Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I clench my jaw, hating it when he uses reason with me. I know completing this tour is the right thing to do, and sure, I plan on doing it at some point, but I don’t think there’s ever going to be a time when it feels right.
Letting out a heavy breath, I turn to Dylan, already knowing what his answer will be. “And you?”
“You know how I feel,” he tells me. “I just want to get the rest of the tour over and done with, and then after that . . . I don’t know. We can enter a new era. Maybe we can look at some new music that won’t feel so fucking wrong to perform without him.”
I shake my head. “You know I’m not writing anything new,” I remind him. The day Axel died, so did any connection to Rae. She was my muse, and the day she stood in the foyer of that church and told me I’d failed Axel with nothing but pure hatred in her eyes, it was finally over.
I hurt her when I left, and in one fell swoop, she took all the pain she felt over those years, bundled it up, and let it storm down over me like acid rain. She left me crippled, and since that moment, I’ve done nothing but spiral. Hell, I haven’t even started to grieve for my best friend. I haven’t been able to even feel the agony of his death because that day, Rae left me empty.
“I know. But this might just be what you need to kickstart the process,” he says. “Bottom line is, we have to complete this tour. Canceling it is not an option, and postponing again is only going to cause an avalanche of bullshit to land on our fucking doorstep. It’s time, Ezra.”
Fuck.
I feel the familiar vise closing around my chest, squeezing me too fucking tight—a feeling I’ve become all too accustomed to over the past two years. “I’m not writing. If you fuckers want new music, then come to the fucking party for a change. I’m done pouring my life into my words, only for them to be exploited by assholes like this,” I say, waving a hand toward the executives sitting before me.
“Okay, we’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Rock says. “If your muse is gone, that’s fine. We’ll figure something out. For now, let’s just focus on wrapping the tour. After that, we’ll see where our heads are and figure out our next steps.”
I nod, not liking it one fucking bit.
There’s no doubt about it, next to losing Axel and letting Rae officially walk out of my life, this will be the hardest thing I will ever do.
The fight leaves me, and I turn my broken stare on Lenny. “Every show has a dedication to Ax.”
“Of course.”
I nod, trying to mentally go over everything before making any official agreement. “We have final say over Axel’s replacement. Talent alone isn’t going to cut it. If he’s a piece of shit, he’s out. He needs to understand he’s nothing but a stand-in.”
Lenny nods. “Consider it done.”
I drop back down into my seat, dragging my hands over my face. “How much time?”
“Two months and you’ll be commencing the European leg of the tour.”
“Two months?” I ask, whipping my head up. Two months is nothing. We haven’t rehearsed since Axel died. I haven’t even picked up my fucking guitar. My throat is wrecked, and I can barely make it through the day without taking a hit of something. “That’s bullshit. We need at least six.”
“No. You get two, so I suggest you get your asses in the studio and get your shit together,” Lenny says. “The dancers are ready to go and have been working on choreography. They’ve put everything together based on the current setlist. However, they’d be able to switch things up if you need to swap out a few songs.”
“Wait. Dancers?” Rock asks. “We’ve never had dancers.”
“After making your fans wait two years for this show, you not only have dancers, you have pyrotechnics, full stage LED screens, props, costumes, and we’ve upped the arena lighting display. Gone are the days of rocking out on the stage. You’re putting on a fucking show, and your fans are going to eat it up.”
Dylan shakes his head. “No. Nobody said shit about costumes.”
“Nothing dramatic, just a set wardrobe which will be approved by each of you.”
“You’re mixing us up with a fucking boy band. That ain’t our style,” I say. “Never has been. Our fans aren’t coming to see us prance around stage like a bunch of fucking morons. They come to watch us perform our songs.”
“Perform being the operative word,” Lenny snaps. “If you get out on that stage looking like the dried up, ungrateful piece of shit you’ve shown up as today, everything we’ve all worked for will be gone. Everything Axel achieved will be for nothing.”