“You can keep your salary.” I spit the words out, as I stood up. I might have been talking to Andrew, but I locked eyes with Eli. This wasn’t the label. This was all him and I knew it. Possibly even just between him and I. “Because if Devon’s not with Sinister Riot, neither am I.”
“I can’t fucking believe this.” Devon sat on the floor of the room he rented from Caleb, elbows on knees, head in his hands. I sat next to him, my hand on his arm. Like I was even capable of comforting anyone right now. “How can they kick me out of my own fucking band?”
“I’ll talk to the lawyer who looked over the original contract in the morning.” How I was going to pay him, now that we were both unemployed, was beyond me. “It can’t be legal.”
If I was right, it solved one problem. Devon would be back in the band. But how were they all going to work together? I didn’t know how Frankie, Mo, and Caleb were going to do it. Devon would want to kill Eli. I might have been jumping to conclusions, but something about this felt awfully personal. It was too much of a rash decision, changing the whole future of the band because of one show.
It wasn’t my problem anymore.
Devon picked his head up, his eyes so sad. “What if it is? What the hell am I going to do? This is all I know.”
I put my head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me. I needed to feel safe in this freefall, and I needed to be able to think clearly. It was a damn good question. Starting a band took time. He’d need to build the relationships, find people with the same vision and talent, and win the audience over one person at a time. Unless your name was Eli Jamison and you barged into an existing band to shit all over everything, there was no such thing as starting anywhere but on the ground floor.
“You start over.” Why did this feel like a death? “You did it once, you can do it again.”
“Abby, you know an opportunity like that comes once in a lifetime.” Did I ever. Devon sounded like he was starting to panic. Reality settled in, its gravity suffocating both of us. “I put everything into this band. Look around, this is all I’ve got.”
All he had was an air mattress, and some of those plastic bins with drawers to hold his stuff, and a TV. This was the first time he’d even had his own bedroom since Katrina. Even more heartbreaking, I knew he was proud of this, finally having something he could actually call his own. I held on to him, because there was no answer I could give him that wasn’t complete bullshit.
“And what about you? You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Devon’s fingers drew slow circles on my arm.
“You said that you never wanted to play a show where you couldn’t see me from the stage.” I looked up at him. “I don’t want to go to a Sinister Riot show when you’re not singing.”
“Maybe this is a good thing.” Devon’s face brightened. “Now we’re not answering to anyone for a paycheck, it’s back to the beginning, and we can do things on our terms. You know what you’re doing now.”
I scoffed. “Yeah. About that.”
“You don’t even realize what you did. That dick Andy might have approached you at the show, but I know if it was up to the guys, he would have lost interest in us long before he even listened to the demo. I’ve listened to you talk about the band. You make me want to listen to us, and it’s my band. Or was, anyway.” He smiled at his own joke. “The way you set up the contracts, and the studio time, and the tour. You know what you’re doing.”
“I never thought of it like that.” Maybe this could work. As soon as we figured out what this was. “It always felt like it was a team effort, that all of us were doing these things.”
“Because you kept our asses in line.” Devon kissed the top of my head. “It was all you.”
“You had a bad feeling about that contract from the start.” I shook my head. “Now I wish it was never offered to us. We’d be at practice, drinking beer and having a good time. Not writing a eulogy.”
“We’re not. It’s a declaration of independence.”
I wanted to be encouraged by Devon’s positive attitude, but I knew the first stage of grief was shock.
Screw beer, this was a job for whiskey. It flowed freely once the guys came back to the practice space. Devon didn’t answer his texts right away, insisting that he wasn’t in the band anymore, but when Caleb came up to the room to get us, we followed.
Eli’s absence filled the room.
“It won’t stick, Dev,” Mo insisted. “It’s stupid. I can’t believe they sent that asshole down here to make threats that they can’t possibly follow through on. I say you keep practicing like everything’s normal, and you’ll come to Chicago with us and play, like you’re supposed to.”
“Who’s going to stop you?” Frankie added. “If you play that show, it will blow the Rocklahoma set away, and the press will reflect that. That’s all they fucking care about, the press.” Frankie held his hands up.
“Good question.” Devon managed a smile. “It’s not like they can arrest me or anything.”
“Did you guys know about this?” I had planned on keeping as quiet I could, because this technically didn’t concern me anymore. But I felt like I’d been skinned alive.
“No,” Frankie said. “We wouldn’t have let him spring that on Dev.”
“Thanks. This fucking sucks.” Devon looked so lost. “So where’s the golden boy?”
“We didn’t invite him.” Mo sat behind his drum kit, sticks in hand, but kept looking at them like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Tonight doesn’t concern him.”
“Everything concerns him.” I jumped up off the amp that I always sat on, and paced because there really wasn’t anywhere to go. “Look what he’s done so far.”
“Are the two of you still together?” Frankie raised an eyebrow.
At first, I was confused, because now my relationship with Eli seemed like something that had happened to someone else, especially after tonight. I was just about to ask him how he knew about Devon and I, it was still so new we hadn’t said anything, but then it clicked. “No.”
I turned back and my eyes locked with Devon’s, a lightning bolt connecting us. When I looked back at the guys, their surprised expressions said what we didn’t need to.
Climbing back on the amp, I tried to act like nothing had changed. “I’m going to have the lawyer who looked at the original contract look at it again.” I steered attention away from us, sort of. “And see if the label has a leg to stand on.”
“You quit.” Frankie dismissed me. My mouth dropped. “Why do you even care?”
Had he not paying attention the last two years? He thought I quit because I didn’t care? “I quit because I wanted to stand up for what was right.” My whole body shook.
“No. You quit because your whole life revolves around Devon.” The room gasped, but he put up his hand to signal there was more. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Eli, but everything’s been fucked up since you started treating the band like your personal dating service.”
“What the fuck, Frank?” Devon stood up, and I flinched, expecting him to hit Frankie. I don’t think he’d ever hit anyone before, and now was not the time to start. Besides, I was pretty sure Frankie could take him. Instead, he got right in Frankie’s face, but didn’t strike. “Apologize to Abby.”
Frankie shrugged and shook his head just enough to make me feel even worse. When we talked in the parking lot, he’d been so understanding, but that was before the label came at the band with a semi-automatic weapon and didn’t care what causalities they caused. “She’s a hell of a manager, but I think we might be better off without her.”
“Frankie, you don’t mean that.” Mo came over and rubbed my back. “Abby’s just as much a part of this band as you are.”
I jumped off the amp. “Not anymore. He’s right. It was a mistake.” Calling it a mistake was harsh. Eli taught me a lot about myself, even if it things that I didn’t want to learn. “Maybe it’s best that I walk away.”
“This is how w
e’ll spin it.” Devon and I had moved back to my apartment, basically because we didn’t have to sit on the floor. We needed to get away from anything associated with the band so we could think clearly. We might have had to deal with my sister, but I just used her spitefulness as motivation to do better. “It’s a side project. We can still advertise that you’re from Sinister Riot, and it won’t be a lie.”
“And do what?” Devon’s optimism slipped as the night went on. “I’ve never played guitar onstage.” He used a battered acoustic guitar to help him find the melody when he wrote lyrics. Devon was a firm believer that a musician should write their own parts in a song, and had let Caleb handle everything with the guitar. It made the record company’s claim that he couldn’t hold his own sting that much more. There was no need for Devon to play on stage before, and with Eli in the picture, it would have been overkill.
Everything about Eli seemed to be overkill.
“But you could.”
“I could.” I thought he was going to bite right through his bottom lip. “I’ve just never thought of myself as that type of artist. I’ve never written anything acoustic before.”
Crawling toward him, I put my finger gently on his chin to make him relax. “You’re complicating this. You can do covers.”
“Covers?” His eyes grew wide. “I don’t want to make a living off of other people’s songs. It’s dishonest. It’s not art.”
This was not the time to be thinking about principles. Like I said before, they didn’t pay the rent. Right now, we were hunkered down in survival mode. We were both going to have to compromise in ways we never expected. “But you’d be doing them acoustic, and you can put your own spin on them.”
Devon shook his head, staring down something that wasn’t there. “Next you’ll say I can go on The Spotlight, like Eli.”
Just the mention of his name made me bristle. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was behind this. “I’ve called every bar in this city, more than once, trying to book you guys. And a majority of them won’t book bands that do their own material.” I sat back, still on his lap. His touch calmed me, and I hoped mine did the same for him.
“Stupid,” he muttered.
“I agree. But we can play their game.” I smiled, but he didn’t return it. “It’s a proven moneymaker. If you guys would have played other people’s songs, I could have negotiated double your rate. I’m sure I can still get that same amount just for you. You can pick songs that influenced you, give them a new spin, give people something different to listen to than the same tired bar covers. Make it almost a story teller type of thing. Super intimate, and people will think it’s a treat. Then, as you work on new material, you can add it to the list.”
“Okay.” He wasn’t entirely open to it, but it was better than a no.
“You’ll pull people who are into Sinister Riot, but you’ll reach a whole new base of people. This might be really good, no matter what happens.”
Devon had leaned back against the arm of the futon, and he reached up to pull me into his chest. I gasped as I fell. “You’re really good at this, you know that?”
I turned my face toward his, this close, we were going to have to finish this talk up in a hurry. “I hope you’re not the only one who thinks that.”
“What are you going to do, Abby?” He traced his finger along the outline of my jaw. “You’ve got me all figured out, but what about you?”
I shook my head. “I’ll get a job, I guess.” Something that would make me curse every sunrise. “Maybe I’ll hear from one of the record companies.”
“You know you’re my manager.” He kissed my hand. “But as much as you’re into this cover song idea, I don’t think it will support both of us. Like I’ve said all along, you should start your own label.”
“Maybe someday, I will. Now’s not the time.” It was getting harder to concentrate as he kissed each one of my fingers, the palm of my hand, the back of my hand, and then up my forearm. I’d thought maybe if Sinister Riot had broken out, after their contract was up, I could have taken them as my name client at a new label. It would have been something to build on. But now, that dream was getting trampled in a beer puddle on the floor of The Jezebel. Devon kept kissing me, made it about halfway up my arm before the angle made things too hard, but he still tried. “I’m not giving up, just because this didn’t work out.”
“If I’m still in Sinister Riot, you are still our manager. No one is going to tell us different.” Devon pulled me up so he could kiss my face. He was just as methodical: he kissed my forehead, then catching my closed eyelids when I sighed, working slowly down to my lips. Tonight we kissed with a different intensity than we had ever before. We’d only been doing this for about a week now, sure, but there was a hunger, a belonging that ebbed and flowed between us. It had always felt like us against the world, and tonight, we truly had nothing but each other.
Once we finished kissing, I lay quiet with my head against Devon’s chest, listening to his heart beat. Every so often, he jumped, drifting in and out of sleep. I sat up, but he wasn’t ready to move, he just rubbed his face. “You can’t sleep here.”
“Why?” He thought I was kicking him out.
“I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.” I pulled him up by the hand.
Devon’s body was floppy, in that place that wasn’t quite awake anymore. His head rested against my shoulder, settling back in. “Do you know how many nights I’ve spent on this futon?”
“Tonight isn’t one of them.” I stood up, and Devon fell over. Both of us laughed and I held out my hand. “Come on.”
He stared at it before he took it, but then stood up and followed me behind the curtain. I couldn’t even count how many times we’d slept in the same bed, but when I turned to face him, my whole body buzzed with uncertainty.
Sometimes, nothing felt different between us, until it led us to a place where nothing was familiar.
We were both still fully dressed. I’d worn my pleated skirt and a tank under my sleeveless denim jacket. I couldn’t sleep in that. I had to force myself to tear away from Devon. I knew he was thinking the same thing as I was. Usually that comforted me; tonight, it scared the hell out of me. “I’ll be right back.” I ducked away from him, and grabbed something to change in to.
I didn’t even breathe until I made to the bathroom. I went through the ritual of getting ready to bed, like this was any other night, and Devon was just here because he’d fought with his girlfriend. But now I was his girlfriend, and we definitely hadn’t been fighting. With each other, anyway.
Eli had pushed my limits, and it backfired. Devon had shown infinite patience with me. It left me in this strange place of wanting things I was afraid of.
I took off all my makeup, washed and moisturized my face, brushed and flossed my teeth, and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. Once I ran out of things to do, I leaned forward on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
Devon had already fallen asleep by the time I forced myself back into the bedroom. I always slept on the side of the bed closest the wall. My bed was up against the window, and I liked to feel the breeze against my skin as I drifted off. He’d folded his jeans and left them on top of my dresser, his shoes below them. I had to climb over him to get to my side, wobbly as I tried not to disturb him.
“I didn’t think you were coming back.” Of course no one could sleep through that. I folded myself down in front of Devon before I slid under the sheets.
“Sorry I woke you up.” I mirrored his expression, lying on my side, with my arm under my pillow.
Devon reached out with his free hand and traced the strap of my tank top, then ran his finger along the top of my blanket. I shivered. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.” My ponytail had slipped forward on my shoulder, and Devon wound his fingers around my hair.
“You caught me.” I smiled but couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Tell me what’s going on.” This was exactly why
everyone said not to get in a romantic relationship with your best friend. Who the hell did you go to for advice? It was a total conflict of interest. My best friend was without a doubt going to lobby on behalf on my boyfriend, and vice versa.
I took a deep breath. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?” Devon propped himself up. “Was there a spider in the bathroom again?”
“No, silly.” I pushed his shoulder. I worked up my courage. “Of this.”
“Why?” He wrinkled his nose, his eyes darting back and forth. “Are you talking about the band? It’s going to all work itself out.”
“No. Of us.” I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest. “Things are going to change and I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Oh.” Devon sat up and put his arms around me. “There’s absolutely no way you can mess that up. I guarantee that.”
I scoffed and looked out the window.
“You spent the night with Eli.” Instant bristle. Devon rubbed my back, trying to make the tension go away.
“I don’t want to talk about.” I needed to tell him. But I couldn’t say to what happened out loud. It hurt too much.
“Did he hurt you?” Now it was his turn to bristle. “Because I’ll kill him.”
“No.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally the wound may never heal. My head dropped to my knees.
“I still might kill him, just because.” Devon rested his lips against my hair. I turned into him and put my arms around him. Now we were back to the place that didn’t scare me. “I don’t know what the hell happened with that, and I’m not sure I want to, but I do know one thing. You call the shots, Abby.”
I decided to test Devon’s theory.
I couldn’t keep living in fear of rejection. It was killing me slowly, from the inside where no one could see the damage. On a professional level, I wore my game face every day, and I never missed a chance to sink my claws into any fight. I could handle someone saying no to my work. But on a personal level, I wrestled with showing someone, even Devon, my soul. Eli got a close-up look at it and walked away. He had shunned everything that made me Abby.
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