Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1)

by RB Hilliard

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I wanted to tell them the truth but Nash said you’d never forgive me, so I told them you had a nasty case of the flu, needed rest and would call when you were feeling better.” At least Nash had my back where my parents were concerned. Still, I was going to have to do major damage control. My mother would be beside herself with worry and my dad would see right through the lie. I stared down at my phone and wondered what the hell to tell them. Explaining how I was slipped a lethal dose of Oxy and expecting them not to lose their minds just wasn’t going to work. “Two hours,” Blane repeated, and walked out of the room.

  Deciding to stick with Blane’s flu story, I spent the next hour cleaning up my mess. Mom wanted to catch the next plane to Houston. It took a lot of talking to convince her to wait the few weeks for our New York shows. By then I would have a grip on where things stood with the band. As soon as I offered to fly them in she dropped the subject of my sickness and began making plans. Mom was beyond thrilled as she loved shopping in the city. I could tell my dad wasn’t convinced. Being the old school hard ass that he was, his skepticism didn’t surprise me. For once, though, he kept his mouth shut.

  I checked emails after we hung up. Other than a few minor things, it looked as if Nash had kept up with everything while I’d been gone. Speaking of Nash, I hadn’t seen or heard word one from him since the night I left for rehab. I was both angry and disappointed. The one person I thought would believe me didn’t. My time in rehab helped me to gain some much needed perspective as well as to reevaluate my friendships. Thinking about how instrumental Nash was in my life only amplified the hurt.

  A knock on the door followed by Hank’s shout of, “Time to go!” echoed through the suite. Snagging my phone off the dresser, I headed for the lobby. It wasn’t lost on me that everyone else had already left. I found the rest of the band waiting in the conference room. Luke and Chaz were both focused on their phones while Nash was staring out the window. No one bothered so much as to glance my way. After waiting minutes in uncomfortable silence, I finally broke down and asked, “Are we meeting, because if not I have shit to do.” All eyes turned to Blane’s assistant, Marcy, who was busy talking on the phone.

  Irritated at being interrupted, Marcy huffed an exasperated “Hang on,” to the person on the other end of her conversation. “Mr. Hamilton and the team should be here any second,” she informed us.

  A little over three years ago Meltdown was a no name band playing in bars and similar small venues. One night we were asked to fill in at a birthday party. As fate had it the hired band cancelled at the last minute and the family of the birthday girl was scrambling for a replacement. The birthday girl ended up being Annmarie Hamilton, whose father was millionaire Blane Kirkland Hamilton II. Kirkland, as everyone called him, made his money off of oil and car dealerships. Kirkland’s son, Blane, was in town that weekend for his kid sister’s birthday. As our luck had it, Blane had recently purchased a record label and was on the hunt for “the band” that would launch the label and make his career. After listening to two of our songs he approached me with an offer. Three days later, Happenstance signed Meltdown as their headlining band. I owed Blane a lot. Not only did he pluck us from obscurity, but he’d also supported our vision and had taken us straight to the top. He may be a narcissistic tool but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. Not only that, he wasn’t afraid to take chances. All of this was past tense now. The old Blane would have gone to bat for me. The new Blane I wasn’t so sure of. Over the past year or so he’d become someone I barely recognized.

  The door opened and the man himself walked in. Trailing behind was the rest of the management committee, which consisted of his father, Kirkland, his uncle, Randy and his nephew, Winn. The last to walk through the door was a woman I’d never seen before.

  Everyone took a minute or so to settle and then Blane launched in, “I’m aware you need to be practicing right now, so I will cut this short and you can get to it. This label needs Meltdown as much as Meltdown needs this label. Grant’s two week stint in rehab cost us over a million dollars in sales.” His eyes cut to me and I gave him a blank stare. After a long pause he continued, “The positive is that Grant is on the mend and we were successfully able to reschedule the missed shows. The negative is that we can’t, under any circumstance, have anymore mishaps for the remainder of this tour. Right now, the tabloids are scrambling. No one knows for sure what happened that night and we need to keep it this way.”

  While Blane lectured, Kirkland’s filmy old man eyes roamed over each of us. Eventually they landed on me. “You really screwed up, son,” he growled. His accusatory tone pissed me off. What the hell did he know? He wasn’t even there that night.

  “For the last time, I didn’t take the Oxy,” I calmly stated between clenched teeth.

  “Bullshit,” he spat. “You’re just angry you got caught. You artsy people are all the same. Buck up and own it. Had you not thrown up when you did, you’d be dead, or even worse, a vegetable.” I opened my mouth to argue and he held up his hand. “The only reason you are sitting here right now and not rotting your ass back in that rehab facility is because I’m on the board.” He smiled at my surprised look. “You got it, I saved your ass. From where I’m sitting that means you owe me. So, before you open your mouth and spill more bullshit, you’d better think twice.” I shook with anger but knew better than to call him out. I could take on Blane, but taking on his dad meant I was taking on the rest of the board. I may be furious but I wasn’t stupid. Kirkland Hamilton was dead wrong. He was also the reason I went to rehab.

  “As of today you’re on probation,” Blane announced.

  My eyes shot to Nash and he quickly looked away. “What do you mean I’m on probation?” I asked. As far as I was concerned I’d already done my penance and then some.

  “There are to be no drugs, including marijuana, for the duration of the tour. I’ve convinced the rest of the board that we don’t need to conduct routine drug tests but we will if you push this.” His eyes drifted from me to the rest of the guys, “That goes for all of you.” Murmurs and groans of disapproval shot through the room. His eyes snapped back to mine. “Also, for the remainder of the tour you will have mandatory drug counseling.”

  I didn’t give a shit about the tests, bring them on, but counselling? Fuck that. I shot up from my chair and headed straight for the door. They could finish the tour without me for all I cared.

  “Get your ass back here!” Kirkland shouted after me. I gave him my middle finger.

  Blane caught up with me before I made it out the door. “He’s ready to pull the plug, man,” he said under his breath.

  “Why is he suddenly calling the shots?” I countered.

  “This isn’t just about you, Grant. It’s about them, too.” He nodded toward the rest of the band.

  “Utter bullshit is what this is, Blane, and you know it,” I hissed.

  A look of panic appeared on his face when he realized I wasn’t bluffing. “You can’t walk. Too many people are depending on you,” Other than staring him down I gave him nothing. “How about if I promise to look into the incident?” he whispered.

  Finally we were getting somewhere. “You’ll get my name cleared?” I asked.

  “Fine, yes,” he huffed. After a second’s pause, I gave him a nod and walked back to my seat and sat back down.

  Blane nervously cleared his throat and turned to address the group again, “Where was I? Oh, yes, the rehab facility wasn’t too thrilled about letting Grant go. In order for Dr. Whitfield to agree to sign the release papers we had to agree to outpatient therapy.” He held out his hand and the woman stepped up. His eyes flicked to me. “This is Mallory Scott. Miss Scott specializes in drug and alcohol addiction and has graciously agreed to travel with us for the remainder of the tour. Her job is to counsel you on how to handle your addiction. This means you will have to work her into your schedule. This is mandatory and not something you can blow off,” he
warned. “At the end of the tour if Mallory fails to sign off on your full compliance we have no choice but to send you back to the rehab facility. This time it will be for the entire six month program or Happenstance will have no choice but to terminate your contract.”

  “Why now?” I questioned. I was far from the only one with issues sitting in this room. Chaz beat the shit out of a fan one night thinking it was a photographer and Luke was a step away from being a bonafide sex addict. Both of these had been swept under the Happenstance rug so why hadn’t this?

  “You’re a damned cash cow, that’s why,” Kirkland spoke up. “Meltdown is currently bringing in triple the money of all four bands on the label combined. We’re fully invested in this tour and, over my dead body, will I allow any of you to screw this up.”

  I glanced over at my bandmates and asked, “You agree with this shit?” If they said no, I would happily march my ass out that door.

  “It’s a unanimous decision,” Blane answered for them.

  “Bullshit is what this is.” I pointed at Kirkland. “You weren’t there that night. You didn’t see what happened.” Turning to my bandmates, I said, “I’ve told you a thousand times I didn’t take the Oxy. Did you look at my medical records? Did you check with security to see who was in my hotel room that night? Did you investigate who spiked my fucking drink? You’re supposed to be on my side and yet not a single one of you believes me.”

  “I believe you,” Chaz said. All eyes shifted to him, some with surprise and others with disgust. He shrugged off the stares and said, “If you say you didn’t take the Oxy, I believe you. Either way it really doesn’t matter, though, does it? The Oxy got into your bloodstream somehow, which resulted in you almost dying. Regardless of what did or didn’t go down that night, Happenstance is on the hook and Meltdown is nothing without you. If you don’t do what the label asks, it’s over for all of us.”

  “I’m not an addict,” I defended.

  “No one is saying you are,” Luke agreed.

  “They sure as hell think I am,” I pointed in the direction of Blane and his posse.

  I looked across the room at Nash. “Tell me you don’t agree with this.”

  “You think I like this?” he hissed. “I hate it. Most of all, I hate that you did this to us.” His words ripped through me. “We built this, Grant, you and me. You said nothing would ever tear it apart but that’s exactly what you let happen. After everything we went through with Dale, how could you do this? You have no idea what seeing you almost die did to me. Addict or no addict, this,” he pointed to Miss Scott, “is the least you can do.” He stormed out of the room and I was left in the wake of his anger.

  My eyes drifted to the subject at hand. Miss Scott. Wearing a light green hoodie and cropped white pants she looked more like a groupie than a drug counselor. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an old lady bun and she had a scowl on her face. Her eyes widened when she noticed me staring at her. The unfairness of the situation angrily beat at me.

  “No offense, lady, but I don’t want or need you here,” I told her. Her face flushed with embarrassment and I almost felt bad for her…almost. I knew it wasn’t her fault but at that moment I didn’t give two shits.

  “Well that’s just too damn bad,” Kirkland growled. “This,” he waved his hand in the air, “is over. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on board.” His eyes drifted to Blane before coming back to me, “I was hesitant to invest in you in the first place, but now that I have no choice don’t make me sorry I did.” As he stormed out of the room my eyes shot to Blane. What in the hell was he talking about?

  Blane sighed, and started after his father. When he reached the door he turned and said, “You’ve got fifteen minutes and then I expect to see you all at rehearsal.” When Miss Scott realized she was being left behind, she bolted after him.

  As the rest of the band filed out of the room I was left alone wondering what in the hell had just happened.

  Chapter Four

  I’m Really Not That Important

  Mallory

  Please tell me that did not just happen. All of my well-intended plans had just been blown to smithereens on account of Blane Hamilton and his big mouth. Thoughts swirled through my head as I followed the subject of my ire down a long hallway. The further away from the conference room we were the angrier I became, which wasn’t good, as I tend to speak my mind when I’m angry. I didn’t care what Blane said, that was an ambush back there. And to think, I thought he was the heavy. When Kirkland Hamilton stepped in and emasculated his son I knew who held the real power. I had to give credit to Grant, though. The hurt on his face when he was pleading for someone to believe him almost got to me. I did agree with him on one thing, the lack of support from his bandmates was difficult to comprehend. The guy just got out of rehab. If there’s ever a time he needed his friends to rally around him, it was now. As we reached the doors at the end of the hallway Blane slowed down. I jerked to a stop behind him and waited for him to open the doors.

  He glanced back at me and smiled. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize Grant was going to act like such a juvenile.”

  His words stoked my smoldering anger to a full on blaze. “Are you kidding me? Of course he acted defensively. You ambushed him!”

  Surprise quickly morphed into contempt. “I would hardly call that an ambush.”

  “I certainly would. You told me we were going to a short meeting so you could introduce me to the band, did you not?”

  “I think you’re being a little dramatic, don’t you?” His dismissive tone infuriated me.

  “Dramatic? You just told that man back there that I was judge, jury and possible executioner of his career, Mr. Hamilton. In doing that you guaranteed that he will never trust me. This,” I pointed at my face, “is not drama, it is anger. You and your so-called management team may have just tanked this job for me.” I knew if I stayed one second longer I would say something I’d really regret, so without another word I turned on my heel and started the opposite direction down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  As far away from you as I can get, I thought. Directly past the conference room was a set of double doors. I pushed through them and discovered I was on the mezzanine level. Floor to ceiling windows opened onto a large balcony with outdoor seating. I tested the door to see if it would open and was relieved when it did. Anger and disgust rolled through me as I stormed over to a comfortable looking chair and plopped down on it. What do I do now? First I needed to calm down and get a grip. For the next fifteen minutes I stared out at the Houston skyline and reflected on what just happened. Blane was right, Grant didn’t want me there and I didn’t blame him one bit. I couldn’t get his words out of my head.

  “I’ve told you a thousand times I didn’t take the Oxy. Did you look at my medical records? Did you check with security to see who was in my hotel room that night? Did you investigate who spiked my fucking drink? You’re supposed to be on my side and yet not a single one of you believes me.”

  What if Grant was telling the truth? Did someone try to kill him? If so, why? Realizing I wasn’t going to get answers sitting here fuming about it, I focused on how to get Grant Hardy to trust me enough to talk to me. My job had just become exponentially more difficult thanks to Blane Kirkland and his big mouth.

  “Miss Scott?” someone called out. I turned and noticed a large African American man walking toward me. Based on the earpiece and gun I assumed he was security. As he approached me he placed his fingers on the earpiece and said, “We found her.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was missing,” I nervously joked. His stern expression made me swallow my smile.

  “My name is Marcel. I am part of Meltdown’s security team,” he announced.

  I stood and held out my hand. “Hi, Marcel, I’m Mallory Scott. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He gave my hand a quick squeeze and then released it. “I’ve been instructed to drive you over to t
he practice venue. Would you like to stop by your room, first?” His stiff demeanor was slightly disconcerting. Suddenly I felt bad for running. I’m sure the last thing this guy wanted to do was to chase me down.

  “I’m sorry, Marcel. My intention was not to make your job more difficult,” I explained.

  His expression slightly softened. “Would you like to visit your room?” he repeated.

  “I can just go back to my room and skip practice, if that’s easier,” I offered.

  “I’m sorry but that’s not an option,” he cut in.

  “Oh, well then, yes, I should probably grab my purse.” I started for the door and he placed a hand on my arm to stop me. I glanced down at his hand and he quickly removed it.

  “We run a tight ship here, Miss Scott. Security for an individual is vastly different than it is for a musical group. There are a lot of moving parts to keep up with which means there are rules and protocol we will need you to follow.”

  Lifting my eyes to his, I smiled. I wanted him to know I was a team player. “Okay, hit me with it,” I told him. His lip twitched with humor and I felt marginally better.

  “First of all, I lead and you follow. Second, you go nowhere without me or another member of the security team with you. Third, never, and I mean never, leave your room without letting someone know where you’re going.”

  “Wow, you do realize I’m not that important?” I half joked.

  “As long as you’re with us you are. You have no idea how many crazies are out there. For the next five months you are traveling with Meltdown. This makes you a part of the team. As a part of the team you will most likely be photographed and picked apart by the press and fans. This makes you a target. My job is to protect you and prevent anything bad from happening to you. I need you one hundred percent on board with this. Now, if you don’t mind, we should grab your things and be on our way. They’re expecting us. We won’t have a chance to return to the rooms until after the concert, so make sure you bring everything you need with you,” he warned.