“Can you do it?”
“Yeah, I mean it’s just recording with them and then one gig,” he confirms what Jacob told him earlier over the phone. Porter couldn’t come right away. His work hours are from eight to four and as sweet as playing guitar sounded, he had to finish his day. “If we can tackle the recordings after work, it’s doable.”
“Then we’re sure about it.” I wiggle the handle after knocking a couple of times and open the door. “You have to sign a contract with us and then I’ll walk with you to Jacob’s office.”
“Hey, Pops.” Pria smiles at me as I enter, her dark eyes remaining cautious as Porter comes inside. “Jacob mentioned PR representation, but I don’t think it’s necessary. It’s only one concert. What do you think?”
“Pria, let me introduce you to Porter. Porter, this is Pria Colthurst-Decker. The boss of the entire recording studio.” I laugh. Because Jacob might be in charge, but Pria is the one that ends up calling the shots when it comes to the fine print. “She also owns a PR company that represents most of the artists that work for us.”
“Porter Kendrick,” he introduces himself extending his hand. “I’m here to play one gig; I don’t think it’s necessary to sign any paperwork. I play, you transfer the money you decide to pay me to an account number I give you, and I head back to my simple life.” He pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to Pria.
“Mackenzie Brooke?” Pria’s eyebrow shoots up and looks at him. “My adorable sisters like to say that I have orderly issues. This company has procedures and we follow them. Unless she’s your agent and she’s here to sign your contract, I won’t send her the money.” She pushes her contract and the piece of paper that he handed her. “You sign on the dotted line, I pay you when you fulfill it and what you do next is up to you.” She taps on the bottom line. “Our facility is drug, alcohol, and tobacco free. No exceptions.”
He signs and we leave the room after saying goodbye to her.
“How many artists did you lose with these rules?” Porter is reading the copy of the contract that she gave him.
“Lose? None, they changed the concept of the studio—Jacob and Pria. We’re a hybrid label now,” I explain to him. “With the bands that used to get high here, they simply refused to renew their contracts. We lease the studio to bands, other labels, and do the same with the studio down in the compound. When they sign the lease, they are aware of our policies; if they party, we kick them out and keep their money. Everyone stays clean during their sessions. Same goes during concerts.” I laugh because when Pria began this movement I thought it wouldn’t stick, but like everything she does, she made it happen.
“I wish you had that when I started.” He shrugs. “Or that I would’ve let you babysit me, as you did with MJ and JC when they began.”
“Me too,” I address my regret. “Who hooked you?”
“Archer, from Paranoia.” He lets out a loud breath. “A joint laced with cocaine. I wasn’t mature enough to be by myself in an adult world.”
Fuck, my chest constricts because he toured with them so early in the game. Porter started the shit way before I thought. We failed him in some ways.
We arrived at Chris’ office, but the one sitting behind the desk is Jacob. His eyes narrow as I enter, looking at his father and then back at me.
“Play nice,” Chris warns him. “I’m heading home to help Matt and Gabe with the rugrats. AJ said that we’re having dinner at Matt’s tonight.”
“Tell my boys I’ll be there as soon as I’m done,” Jacob says, then his attention goes back to me. “Take a seat.”
“Thank you for letting me play,” I start the conversation because I know that he’d rather have me in jail, or at the bottom of the sea.
After I read the contract, I’m reminded of how sweet it is to be at the top tier of show biz. For my services as a guitarist and vocalist, I’m being paid three-hundred dollars an hour with a limit of fifty hours. That’s about fifteen thousand in less than a week. There is so much Mac can do with that money, which is the only reason I agreed to do this.
“I’m doing this for my parents, not for you,” he says, clearing his throat. His closed fists are ready to strike. “Camelot will get a lot of exposure by having you as a special guest. A plus for us. Personally, I’d rather send you back to where you’ve been for the past few years. You read the contract, you break it, and I kick you out without a penny. This is a one-time deal; don’t expect another call from me.”
I lift my hands shaking my head. “Since my last stint in rehab I’ve been clean and I assure you I work hard to stay that way every day. A part of myself doesn’t want to go back on a stage. But the other . . . Music is my life, playing; composing is ingrained in my heart. A call might be appreciated because I need the money.” I pull my phone out and show Jacob a picture of my boy. “His name is Finn, and he needs a lot of medical testing. I’m helping his mom with the expenses. This check is going to help, and any other gig you can throw my way would be welcome. If you can’t, that’s cool too.”
“You have a kid?” He frowns.
I shake my head, explaining who Finn is, as well as Mac and Harper. At the end, I realized that I unloaded my love life to him. Jacob turns to look at his monitor after I’m done and then at a frame on his left and smiles.
“AJ could—” He shakes his head, but I know what he was about to suggest. AJ could help Finn. I’m aware of that, from the moment I met him. I’ve known that she could give me a hand, but I don’t know if that’s something I can ask her for. “We can always use talented fill-ins; I’ll have Pria put your name on top of the guitarist and vocalist list. Email Pria your availability.”
I nod, thankful that he’s willing to find more gigs for me so I can help Mac.
“Porter, don’t fuck up again. My parents . . . they love you like a son. Please, don’t break their hearts.” He rises from his seat and walks to the door. “Let’s go, I want this to be ready for editing by Friday.”
Mac,
Tomorrow I play live with Camelot. They’re a new band who releases their first album next Tuesday. I’m their featured singer while they replace the old one who is recovering from jaw surgery and won’t be able to sing for the next six months. Kids, the stupid shit you get into when you don’t know better.
Harper emailed me yesterday morning telling me about Molly. I texted you about it, but I haven’t heard from you. Do you need me there? I understand that it’s just the flu, but you having to do everything alone worries me. Please text me or I’ll be driving down tonight. How is Finn, any news?
Love,
Porter
Mac: Molly is fine, you don’t have to drive and miss your concert.
Porter: Thank you for texting me.
Mac: How are things with your family?
Porter: Better than I thought they would be. It’ll be a slow process to regain their trust. It’s hard to see past everything I did to them and forgive me. They might not fully trust me now, but one day I hope to be a part of their family in some way.
Mac: I’m happy for you.
Porter: How are you?
Mac: Doing well, thanks. Working, taking Finn to therapy. Thank you for helping.
Porter: Is he talking yet?
Mac: No. He misses you though, every afternoon he sits on the couch and pretends to play his guitar.
Porter: I miss him too. No, I miss all three of you. Thank you for responding. It was great talking to you.
Mac: Take care.
“Look, I don’t want to fire you,” Tristan lets out a loud breath. “But I have to.”
That’s a low blow. Fired. He was fucking paying me to go to school and his salary covered my rent and food. Now I have to worry about the essentials. I regret sending the wire transfer to Mac earlier today. Maybe I should’ve kept a little for myself.
“Jacob said he’d take care of you,” Tristan continues. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t have a line full of groupies by your desk when they’re supposed to
be working. Dude, one of my managers asked you to sign her boob. That’s against so many HR policies within the company.” He laughs, finding some humor at my expense. Does he think I enjoyed having that woman flash me for an autograph? Man, that was embarrassing. “Pria wants you to head to her office; she needs you to sign a contract.”
“I don’t have any money to pay for her services,” I remind him I’m unemployed.
“They know what’s going on, Porter. None of us thought about the aftereffects of you taking the stage.”
Me either. My old music is playing again in full rotation. There are rumors about my comeback, which won’t happen. Reports about what happened to me are coming out from multiple sources. There’s a fucking rumor that I was exploited by the Deckers—and abused. That pissed me off. When it came out, I called Chris, who assured me that it was handled by Matt’s people. I have no fucking idea who his people are and what they handle. I just hope that none of these rumors coming out touches them—Mac, and her children. Maybe moving out of Portland was a bad idea. With that in mind, I text Mason.
Kendrick: Are your men still watching my ass?
Mason: No, they’re now body guarding your ass. Fuck, we forgot how you drew an audience. Are you still at Tristan’s?
Kendrick: About to leave.
Mason: Take the private elevator; they’re picking you two up. There’s a small mob outside the building.
Kendrick: No wonder he fired me. Then what, any plans on how to get rid of them?
Mason: Then you’re heading Decker Records. We’re all meeting you there. Matt is spreading the rumor that you’re taking a plane to L. A., the pictures are circulating right now.
Kendrick: Will this touch anyone I know?
Mason: Not sure, Kendrick. We’ll meet soon and discuss further steps to prevent that.
I lift my gaze and notice Tristan is also texting. When he’s done, he lets out a deep breath. “Deckers, never a dull moment. Let’s go. We have a meeting.”
The meeting isn’t at the recording company; it’s at Transcending, the movie production company, inside one of the big conference rooms. Chris, Gabe, Matthew, Jacob, Mason, and Tristan are here. Pria and Arthur Bradley are on the phone working remotely for the day.
“That’s your contract with The Image Studio.” Jacob pushes a paper in front of me as Pria explains. “You’re hiring us as your PR company. I’ll change your image if necessary and will make you look good. However, I never lie. If you have too many skeletons in your closet, please disclose them. That gives me an advantage over the press. I can bend the information to your advantage before it hits the media.”
Jacob nods his head. “Trust her, she’s good.”
“Fill out the questionnaire that’s attached to the contract, I need it today,” Pria adds. “Give the papers to Jacob once you’re done.”
I slam my head on top of the table, covering my head with both hands. Fuck. It’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with this media circus. Did I ever enjoy it?
“It’s temporary, Porter; we’re all here for you.” Chris pats my back. “If I had known that putting you up there would create this kind of chaos, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Did anyone listen to me?” Gabe asks. “No one asked. He was big and he was a mega-star. I’m surprised this circus isn’t bigger.”
“Thought you let everyone think I was a deadbeat junkie,” I shout out, lifting my head, looking at Jacob. “Shouldn’t they hate me?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “You think he let us really do anything to hurt you?” He points at Chris. “We spread a small rumor that you weren’t welcomed back, but that’s as far as we got. Other than the old OD and your man-whore ways, nothing else was released. You sold a ton of albums, the music that you played was popular. Chicks dug you. You’re back and they think they can have a piece of you.”
“The rumors that were spreading are slowly being replaced by other celebrities’ news. Soon you’ll stop trending,” Matthew continues. “But, think about the place you’re at. This is your chance to revive your career; we’d make a killing.”
“We?” Jacob frowns at him. “I discovered him.”
“No. That’s not the life I want to go back to again,” I interrupt them. “The late nights, the people surrounding me thinking they love me but have no fucking idea who I am. Playing is awesome; dealing with the things that come with it is rough for me.”
Fuck. My hands shake and every despicable thing I’ve done is coming back.
“Getting a job is going to be hard,” Tristan pipes up. “You’re going to be looked at as the famous singer, not for your qualifications or hard work. I suggest you search for something in showbiz.”
“There was a lot of fucking destructive shit that I went through when I was on top of the world. If only I could do what I love without having to set a foot on a stage. Music is what matters; I’d like to pursue it by writing or teaching. Not playing it or performing.”
That might not even be a possibility, composing for other artists. Would Chris let me work at the record company? I stare at my wrists, trying to find some peace. When I look around the room, I realize everyone is looking at my wrists. Mason’s red face and the vein pulsating in his neck is scaring the shit out of me.
“They’re not what you think,” I clarify. First lifting James. “This one is to remember James.” Then I lift AJ’s, “When I had it tattooed it was to remember her, now it’s to remind me of the guy she once thought I was. To keep me grounded. Do I love her? Yeah, she was my first love and the first person who cared for me. She’ll always have a place in my heart, but I am not in love with her. That’s over, I swear.”
Mason nods. “We’re not kicking you out, but since things are working out with Chris and Gabe maybe you can go back to Portland and figure out your life there?”
I shake my head.
“No, he can’t,” Gabe speaks for me, “and he doesn’t have to.”
Chris says no, too. He knows why I had to move here and why I can’t go back. “He needs family, Mase. He’s our kid too.”
The chaos happening doesn’t feel as heavy after what Chris said. I’m their kid.
Mason’s jaw clenches, but he nods in understanding. His attention turns to his buzzing phone. His features harden as he reads and taps back a reply, repeating the process several times, but he remains quiet.
“Do you have music that you can sell to JAMs’—the triplets company?” Pria asks over the speaker.
“Yeah,” I answer, remembering the business that Jacob, AJ, and Matthew started back in college. They wrote and sold the music to Decker Records or different artists.
“Here’s the story,” Pria interrupts. “He’s back at Decker’s as an executive producer and composer, breaking his hiatus. He’ll be teaching at the academy and working with the foundation.”
Jacob and Matthew shake their heads.
“Erase the academy,” Matthew opposes. “No way is he getting near the sis.”
“She proposed it, Decker.” Mason cracks his neck giving me a look between I hate you and fuck up and I’ll kill you. “The three little sisters are weaving this plan.”
Matthew looks at his phone, presses his lips together, and shows it to Tristan who smiles at what he sees.
“Yes we are. Now let’s finish this before naptime is over. Your relationship with the Deckers is simple,” Pria continues. “They’re your foster parents and there’s nothing but love and respect between the family and you. Now if you excuse us, we have five little ones who are expecting our full attention.”
“Anything else we need to address?” Jacob asks. We all agreed that there’s nothing else to cover. “Do we need to check on Mac or the kids?”
“I don’t know,” I breathe out. “Fuck, I haven’t called them to check if they’re okay.”
“The neighbor’s next door?” Mason asks and I nod.
“I’m close by,” Arthur Bradley, who’s been silent during the entire conversatio
n, speaks up. “I’ll survey the area and make sure everyone is alright. After I find out, I’ll give you a call.”
“Welcome, Mr. Kendrick,” my new doctor greets me. “Are you sure you’re okay with me being your doctor?” Her sweet smile is an invitation to follow her inside her office. She gives off a casual vibe in her dark slacks and knitted sweater. Her violet eyes crinkle so similarly to Matt’s when he smiles.
I lower myself on the couch and nod. “Yes, Chris gave me the list of counselors and, from it, you’re the only one who focuses on addictions other than him, but he’s like my father.”
Thea Bradley-Decker nods, grabs a notepad from the top of her desk, and takes a seat in the chair across from me. “We’re bound by patient-doctor confidentiality unless you become a danger to yourself or others. Nothing you say leaves the office. Now, what would you like to talk about today? We can start by getting to know each other, or you can tell me what’s going on with you, the floor is yours.”
I scratch my earlobe thinking about what I want to discuss with her. Every therapist has a different approach, but all of them have one thing in common: they want their patient to rehash their past. At least that’s how I felt during each session I had in the past. But with her, there’s something that makes me feel at ease.
Maybe she already knows most of what happened to me. She’s married to the family. There’s no way they didn’t tell her anything. But maybe she needs my version. The other side of the story. A play-by-play of what I remember and what I lived through. What made me who I am today. I start with my parents dying and living with my grandparents; barely remembering everything in between until I met the Deckers. I don’t go into detail knowing that I only have an hour to talk.
“I lived with them for four years,” I shorten the version to only a few words. “Fell in love with AJ and things went from sweet to fucked up. The last time I snorted cocaine was with some dude I swore was a dealer. He ended up being part of a cartel.”
Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) Page 17