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I have a plan.
The Sunday schedule is on the big stage. Celebrities, media, and fans from all around the world. It'll be the perfect place to drop the news of an upcoming live album recorded at our last show. It will be the perfect place to introduce the new single, which even Dax admits is great. And it will be the perfect place to introduce a new band member to the world.
"And have you done what you said you would?" Dax returns the attitude I've slung in his direction.
"Yeah. It's Adam." Just breathing out his name brings me a sense of calm. My tongue swipes across my lip, and I seek a taste of his last kiss on my lips. We made out on the beach for over an hour. Something I've not done since I was a teen.
"Really? I thought you said after our session in Boston that Laredo was a more skilled guitarist. We're talking about finding a fit for Manuel's lead guitar role. The one with the most challenging chords. Adam plays the bass. What changed?"
"He wrote the song."
"That's great. He can write, yeah." I pick up on Dax's insincere cheer. Then the bite in his voice returns. "We need a lead guitarist."
"He plays lead." I hear the hesitation in my voice. The image of Laredo's flawless rendition of the difficult bridge to the Devil You Know track pushing to the front of my head. I lower my chin to my chest to hide.
"Not like Laredo, from what I remember." Dax doesn't back down. He never does. "I know Laredo can be an ass but remember what we've always said when it comes to the band."
"It's about the music," I mumble the reply like we've done a hundred times before whenever we've faced a difficult decision with the band.
"I'll make the calls," Dax retreats, but I know him better than he thinks. He's not backing down; he's regrouping. "I'll get them there for Sunday. And when we get there, you'd better have a kickass lead guitarist ready to join the band. And he'd better be good."
And there it is. I should know better. If you back Dax into a corner, he only knows one way of escaping, swinging. It's why we get along so well. It's the same approach I take in life.
I end the call and take a deep breath. I can always count on Dax, no matter how many hurtful truths he tosses at me. I collect them, examine them, and improve. It's what we do for each other.
I have a song. And now I have the band coming. The next move is up to me. I have to choose between twin brothers. One with a heart of gold and the other with the skills of Jimi Hendrix.
My heart screams one name while my head tilts toward the other. This choice will reveal my priorities. Will I choose what's best for me or what's best for the band?
It's an impossible choice because for the first time in fifteen years, I question whether everything is about the music.
***
Chapter Twenty
Adam
Sweat drips from my forehead, and I attempt to concentrate on the difficult chord progression. I'm a quarter-beat late, something so minor it would go unnoticed in the chaos of a concert, but Ariel doesn't miss it.
"Stop!" she barks at me and blows a frustrated breath at a tendril of hair that has fallen in her face. "Do you need a break?" It's the first time in an hour she's done anything other than bark at me.
I shake my head.
"Great, then. Again. Maybe the fourteenth time, you'll get it right."
I don't respond. The morning started out with so much promise. Laredo was up early, waiting in the hotel lobby with a coffee for me, when I came down. I got to kiss Ariel good morning, proving to myself that last night wasn't just a fantasy. And then Ariel told us she wants to perform the song I wrote for her.
And that's when things went off the rails.
She sent Laredo to the adjacent studio to tighten up the melody. My suggestion to work on it together was overruled by the only person in the room with a vote. Same verdict when I suggested I was best equipped to fine-tune the song. I'm the one who wrote it.
Instead, Ariel has assigned me to play lead guitar on a half dozen of their band's most iconic and difficult songs. And she's pushing for perfection, which has me confused. But I don't know her pre-concert rituals. Hailey likes to walk backstage with a giant headset, listening to the mating sounds of whales in the ocean. Musicians are a strange lot.
The Sunday stage is a big deal. Is this her way of dealing with the stress? I don't know, and I can't ask because I'm not supposed to know anything about Sunday.
When my fingers stumble across the bridge, I don't wait for her to yell at me. "Maybe we should take that break."
She twists, giving me a side look over her shoulder. "Yeah, maybe you should." She turns away from me and misses my head shake.
