Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
And I let it go. For so long, I did. Sean and I both felt unbelievably grateful for being plucked out of hell and thrust onto a black altar draped in dark satin with pyrotechnics going off behind us. It felt like a dream come true, which is why it was the stage setup for our first big tour.
And it was a dream . . . until AMM wanted to change my lyrics into something more mass-marketable. Until they wanted to rewrite Sean’s music, adding basic guitar riffs anyone can play while taking out the dramatic and complex drum solos Sean is exceptional at. Until they started stirring the pot clockwise and counterclockwise to see what would create drama they could monopolize on, creating an army of fans that rally for me, Sean, or Trent but never all of us. AMM is corrupting us, and I won’t stand for it, even if Sean doesn’t see the problem.
And that’s why I’m ruining us.
“What do you want to do, then?” Sean barks. “We signed away our fucking souls. There’s no take-backsies.”
“What if there is, though?” I try for the millionth time. “We don’t need AMM. We could hire a lawyer—a good one this time—and get out of the contract. Do it on our own, or find another label that’s not bleeding us dry and forcing us to turn on each other.”
“Whatever.” Sean waves a hand, dismissing the idea outright.
“We could do it. We could even fight back against AMM if you want to stay with them,” I concede, though the offer is bitter on my tongue. “Together, we can do anything.”
I truly believe that.
That might be the crux of the issue. Somewhere along the way, I started to feel worth something. Having people listen to my music and sing along, seeing what they write online about it, and watching as they show up to concerts has slowly led to me feeling like I’m not completely worthless. As much as I hate people and as nervous as they make me when I’m onstage, their acceptance of Midnight Destruction gave me a confidence I’d never had before.
For some reason, Sean hasn’t grown the same way. He’s still happily settling for trash scraps like they’re champagne and caviar.
Not that I want that fancy shit. But a little trust from AMM, some freedom to grow musically, and a fair cut seems reasonable.
“You’ve seen what I’ve been writing,” I add, trying a new tactic. “You know it’s good, because you’ve been sending back tunes in record time. It’s the best we’ve ever written.”
Sean grunts, agreeing with me but not giving in because he wants to see where I’m going with this. I’m not even sure I know where I’m going.
I want to convince him to fight with me against AMM, but there’s something more pressing. Something I should’ve already done.
“It’s her. It’s Hope. She’s the inspiration. I’m going to tell her.”
He knows instantly what I’m talking about and surges up from the couch, pointing a thick, tattooed finger at me. “No. The. Fuck. You’re not. She’s the inspiration? Fine. Use that, write songs or the whole damn album for all I care. But you don’t get to risk everything for all of us because of some pussy.”
His breath is jagged, like he can feel our record deal slipping out of his hands right this moment.
But it won’t come to that.
“You can trust her. I do.”
“You just met her!” he roars.
I stand up, too, but the coffee table isn’t the only thing separating us. There are metaphorical miles between us.
“I know, but she’s special, Sean,” I tell him evenly, quietly, trying to get past his fear and anger to reach my brother inside. He’s not one of those rough-exterior-ooey-gooey-interior types. His insides are just as prickly, venomous, and acerbic as his outside. He’s only got one teeny-tiny weak spot . . . me, and even that’s the size and softness of a ball bearing. “She left her fiancé and is discovering how amazing she is, and I’m watching her come to life right before my eyes. I’ve told her about you and about growing up, and she’s—” Words are my livelihood, but I can’t find a single one that encompasses what Hope means to me.
Or at least not one I’m going to say to Sean before I say it to Hope.
It doesn’t matter, though, because he cuts me off, sneering, “Broken. She’s fucking broken after some shitty relationship, and you’re riding in to save the day like always, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, scoffing bitterly, “When are you gonna learn, man? You’d think after trying to fix your mom so many damn times, you would’ve, but nope, here we go again—”
Consequences be damned.
I grunt with effort as I throw a punch, aiming right for Sean’s jaw. But he’s too good and knew exactly what buttons he was pushing, so he’s ready for it. He blocks my haymaker with one arm and shoves my shoulder with the other, the hard push setting me back a step.