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I try not to read too much into it. But whatever it means, it doesn't translate into anything good.
Chapter Nineteen
Ariel
"I'm trusting you with this, Dax." My words carry a weight that only a long history of battles can bear.
"Hurtful Truth." He returns his personal motto. It's an unapologetic code that stresses truth over feelings. It took everything in me to press send and upload the recording I made in the studio yesterday. But I need feedback from someone I trust and who speaks the hurtful truth.
I hold my breath and wait for the verdict. "It's raw. The melody needs tightening, a few of the lyrics too…"
My shoulders clinch as I recognize a soft pedal when I hear one. He's about to drop a bomb.
"…and?"
"And. It might be the best song you've ever performed."
My rear slips off the edge of the hotel bed, and I plop to the floor, not believing his words. Dax isn't one to blow smoke up my ass, and he's just delivered the ultimate praise. I lower my head onto my bent knees, the phone next to me on the floor. "Better than…"
"Better than anything…" he cuts me off. "I played the song twelve times in a row. It's heart wrenching. It's soulful. It's beautiful. It's you."
I blink away a tear. "Thank you."
"Hurtful truth time," Dax whispers, and I'm not sure what to expect. "I didn't realize you were looking for a change. I thought that was just an excuse to get them out there. We've never collaborated outside the group before."
I push back until my shoulders rest against the bed. "You're not going to believe me, but this was a happy accident." Thank God I looped Dax in on my silly plan before I left Ohio. "We've been practicing from the band's catalog. I didn't expect Adam to come up with something like that. It's good, right?"
"It's better than good. It could be great." I hear the hitch in his voice. It's the same hesitancy he once gave me when I told him I was going out on a date with my disastrous ex. My instinct tells me to tread lightly.
"Is there more?"
"There's always more," he stalls. "It's not a Devil May Care song." He speaks the words I feared he would. I have my defense at the ready.
"We do solo songs all the time." He can't argue this point. We switch off lead singers multiple times during a concert. We cover different musical genres and have performed solo and instrumental tunes.
"Not like this."
I bite my tongue. He's right. This song is personal, yet universal. Each listener will be able to relate it to a challenging relationship in their life. "Maybe it's about time."
A frustrating audible sigh comes across the line, and I'm pleased I didn't FaceTime him. "Or you can use it and transition to the next phase of your career."
"No!" I bark loudly, offended he'd use this song to bring up a topic he's been hinting at for the last six months. Its frequency and volume increasing with each tour stop. "You'll never get rid of me, Dax. None of you will."
His laugh should warm me, but it has the opposite effect. "We're not going anywhere. We'll always be here for each other. I've been speaking to several of the guys. We might be underestimating how much they were looking for this break."
I feel my guards rising.
"You could use this song as a springboard to kick off a solo career. We can regroup as a band in a year or two—"
"No!" I pick up the phone and scream into it. "I won't be kicked out."
"Whoa, whoa, Ariel. Nobody's kicking anyone out." Regret streams through my blood at my reaction. I'm self-aware enough to know when I've been triggered. The whiplash memory of my mom kicking me out of the house returning. "All I said is to consider it. It's the perfect time."
"You know what time it is? It's time for you to do what I asked." He's not the only one with an opinion. "Calvin is holding a spot on the schedule for the band for Sunday. He moved heaven and earth to get us that opening. You know how precious a Sunday space is at this festival. Start talking to the guys and get them here. That's what time it is." I flip on my diva mode. A mode I use for the press and the public, but rarely for other band members.
"It's too soon. A month from now, maybe. Six months from now, probably. Most of the guys haven't unpacked from the tour yet, and you want me to twist their arms and convince them to rush back to the road after promising them a break?"
"It's one show. One damn show on the biggest night of the music festival we've been chasing for three years. I think they can put on their big boy pants and invest three hours to secure their future." I feel myself cross the line. I shouldn't, but I can't stop myself. They don't see what I see. I've watched them grow up and barely change their ways. They aren't thinking five years out; they're barely thinking five days out. This is the path that will keep us going for another fifteen years. I picture us just like the Rolling Stones, still touring after we've received our AARP cards.
