Fade Into You (Shaken Dirty #3)(35)
Wyatt knew the punch was imminent, but he didn’t try to defend himself. Hell, after all the shit he’d caused, he figured Jared had at least one free shot coming. They all did. Of course, that was before the guy’s fist connected with the side of his face—it had been a long time since they’d settled things by fighting, and Wyatt had forgotten just how hard a punch Jared had.
No time to categorize the damage, though, not when Jared was already pulling his hand back a second time. “What the f*ck did you think you were doing?”
Wyatt just raised a brow at him, his gaze going between Jared’s face and his fist. “I gave you one.”
“Is that supposed to scare me? After three months in rehab you look like a gust of wind would blow you away. You sure as shit laid down for Germaine like it would.”
That set him on edge despite himself, and he gave up discreetly trying to catalog the damage to his face so that he could shove Jared, hard. “Fuck you. You don’t know anything about it.”
“I don’t know anything about—” Jared broke off. Ground his teeth together. Worked at unclenching his fists. “Fuck you. Nobody knows more about your shit than we do. And we’ve always had your back. Always. So you want to explain to me why the f*ck you pussed out the second Germaine put a little bit of pressure on you?”
“I didn’t puss out.”
“Sure as hell looked that way to me.” Jared glanced over his shoulder at the others. “What about you guys? Didn’t it look like that to you, too?”
“Stop being a dick,” Quinn told him, his voice ringing through the room with an air of finality. “And both of you come sit down so we can talk this out.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Ryder said, even as he pulled out a chair to sit down. “Wyatt quitting the band isn’t an option.”
“It’s the only option. You know the label’s just going to keep pushing you about me—”
“And we’re just going to keep pushing back,” Jared interrupted, looking at him like he was a moron. “Why the f*ck do we pay a small fortune to our lawyers and management if we’re just going to roll over and let them f*ck us?”
“It’s not about rolling over! Can’t you see that?”
“All I see is you backing off from a fight. And that isn’t like you.”
Wyatt snorted. “Who the f*ck are you kidding, Jared? It’s exactly like me.”
“No,” Ryder interjected. “It isn’t. If you were going to walk away from this fight, you would have done it a long time ago.”
“I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”
“Damn right,” Jared snorted.
Quinn shot him a look. “So what makes you think we’re going to let you do it now?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Ryder told him. “And if you think we’re going to let you make the wrong one here, then you’re out of your f*cking mind.”
“It’s my decision.”
“It’s our decision,” Jared countered. “This band has always been a democracy, and three beats one every way you look at it.”
“You don’t get it.”
“No, you don’t get it!” Quinn pushed back from the table so fast his chair tipped backward and crashed to the ground. No one even looked at it. “We’ve stood by you for ten years, Wyatt. Ten years. Through the drugs, through the self-mutilation, through rehab, through relapses…what makes you think we’re going to cut you loose now?”
“Because it’s time!” he yelled. “Because I’m a f*ck-up and I’m always going to be a f*ck-up. Nothing you do is going to be able to change that. No matter how many rehab programs you put me in, no matter how many shrinks you drag me to, it’s not going to change. I’m still going to f*ck up. I’m still going to ruin everything!”
“So what?” For the first time all night, Jared’s voice was low. Calm.
It confused him, had Wyatt turning around to stare at the guy who’d been his best friend for more than a decade. “I don’t—what do you mean?”
“I mean, so the f*ck what if you screw up again? So the f*ck what if you end up ruining this tour? We already have more money than we can ever spend. And even if we didn’t—even if the label came after us and somehow got it all in a breach of contract suit—so the f*ck what? You think a big, fancy house is worth more to us than you?
“You seem to forget we came from nothing. Money didn’t matter. Only the music did. If you think that’s changed just because Quinn drives a fancy pink motorcycle now, then you’re even more screwed up than I thought you were.”
“For the record,” Quinn interjected, “the motorcycle has sentimental value.”
“The motorcycle’s an embarrassment,” Ryder told him. “But you’re not, Wyatt. I thought you knew better than anyone that Shaken Dirty’s about more than the bottom line. It’s about more than the money, more than the fame. It’s about the four of us doing what we love, together. Where we do it or how much we get paid for doing it—that’s just the details, man. And yeah, if you fall off the wagon again, it’s going to hurt all of us. Not because of the money. But because we don’t want to see you die, man.”