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Mack clears his throat and sighs. “You were the one who agreed to it right after the incident.”
“That was when I thought you were trying to get under my skin, I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it. I don’t need a therapist, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“There have been too many incidents, Ryker, the guys have worked too hard for you to bring them down. You need to get your shit together, or you risk being kicked out of the band.”
“Kicked out of the band?” I grind out. “You can’t kick me out of the band.”
“If that’s where it leads, I’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure Brent and Evan aren’t brought down by your need to fix shit yourself.”
“This is bullshit, and you know it.” I pound my fist against the thick wood of my desk and shake my head.
He can’t do this, right?
“Just give it a try, Ryker, the band needs you to do this.”
Instead of answering him, I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket before storming out of the office. My anger is getting worse, and there’s no telling what will happen if I let it, which is why I go straight for the large double doors at the end of the hallway and push through them wildly.
Everything in my home gym is state-of-the-art, but the punching bag is calling my name right now. After I get my boxing gloves onto my hands, I strut over to the bag dangling from the wall and stand in front of it with only one image in my head – Mack’s face.
That’s normally how I cope with my anger, by imagining the person I’m mad at in front of me and doing whatever I want to them until it boils down to a simmer. After that, I normally do the normal stuff – lift weights, squats, push-ups, then finish off with leg exercises. Today, though, an image of Mack’s face doesn’t seem to be doing the trick, and I growl in frustration that my anger is still high.
What if the replacement ends up being better than me, and they decide they’re better off without me in the band?
It’s not going to do me any good to keep thinking like this, but I can’t help it – I’m being taken right back to how my parents treated me when they found out I wanted to pursue music.
I shake my head, not wanting my thoughts to go there right now, and take deep breaths as I head over to the mini fridge, which is stocked with water and Gatorade. I chug one of them without bothering to see what it is. I slam the bottle down, the yellow liquid inside sloshing over the sides as I do.
I’ve told my staff multiple times that I hate the lemon-lime Gatorade, so what the hell is it doing in my fridge?
Just another thing for me to be angry about.
Now that I’ve got myself hydrated, I pull my t-shirt off and toss it onto the floor before making my way back over to the punching bag. Maybe a cold drink is what I needed to cool my rising anger down. This time, when I connect with the punching bag and imagine Mack’s face, it tempers my anger slightly – enough not to have me going Incredible Hulk on everyone around me.
I reach over, taking a break from the punching bag for a brief moment, and swipe the sweat building up on my forehead with a clean towel. I guess I can be thankful that the staff took this part of the job seriously.
Is it really a bad idea to have someone here who can help me through this anger?
I can’t help but think that it makes me look weak, and that’s not who I am. I’m stronger than most, and I don’t need anyone else to tell me that or show me how to be stronger. Do I have it in me to ignore the pleas of my bandmates, though?
Raising Havoc is the only family I’ve come to know ever since my parents decided I wasn’t important enough because I didn’t go to med school like they wanted. The last thing I want to do is hurt them, so maybe it’s best if I deal with the time Wren is here.
It also doesn’t suck that she’s attractive.
Something tells me it would be best if I kept that little thought to myself, she’s going to be working for me now and it would be unprofessional.
Since when do I care about being professional, though?
I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair and take a deep breath, then snatch my shirt from the floor and head out of the gym. The corner of my mouth tips into a smirk when I notice red hair disappearing around the corner quickly, and I shake my head.
Maybe my little therapist isn’t as professional as she looks after all….
2
Wren
I should’ve listened when my head told me to stay where I was. Instead, I chose to follow his broad form and watch as he disappears through a small wooden door. His voice is muffled as he talks to someone, and I quickly jump back when the door flies open a few moments later. He’s got his fists clenched at his side, the anger radiating off him like a heatwave, and I quietly follow behind him.
I’ve followed Raising Havoc since they got big, but I never would’ve imagined that Ryker was so much more attractive in person. His eyes, that look much darker in the pictures, are much brighter, like honey, with swirls of darkness in them. He's got a tattoo that pokes out from the edge of his sleeves, and I wish I could get a closer look at it.
