Page 24 of A Tragic Melody

“You should’ve read the contract before opening your fucking legs.”

“I didn’t open my legs to get signed, Mom. I opened my legs to stay signed after you decided to try to get my contract voided. You think he didn’t tell me about that?”

Her eyes roll. “You think I care? You are nothing but a spoiled, selfish brat who I should’ve aborted.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Most days I wish you had done it so I’d never have to endure growing up with you.” I stand, but she wraps her hand around my wrist, yanking me back down.

“Listen to me, little girl. And listen good. I need money. I deserve money. And you are going to pay, or all of this,” she waves her hand around, “is gone. I will destroy you. I have mountains of dirt on you. I can spin a great story about you, one that will bring all this crashing down. I’ll sell the pictures, do the interviews, and all this will vanish in an instant. So, either pay me or I will find someone who will. Do you understand?”

“How much?”

“More than you’re worth, that’s for sure.”

I nod, feeling the defeat settle in my bones. My words mean nothing. Speaking up to her doesn’t undo the years of hell she put me through while documenting everything. She has all the power, after all. I have the fame, but she has the match to burn it all down to the ground.

Wyatt called me evil, and if that’s true, then he was right about the apple, too. Maybe it doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It’s a bit before sound check, and I’m sitting all alone backstage, trying to reason with myself. I have to decide if I’m going to be cruel or make my mother proud. Honestly, the choice is tough to make.

After leaving her on the floor crying, I’ve been trying not to spiral as I think of my mother. It didn’t feel good to let someone so broken fall apart. I know that my mother would’ve expected more from me.

I’ve already disappointed her memory enough with the drug abuse. I can’t say I’m doing this for them, only to turn around and act like an asshole while I do it.

There might not be room for compassion in the rock ‘n’ roll world, but is greatness really worth it if I lose all the good parts of me? If I would be doing a disservice to the memory of my family just to get to the top?

Maybe there is another way for me to get to the top without being so cutthroat. Without being mean.

I’m not sure if that’s possible when it comes to fighting against Tuesday. She is dangerous for me. Drug usage aside, she could do some real damage to my mental state just by how broken she is.

A lady in her mid-forties takes a seat on the couch in front of me, and I know instantly she is related to Tuesday. They look so much alike, it’s eerie.

“Do you know where Tuesday is?” she asks, tucking a strand of curly, blonde hair behind her ear.

“Nope.”

“Oh.” She glances around. “You’re Wyatt James, right?”

“Yes.”

“You play guitar in that one band. Shit…what was it called again?”

“Black Cat.”

“Right.” She smiles. “How is it to be famous?”

“I’m barely famous,” I correct.

“Yeah. Same with my daughter.” She laughs. “I was going to be famous, you know. Had a chance to star in this big movie, but then I got pregnant.” She shakes her head with a light laugh. She plays it off like it’s a joke, but I can sense the resentment that’s buried deep. “Her father promised to take care of me, but you know how men are.” She grins. “I’m Jamie, by the way, Tuesday’s mother.”

“I could tell.”

She laughs. “Really? Most people say I look like her sister.”

“That was a possibility, but you mentioned your daughter, so I connected the dots.”

“You are smart. Single?”