Conviction(45)

Sophie yanks on my arm, we step around my brother, Marcus, and their party and collapse giggling into each other as we walk toward the door.





Conner



I’ve spent the last ten days in musical heaven. Marley Layton is a genius and a legend. Added to all of that, he’s a f*cking nice bloke. He’s had Gunner and me in tears of laughter, and he also had us in tears as he shared with us what he’s been through with his band and his family.

He has a state of the art studio built on the grounds of the estate his house sits on and Gunner and I have rehearsed there every day since last Tuesday. I’ve stayed over a couple of nights. I think he could tell how down I felt so he invited us to join him and his family for dinner. Gunner declined the invite because he had Chelsea and the kids waiting for him at home, whereas all I had were my dogs, who were probably already in bed with my dad and Sandra by that time.

We had sat out on his back deck, smoked some great weed and talked shit about every possible subject you could imagine. He told me stories about a three-way he had in a toilette at the White House. How he and his wife Ashley had had a quickie in a cupboard at Buckingham Palace, of meeting presidents, prime ministers and royalty and it had all happened because of his music. You name it, he’d done it and he’d done it with his wife at his side and while raising three kids.

I don’t mind admitting, I was jealous. When I watched him and Ashley together, the way they had shared so many experiences, I wanted what they have. They asked me about women, if there was anyone special and for the first time, in a long time, I told them the story of me and Meebs. From going to infant school together, to me being her first. Our plans to run away and her not showing, and about all the songs I’d written about her over the years.

“Did you write, ‘Where I Are’ for her?” Ashley asked the second time I stayed over. We’d drunk a litre of Grey Goose and smoked a lot of weed. I was feeling chilled, but a little bit sad for some reason. It was the Saturday night before the concert. One week to go and I think my nerves were starting to get to me. I’d had a terrible night’s sleep the night before and I’d felt off all day. I’d f*cked up nearly every song we’d practised and I’m amazed Marley hadn’t kicked my arse and called the whole thing off.

We haven’t made it public knowledge that we’re performing together. The event is already a sellout so it’s not going to increase ticket sales. Live recordings from each act will be made though so there may be an increase in the album sales.

If the truth be told, the main reason I don’t want any publicity is in case I bottle it. I’m absolutely crapping myself at the thought of getting up on that stage without Jet. If our performance is made public knowledge, I’m worried that I’ll crumble under the pressure. I’ve managed to keep the anxiety attacks under control, but they’re still about. I still feel a bubbling in my toes and my belly if I let my mind wander. The weird thing is, thinking and talking about Meebs calms me down. Thinking about her blue eyes, her soft skin and her round little arse, chills me the f*ck out and still has the ability to make me horny. Fuck, I really need a shag. Well, when I say shag, I mean I need to blow down someone’s throat, over their tits or their face, I’m really not fussed at this stage. The problem is, there needs to be more than just the two of us. I can’t handle the intimacy of just me and a woman. I can’t handle even the thought of being buried balls deep inside a woman and have her look into my eyes. My skin heated and my heart rate sped up as the early sensations of a panic attack start to bubble in my belly.

I must’ve fidgeted and looked uncomfortable as I heard Marley say from beside me, “It’s all right, Reed, you don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I sat up straighter in the chair I was slouched in. Marley passed me a joint and I took a long draw before passing it to Ashley.

“Nah, honestly, I’m fine. I’m good.” I smiled at both of them.

“Yeah, ‘Where I Are’ is about her,” I continued while running my hands through my hair as I think about that song. “I wanted to call it, ‘Gravy On Your Roast’ but the label were worried that people would think it was a euphemism for some kind of a kinky sex act or drug related.”

They both laughed.

“The label police are such wankers. The crap they come out with,” Marley said.

“How are you fixed?” Ashley asked, “Contract wise I mean? If the rest of the boys wanna call it a day, can you carry on by yourself or is your contract void because of Jet’s death?”

“D’ya know what Ash, I have no idea. I’ll have to ask Lawson to look into that tomorrow.”

Marley looked across the table to me. “Well, if you wanna carry on by yourself and you want a bit more artistic freedom than the big labels give ya, come and sign for us.”

My belly did a back flip and landed somewhere near my balls.

Fuck!

I was about to get a hard-on over a record deal.

“Babe, that joint was meant to share,” Marley leant around me and spoke to his wife.

“Yeah babe, I know, but it’s gone out and you’ve got the lighter.”

He threw it to her.

“Love ya,” he said and blew her a kiss. She caught the lighter with one hand.

“You better love me, ya f*cker.”