess we’ll see ya Monday.”
And with that dismissal, Vanessa and Christian leave our home.
“Fuck that shit,” Eli grumbles, grabbing a glass of beer from the coffee table. “I know you heard all of that … fucking pretending to be asleep. You’re such a dick,” Eli calls out to me.
“I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture,” I grunt out the words, not caring what he thinks.
“And you think I was?”
I swing my legs off the sofa. “Fuck it! They sit in their ivory towers, living their perfect lives. They have no idea of the shit we have been through. If they are going to fire us on Monday, we might as well make the weekend count,” I yell, fired up with rage.
“Fuck yeah. Let’s go out with a bang,” Eli yells, raising the half-drunk glass of stale beer in his hand and tilting it in my direction.
CHAPTER 2
Hendrix
“Guess I should be thankful you turned up at all.” Vanessa enters the conference room. It’s two in the afternoon on Monday. So yeah, she should be happy we are here at all. “Isla, would you mind bringing Alice in too?” she says, turning to Isla Connolly, the head of talent for the label.
“Coffee?” Vanessa asks, pointing at the expensive espresso machine set up in the corner of the conference room.
We shake our heads.
“Water?” She points to the minibar refrigerator, which is stocked with bottles.
“A beer would be nice,” Zeke suggests with a chuckle.
Vanessa glares at him. “Don’t you think you should give your liver an hour off?”
Zeke shrugs his shoulders in answer.
The conference door swings open, and in walks Alice and Isla. Alice gives us a broad smile and takes a seat while Isla sits to the side.
“Okay …” Vanessa starts. “I wanted to talk to you all about what happened. Another missed studio session.” Her green eyes look over each of us disapprovingly until they stop on Alice. “Care to explain?”
Alice splutters under Vanessa’s intense scrutiny, unable to get her words out. “The boys were drunk. I couldn’t get them to go even when I tried,” Alice eventually explains, which is a fucking lie.
“Really?” Vanessa crosses her arms, not buying what Alice is selling. “I heard you were too busy riding Zeke’s dick to do your job.”
Alice’s face pales at Vanessa’s comment. Her eyes widen as she looks over at Zeke, who is sitting there chuckling to himself, which earns him an icy glare from Vanessa.
“We pay you to do a job, Alice, and that’s getting the boys to do theirs.” She raises her voice but only slightly at the end of the sentence to get her point across.
Alice nods.
“And from what I hear and see, you haven’t been doing that.” Those green eyes focus on Alice squirming in her seat under the interrogation.