Mended (Connections, #3)(16)

CHAPTER 4


Just Beneath the Surface

The moon hasn’t quite disappeared, but the sun hasn’t yet risen—it’s dawn and the streetlights are still on. I exit the cab with my bag in hand and climb the steps lit by the faint glow from the road to my condo in Beverly Hills. A car drives by, tossing the newspaper in the driveway, and I just leave it—I’ll catch up later. I stayed at the hospital all night with my brother, and now I’m contemplating the phone calls I’ll have to make later today. I’ve been taking risks, learning things, and making new relationships since I started to manage the Wilde Ones. But this—being left without a lead singer in the middle of a tour isn’t an evolution, it’s a regression, a detriment . . . it’s the end.

Once I shower, I sit down and think about how I’m going to tell the guys. It makes me sick to think about it, but it has to be done. They aren’t going to take it well, but I know I can’t put it off. Announcements have to be made so shows can be canceled and money refunded. Time seems to creep by before I finally decide to pick up my phone. I call Garrett and then Nix and tell them both to meet me at my place. I know they’re not going to be happy, but at this point there are no other options. Garrett arrives around four with a six-pack in one hand and a new flick in the other.

“It’s not date night,” I tell him.

“Fuck off,” he snorts. “I just thought you could use the company. You sounded like shit on the phone. What’s going on?”

I slap his back. “We need to talk about existentialism.”

He shakes his head in confusion, but I’m saved from explaining when Nix walks in right behind him.

“What’s with the emergency meeting?” Nix asks.

“How about a drink?” I ask and motion for them to have a seat on the couch.

“Is it that bad that beer isn’t strong enough?” Garrett questions, holding up the six-pack that he brought in.

These guys have been my brother’s friends for longer than I can remember. Actually, although I’ve never admitted it, they’re my friends too, and what I’m about to do is the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a really long time.

“How’s Dahlia?” Nix asks.

Walking over to the bar, I say over my shoulder, “She’ll be okay . . . but she can’t travel.”

Pouring whiskey into three tumblers, I turn around. Nix’s and Garrett’s jaws are on the ground, and it’s clear they know what that means. I hand them each a glass of whiskey and toss mine back. “Remember when Brian Chase accidentally hit himself in the nose and blood squirted out everywhere?”

Nix’s eyes narrow and Garrett just knocks his drink back, moving around me and stepping up to the bar.

I go on. “The more he bled, the harder he drummed, and the harder he drummed, the more he bled.”

They both nod, confused about my reason for telling them this, I’m sure. I continue. “That’s how I feel about our band. We keep going and going, but I really feel there’s a time for the bleeding to stop and I think it’s now. No more Band-Aids to stop the wounds from oozing.”

Nix clears his throat. “I disagree. I think we could take a different approach.”

I peg him with my stare and wonder where he’s going with this. Garrett sits down and I do the same as Nix keeps talking. “Do you remember the first time you heard Neil Young sing and you were like, ‘Really? This guy is popular?’”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything. It means anything can happen when you don’t expect it,” Garrett interprets for me.

“What’s going on?” I ask them.

Garrett looks at me a little warily. “Well, someone stopped by last night after you took Dahlia to the hospital.”

“Who?” I ask.

Garrett speaks up. “Ivy Taylor. She wants in.”

I stand up and slam my drink down on the bar. My lungs constrict and I have to raise my arms and cradle my head to breathe. Twisting my body, I mindlessly circle the room until I can finally speak. “No f*cking way,” I yell at them.

“Xander, you and her happened a long time ago. Don’t let your history with her cloud your judgment,” Nix says.

“I’m not saying no because of our history,” I reply with a scowl.

“Then why?” Garrett asks.

“First of all, she doesn’t even sing in the same genre as the band.”

Nix rolls his eyes. “Come on, Xander, you know her. She’ll be able to sing our songs without a problem. For Christ’s sake, you played with her for years.”

“Even if she can, she’s managed by that prick, and I’m not f*cking working with him,” I tell him very matter-of-factly. I want to be close to her in the worst way, but not when she’s with somebody else—that’s something I would never be able to stand.

“She says she won’t be for long. She’s trying to terminate their business relationship,” Garrett says.

I stop pacing.

“How much sweeter could this be? We’ve all known each other since high school, and we’re all in it for the music,” Nix says, trying to persuade me.

“Xander, come on. We’re flirting with disaster, and she pops in as our saving grace. People would follow her into a fire, and she came looking for us,” Garrett declares, and I stand there waiting for the punch line, but there isn’t one.