Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“T, I’ve known you since before kindergarten, when you literally wrote your name on every fucking thing you owned. You even asked for a label-maker for Christmas one year. It looked like a glue gun, but Mr. Marston thought it was a BB gun, and you got sent to the principal’s office. You were fucking devastated. Do you want me to keep going?” I sighed.
Tegan narrowed his eyes. “Impressive. That was almost twenty-five years ago.”
“I know.” I looked away for a second. “Look, I’m not going to steal anything. I just want my amp back.”
“Hmph. It seems a little suspicious to catch you sneaking into our studio to—”
“For fuck’s sake! The door was open, asshole. This isn’t a big deal. Why are you making it into one?” I held up a hand. “Wait. Because you make everything into a big fucking deal.”
He gaped at me and just before his lips curled into an intimidating snarl, I could have sworn I saw a flash of desire in his eyes. Then again, it was gone so quickly, I probably imagined it.
Tegan pointed at his chest. “Me? I make things into a big deal? Really?”
Was that a trick question? This guy was the king of holding grudges. He could barely string together a sentence without looking at me like he wanted to break my neck. And yeah, maybe I’d given him a few reasons to hate me over the years, but were we really going to open that wound now?
“What’s happening here? I’m looking for my fucking amp. What are you looking for?”
He didn’t respond right away. After a long moment, he pursed his lips and shrugged. “Nothin’. Sorry. I haven’t had enough coffee.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise but held my tongue. Did Tegan actually say the word “sorry” to me? Damn, he must be out of it.
“Me either. Why are you here so early?” I asked, pushing the amp into the hallway.
“I couldn’t sleep.” Tegan picked it up like a sack of flour and strode into Jealousy’s studio. He set it near the row of guitars, then brushed his hands off as he gave the room a thorough once-over. “What about you?”
“Same. I had a song buzzing in my head, and I’m freaking out about Cade.”
Jealousy’s drummer broke both of his wrists in a surfing accident over the weekend. The early prognosis was that he would be out of commission for up to eight weeks. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Our debut album was coming out in January, just before our scheduled tour with Zero. All exciting stuff…except now I was down a drummer. Not good.
And on top of everything, I’d just finished a song that was perfect for the new album. According to Charlie, if we recorded it within a week, we’d be fine. But the only way to do that now would be with a studio musician. The best ones were booked well in advance, and they were outside of Scratch’s budget. I’d already personally funded thousands of dollars to get Jealousy up and running. It probably wasn’t wise to go further into debt over a fledgling venture. The obvious answer was to save the track for the next album.
The problem was…I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was my last chance to make my dream a reality, and I didn’t want to hold anything back.
I played guitar and sang lead vocals in my own band. Oh yeah, and I wrote the lyrics to every damn song. Sure, there were three other members. This wasn’t a solo gig. But Jealousy was mine. And this was my shot. I couldn’t give in or give up now. The crushing weight of uncertainty kept me up at night and had me spinning over things I couldn’t control. Which was probably why I couldn’t let that song go.
Not that I’d share any of that with Tegan. In fact, I wasn’t sure why I’d mentioned Cade. I must be losing it. Or maybe I was in the middle of a weird-ass dream. That would explain why Tegan was suddenly speaking to me.
T nodded sympathetically. “Oh, right. That sucks. How’s he doin’?”
“He’ll be out for six to eight weeks,” I reported. “I’m not sure if that includes physical therapy or if it’ll be necessary.”
“For a drummer? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
I sighed. “Great.”
Tegan stilled for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something. His hesitation spoke volumes. Seriously. We had to be the most awkward two people on the planet. We shared so much history that most people knew nothing about. Tegan and I excelled at extremes; I didn’t trust this polite “middle ground.” I was almost tempted to bait him, so he’d snap my head off and stomp out of here like a petulant teenager.
He cleared his throat and headed for the door. “I should get to work. See ya.”