Page 116 of A Tragic Melody

It’s not looking promising, though, as the Xs begin to add up and the number of stars don’t grow.

I flip through the stack of lead guitarists, not even bothering to make any more X marks. There is no point, it’s best to just star the ones I like.

It’s rather difficult to make any stars, because I can only think of one lead guitarist I want to share the stage with, but I highly doubt he is even an option at this point. I star two, before reaching the bottom of the stack.

It’s a newer picture, I only know that because he looks a lot like how he did when I saw him earlier. His dark hair is cut short and he stares straight ahead. It’s almost like a mug shot, and I’m sure to him it felt like it.

I tear his page out of the packet, pushing out of my chair. I slide his page into the middle of the table.

Everyone in the room besides Helen looks over at me.

“I won’t take any other lead guitarist,” I say, placing my hand on my hips. I’m hoping all the power I think I have holds true.

Someone picks it up, looking it over.

Helen doesn’t even look up from her computer.

“Tell Wyatt he has been chosen,” she says. “And let’s fire the ones with Xs. We have to trim more fat if we want to rise back to the top.”

Someone takes the other packets from me. Everyone else goes back to what they were doing, and I sit back down.

If he is going to be forced to make music, I’m going to make sure it’s mine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I’ve spent the last few months stuck in studio meetings, where I help bands and producers write music they then get to record. I’m offered writing credit on a few, but most opt out of allowing me a sliver of glory for my hard work.

At least I’m getting paid for my hard work. Not very much, but enough to get by.

It honestly doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. I’ve gotten used to sitting in meetings, letting bands tell me what style they like and them playing them samples.

I read over some of their old lyrics and try to create songs that match the style so it doesn’t seem too obvious a ghost writer was used. I do the same with the music. I have to make sure I make notes they can actually play.

It’s kind of fun in a way. I get to mess around with different styles, really test myself. It gives me things to do at home, too. Veritas set me up in a pretty decent condo. I’m renting, but it’s still nice to have my own place again.

I spent a few weeks in a hotel after getting out of prison while the label figured out what to do with me.

The person who took over after Hendricks wasn’t quite sure she wanted me touring with anyone. I may be a hero to the rest of the world, but I technically relapsed. The world may not know about it, but she did.

And if she was going to put in all the money and time into freeing me, she wanted to make sure I could stay clean. I had to do random drug tests for them for two months. I mean, technically, I have to do it whenever they ask, until we part ways or I die, but they’ve cut back on how often they are asking now.

Avoiding Tuesday was easier than I thought, until the other day.

I saw her right away, out of the corner of my eye. She is hard to miss, but I tried to ignore her. I got all the way to the office doors before turning back to say hi.

I just had to know how she was doing and if she hated me. I’ve lost a lot of sleep over the thought I’d never be able to apologize to her, but when she sat there and asked for my forgiveness, I didn’t know what to say.

Leaving her there took all my effort. I was in no mood to deal with the shitty band they put me with, but I sucked it up.

It was only when I was leaving for the day that the news came.

They found me a group to join. It would be as a backing band, but still, I would have the chance to record music and tour again.

I wasn’t expecting it to hurt. I thought if the day ever came, where I had the chance to play again, I’d leap for joy. But instead this only stung.

I tried to tell myself it was because I wanted it to be a band, not just a backing band. That I wanted my own group, with people I liked, so I’d have control, but the truth is far worse.

It hurt because I no longer want to play with strangers. I want to be back on stage with Tuesday. I know better than to think that’s an option. Us together sounds good to the press, but there would be too much at stake for the label.