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“Not that great, huh?” Val said, eyeing Remy’s expression.
“They’re dropping us. The label is dropping us,” Remy said quickly, before he could second-guess himself, before he could justify a way to delay the news.
Val narrowed his eyes, and Remy found himself wanting Val to have the answers, like they were children again and he’d come to his big brother with bad news. Then Val sat back, holding his guitar, looking across the apartment complex’s desert of a parking lot.
“Finally,” Val said.
“Huh?”
“Finally. We’re free of those motherfuckers,” Val said. “We’re out. Now we can go back to doing what we want to do instead of being their little slave musicians. It’s a good thing, Remy. Don’t worry so much. We were Quiet Coyote in spite of them, not because of them. Fuck them all.”
“Right,” Remy said. They stared at the parking lot together for a while.
“Are you going back out?” Val asked, looking up at Remy.
“I can. Why?”
“It’s a day for celebrating, brother. I want some help to get excited,” Val said, grinning.
