I cast a subtle look back at the table. I’ve seen that expression often enough. “She’ll wait.”
∞∞∞
Hey @JesseEverett99, saw this today and thought of you. #yourewelcome
Well, look at that. I stare at the photo of a “now hiring” sign in the window of a fast food restaurant. This one actually makes me chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Reece asks without looking away from the road. The other guys are asleep in the back. I was almost out too until my screen lit up.
“Nothing. Just more shit from Mila.”
He shoots me a glance. “Seriously? She’s still ripping on you?”
Doubt he sees my shrug in the dark. “Yeah.”
“Damn. That’s not right. Sorry, man.”
“Whatever. I’m over it.”
Enough to type back:
Thanks @MilaTaylorRocks. You get an employee bonus for referrals or something? Tell your boss I’m free for an interview.
4: BUZZ-CHASING
I wait five days to text Maria with the location of a local gig we’re playing. This one is bigger than the Englewood living room where we met and a venue we’ve hit a couple of times before. They also let us use our own audio equipment so we call our buddy Jay to run front of house for us.
“Been a minute, huh?” Jay says, approaching our trailer as we unload.
“Hey, man! Good to see you,” Parker replies. Hand-clasps and back-pounding all around before our guest asks what he can do.
“We’re still unloading but most of the audio stuff is inside if you want to start working on that,” I say.
“You got it. Anything I need to know? Now that you’re superstars and all.”
I huff a laugh. “Right. For about fifteen seconds. Nah same equipment as before, just a new IEM system.”
“Plus I run two guitars now,” Reece adds. Ah yes. That too.
“I’m using a seven-piece kit tonight,” Derrick calls over.
Jay salutes and grabs a couple cases on his way inside.
“Damn, I missed that guy,” Parkers says.
I smirk. “Yep. Another reason labels blow.”
“Tommie was fine.”
“Yeah, but he’s not Jay. I swear even by the end of the tour, the dude still didn’t get our music. The playbacks were brutal.”
Parker doesn’t bother arguing. We’d spent enough hours collectively lamenting the loss of Jay to make further defense impossible.
“Well, regardless, we’ve got him back and tonight will be epic,” he says.
Shiny dark hair and suggestive brown eyes flutter through my brain. Yeah, it just might be.
∞∞∞
The room is too big, too crowded for me to find her, but she finds me by pushing up against the stage. I add a targeted grin to the lyrics when I spot her during “Nothing I Want.” Definitely the wrong song for our visual reunion, but I’ll make it up to her after the show.
Her gaze locks on me, travels over my body with blood-pounding intensity. She stokes the surge of stage adrenaline already gusting through me. Her expression has us clawing each other at the after party. Or in our van. Or—honestly, I don’t give a damn. I’d follow this girl back to her dorm room if she insisted.
“Stop beggin’ for the hunt, babe. You’ve got nothing I want. Hey—
Keep checkin’ for clues, cuz I refuse your bait.
Just wait. Your games were a mistake. Hey—
Maybe your lies work on other guys but this one’s checking out.
You’ve got nothing I want.
Nothing, no, no, nothing I want.”
I love hitting the tag at the end with a sick run. Why? Because I can. Because it makes girls shiver and record execs shit themselves at the thought of what we could be if only we had their guidance. But right now, it just feels good to let go. Luke once told me the music always comes first, but even he never understood what that means to me. How dangerous it is to give it unchecked power. On stage though? In the heat of the lights and internal electricity pulsing through my bloodstream, music is everything. It’s infinite, transformative, and for a few minutes I do get lost. I not only believe Luke is right, but that I can actually live that motto. I can survive the music.
It’s after we’re packed up and I crash from that natural high that my dependent brain demands inferior replacements. I’m not naïve. I get it. I’m just too weak to fight on my own.
Will. Power.
What a messed-up combination of words when it’s a trait that can measure zero. Zeropower. That’s Jesse Everett.
∞∞∞
Party smart.
Maria’s plan seems harmless enough. The campus isn’t far and her roommate is away for the weekend. The topic of substances comes up, but that’s standard after-party small talk. I tell the guys where I’ll be and ignore Parker’s cautious uncle look.
“Almost there,” she purrs, curving bright red lips while tugging me through a maze of hallways. I’ve been to the Temple campus several times, and apparently, I misunderstood the plan. Her apartment is off university property.
The building is sketchy at best, and suddenly party smart becomes an obnoxious sign flashing in my head. Is it smart to follow a relative stranger back to an unknown location for an unknown activity? This is almost exactly what happened in Newark. But my willpower works best on shooting down red flags.
Exaggerated bass lines thump through the hallway long before we approach an open door crammed with drunken college students.
“This okay?” Maria shouts back to me, still gripping my hand.
I shrug and let her pull me through the human gate into every other college party I’ve been to. This is the kind of event where connections are made on a visceral level. It’s too loud for conversation, too dark for meaningful looks.
We fill plastic cups with vodka, and she drags me to the living room where couples are engaged in a wide range of interaction. Maria takes a healthy gulp of her drink and loops her arms around my neck. Her body rushes against mine, connecting us in all the right places. I adjust to swallow some of my own booze.
We get a few looks, but no obvious star-gazing. It’s dark, and honestly, I’m not big enough to be recognized out of context. It’s only happened a few times, at after-show bar breaks where fans expect to find us.
Now, though. I don’t know. Something feels off in this moment. Maria takes some serious liberties with my body for someone I’ve spoken thirty words to—not that a hot girl’s attention is something I’m against.
Her aggressive hands become aggressive kisses, and I’m wondering if she expects to get down to it right here. We wouldn’t be the only couple. I’m seriously considering it when she starts pushing us through the crowd and into a vacant bedroom.
“Is it weird that this room is empty?”
Her grin is all naughty rebel as she shoves me on the bed. “No. No one’s allowed back here.”
“And yet…”
“Except me.”
“Ah. And who are you, exactly?”
“I’m the girl you won’t forget.”
My eyes sift over her, reading clues, evaluating history. “Really. That’s some serious confidence.”
“Not confidence—a promise.”
“Hmm.” I flip her on her back so I can test those flimsy bra straps. “Show me.”
The satin fabric slides away to expose smooth skin that’s begging for a taste. Her soft moan—damn. She reaches for my shirt, and I help shrug it off. She tastes like a color. Strawberry-red. It’s been a while since I’ve tasted red.
“Wait, don’t you want to get high first?” she breathes against my neck, hands sliding down my chest. “I’m prepared.”
Blood competes with the bass pounding in my ears. “Huh?”
“It’s cool.” She shifts away and reaches for something.
“Nah, thanks though.”
I tug her back to the bed and take another hit of her skin instead. Deep, sweet. Maybe more like pomegranate red. I
ntoxicating.
“You sure? I got it just for you.”
I stiffen and notice the bag in her hand. She shakes it with a grin that carves into my stomach. Who is this girl again?
“Is that blow?”
“It’s legit, I swear.”
Right. I push up from the mattress. “Thanks, but I should probably take off.”
“Are you bailing?”
“I have an interview in the morning.”
“Seriously? You’re turning down sex and a good high?” She holds up the bag.
I reach for my shirt. “It’s not personal.”
“No? I thought you loved to party. Is it because my stuff isn’t good enough? Do you need something better? I can get whatever you want. You like oxy, right?” She’s sincerely asking me that question. The fuck?
“No, it’s because I don’t know who the hell you are and I’m not a fucking junkie.” Thankfully, the door is well-within reach.
“Jesse, wait!” I study her hand on my arm before meeting those lying eyes. “I’m sorry. Just, don’t go.”
“What is this? You a dealer or something? A cop?”
She seems too shocked to be either. “No, of course not. I just thought…”
“You thought what? Go ahead. Finish your thought.”
She quiets with the look I’ve seen too many times.
“Don’t believe everything you read,” I say, and leave her alone with her “bait.”
∞∞∞
“You’re home.”
Parker’s a freaking detective tonight.
“Yep. That okay?” I pull open the fridge and search for a beer.
“Of course. Just didn’t expect you when you left with that hottie from the show.”
“Yeah, well, that hottie wasn’t actually interested in me.”
“What? She was all over you.”
“She was a buzz-chaser. Not even a good one.”
“Ah… Sorry, dude.”
“Whatever. What are you working on?”
“Englewood wants us back.”
“Oh yeah? Can we bring Jay this time?” Irritated Accountant look again. “What? It’s a legit ask if they want us back.”
“Maybe we should be grateful someone even wants us.”
“What about the killer lawn party and bowling alley we booked?” He typically doesn’t find me as funny as I do.
“Asshole. How’s that new song coming?”
“I’m thinking key of B.”
“And?”
“That’s as far as I got.” Apparently, that’s not funny either.
“Not a great pitch, Jess. ‘Our new track will be in B.’”
“Or not. Can’t nail down the key until it’s written.”
“‘Our new track could be in B.’”
“Ocean Ceiling is still up for grabs.”
“Pass.”
My phone buzzes, and I glance down.
Have you seen the new ranch-flavored kitten brains @JesseEverett99? Delicious. #soworththecalories
Unbelievable. Parker is back to his laptop and misses my glare.
Wow @MilaTaylorrocks. Hope you have a gym membership. #dotheycomeinbulk
“I’m gonna go write.”
Parker’s skepticism turns to approval when he sees my face. “Good.”
5: NOT WORTH THE PAIN
I didn’t get far last night before crashing. The music knows I’m a fraud and doesn’t appreciate when I rebel. I crawl toward consciousness to find a text from Maria that doesn’t help either. She’s sorry and wants to see me again. I’m not surprised, but it’s also not the first time someone’s treated me like shit because they thought they knew me from the tabloids. I ignore her plea and reach for my guitar instead.
Last night’s scribbles are crap. Garage band lyrics, not a stadium masterpiece. The key of B is a hard no. D might work if I had words that didn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out. I need to own Mila Taylor with this one.
What a joke. Own her ridicule maybe. I rip the page out and hurl it on the floor.
Minutes become hours. I only know this from the periodic interruptions that are getting harder and harder to ignore. The pile of lyrical trash on my floor is now a full-on monument to my failure.
I flinch at the latest thump on my door. “Hey, man, you eating today?” Reece this time. Do they have a Bother Jesse Schedule?
“Nah. Hey what do you think of this?” I play the progression I’ve been working on, the last branch of hope for this wasted effort. His face echoes my thoughts. “Yeah. It’s shit, right?”
“No. It’s just…”
“Shit.”
“Average.”
Which is worse than shit.
“But it could still work!” he rushes out. “I mean—”
He quiets at my glare. “Don’t.” I tear the page out and add it to the pile. The music is laughing. Fucking cackling in the shadows at my pathetic attempts.
“You’ve been at it for a while. Come take a break.”
I hear him, but I’m too busy slamming new words into the paper. My pen works mainly in protest because it’s only transcribing incoherent thoughts at this point.
Swing, fling, ring.
I read through the new lyrics that blow even more than the last ones. I don’t know when Reece gives up, but I’m alone when I finally check the door.
Cling. Sling.
I press my palms against my eyes.
Bring. Wing.
Been, wind, sin. Stars glisten behind my lids. I push harder. Drink, sink, think.
Sin. Sin, sin, sin.
“Fuck!” This time it’s the entire notebook that flies across the room.
I thread my hands through my hair and pull. Who the hell am I kidding? Maybe they’re right about me. I’m no genius. I’m a pretender who got lucky.
Overrated. Talent-wasted.
I reach for the bottle tucked between my bed and the wall. It’s emptier than I remember and not nearly enough to get me through the day. I don’t even want to think about surviving the night.
I call Natasha. I need my ocean ceiling back.
∞∞∞
Click. Click, click, click.
I squint toward the annoying tick and try to swat it away. It only intensifies into voices. Fingers. The clicking becomes fire on my face. And again. A third time until finally, images materialize in the darkness.
“He’s waking up.”
“Jess, hey.” Another sting, and I mutter a curse.
“What the hell?” I try to push myself higher, but my limbs rebel.
“I knew we should’ve made him take a break. You know how he gets.”
Damn hypocrites. They beg me to write, then freak out when I commit.
“Yeah, but he seemed good Saturday night.”
Saturday night?
“What time is it?” I groan.
“You mean what day is it?”
I’m starting to sober up enough to read emotion, and Parker is concerned. Also pissed. A few more seconds and it becomes pissed-concern.
“I just needed to take a break.”
“Well, you fucking got one. Almost eighteen hours, dude. You were moving and mumbling crap, which is the only reason you’re not in the hospital.” Now, he’s just pissed.
“Thanks for being patient, man.”
“Patient? Fuck you, Jesse! This has to stop!”
What’s the word for beyond pissed? My brain isn’t working yet. Fortunately, the other guys retreated from the inevitable brother fight once they confirmed I’m alive.
“Sorry. Must have been a bad mix.”
“No, you know who’s sorry? I am. This is my fault.”
A most insincere confession if ever I heard one.
“Yes, that’s right. I blame myself. I never should have asked you to be the person you could be. The person we need! Because I get it now. You can’t be that person without fucking yourself up, can you? You can’t separate the art from your wounds. The magic is in the darkness, your
fucking ocean ceilings, so what are we supposed to do? What do we do with that, Jess?”
I can’t tell if the numbness is from the substances still assaulting my nerves or my brother’s explosion of truth. Mostly, I’m surprised he’s only figuring this out now. I thought it was pretty obvious I’m destined for a tragic end since the day I was born. I don’t live—I function. And create. If I can’t create, I stop functioning. It’s an impossible cycle and a battle I’ve been losing for as long as I can remember. His fists clench as if he wants to melt them into my face. I wouldn’t mind a good blow or two to wake me up.
“I’m not worth the pain, brother.” I push the conclusion of his truth into the silence, immobile as my words soak the air around us. His fiery eyes train on me, then soften. It’s a long look, filled with history and two lifetimes of pain.
“It doesn’t even matter if that’s true. Don’t you get that?” His expression is laced with too much for my foggy head to interpret. “You’re my brother. You’re all I have. I don’t get a choice, so fuck you for choosing this for me.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. I’m still breathing today. That’s where his standard is now.
It’s the worst possible moment for my phone to buzz.
Hiya Burger Prince,
Loving the tour schedule on your website. You got many birthday parties in there? You might as well offer a pizza and drink package to take advantage of the upsell.
xo
MT
*
Hey Mila,
Fuck you.
J
*
You wouldn’t know what to do with me.
MT
I could block the address. I should block it. But if I did that, who would be around to remind me of the truth everyone else seems too fucking scared to admit?
6: REGRETS
The guys manage to get me out of bed for our next date. When we pull up to an old mansion straight out of a Poe story, maybe I’m even looking forward to this one.
“Dude! Check this place out.” Derrick is excited. No surprise there, but then, he might be onto something. Shimmering tiles checker old stone walls. The gothic-looking building even has a mossy cape cascading down its left side. Legit turrets jut from the roof and have me squinting through cloudy glass in search of a princess or something.
Limelight Page 3