Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
An assistant appeared in the doorway and announced the fifteen-minute warning.
“I should get ready.”
“Good luck!”
She’d headed back to the girls when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I should turn the damn thing off. Just what I needed was random vibrations in my pocket while I was onstage. Super professional, West.
I went to switch it off and saw Dad appear on the screen. I ground my teeth together. Whitt’s words were in my ear, saying that Dad wanted to congratulate me. That I should give him a chance. But damn, how many chances did he deserve? He’d messed up so many times that I wasn’t sure I could count that high. Time and time again, all he had done was screw everything up.
And yet, when I saw him calling fifteen minutes before I went onstage for the biggest show of my life, all I could think about was Dad giving me my first guitar. Mom had gotten me into keys at only five. I took to it like a swimmer to water. But Dad got me a guitar and paid for the lessons when he saw how fast I’d picked it up on my own. He paid for all the lessons. Whenever a new instrument interested me, he didn’t ask, What about the guitar I got you? or, Are you still playing the saxophone? He’d handed over the money and listened to me play when he was in town.
We had a fraught, complicated relationship. Despite giving me the instruments, I knew that he didn’t think music was a real career. Plus, he had spent more time with his “real” family in Vancouver than our fledgling family he’d hidden in Seattle. Jordan and Julian got the best of him while the rest of us got the scraps. But I’d clung to those scraps for so long that it was hard to completely ignore that call when I was already nervous and wanted to hear my dad’s words of wisdom.
“Hello?” I said when I answered the phone.
“West,” my dad said with relief in his voice.
“Hey, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m about to go on.”
“I know. Whitt told me about the performance. I’m so proud of you.”
I choked on my words. “Thanks.”
“I have the TV on already. I’m going to watch.”
And it was so difficult to keep it together. Because all I’d ever wanted was my father’s approval until I realized too late that none of it fucking mattered. He wasn’t the person I’d thought he was. He’d never be the person I most looked up to in the world. He’d wrecked it all.
Still, that warred with everything I’d wanted for so many years. A conflicting melee in my brain that was probably the last thing I needed before I went onstage.
“Okay…I have to go.”
“Call me some other time. I just want to talk.”
He never just wanted to talk.
“Maybe,” I said uncertainly.
“I’m not the monster you’ve made me out to be.”
“I thought you were a god,” I ground out. “You made yourself into a monster.”
And then I remembered all too well why I shouldn’t have fucking answered. There was always an angle. Always a saint complex.
“West,” he said softly.
But I hung up. I didn’t need any more of that in my brain.
Campbell was beckoning me over when I got off the phone. “Ten minutes. You set?”
I must have still been vibrating with anger. Anger at my dad and myself. I should have known better. I had known better, and I had done it anyway.
I clenched my hands into fists and nodded. “Sure.”
Campbell looked unconvinced, but we didn’t have time. “All right. Let’s get into position. We’ll be announced, and then let’s kill it.”
Santi shrugged his shoulders back and bounced from foot to foot. “I’m fucking ready.”
Viv popped a bubble in her gum. “Hell yeah.”
Yorke grunted. Typical.
“Remember, ‘Rooftop Nights’ is already the number one song in the world,” he said with a wicked grin. “We just have to prove to them why.”
That thought only spiked my anxiety. I still couldn’t believe that a song that I’d worked on was number one in the world. It was normal for Cosmere to have that sort of success, but this was the first song I’d ever worked on that had done anything. And now, I had to prove why I was out there, playing keys for the band instead of Michael. No pressure.
Campbell hit my shoulder again. “Wright, it’s going to be fun.”
I released my fists, trying to force in some calm. “Fun, right.”
Santi laughed. “It’s his first big show, Campbell Soup. Give him a break. You practically pissed yourself at our first big show.”
“I did not,” Campbell growled.
Viv blew another bubble. “Close enough.”
Yorke tipped his head at me. “You’ll be fine.”
And from Yorke, that was real encouragement.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t have you out there with us if you weren’t the shit, hombre,” Santi said.