Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Fucking fantastic. The guy gets here early every damn day, but he decides to pull the rock-star card today. Of course.”
“It’s not like that at all. He’s dealing with some personal stuff and—”
“Like what? Did he run out of his favorite body gel or something?”
Justin rolled his eyes. “That might throw him off, but no…it was a little more important than that.”
“Right. Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure we all agreed that getting our bands and this label up and running is all that matters. Everything is time sensitive.”
“I know, but—”
“Then what’s more important than this?”
“Cancer, asshole,” he growled, stepping into my space.
The C-word hit me like a punch in the jaw. I leaned against the doorjamb with my mouth wide open and stared at him dumbfounded. “Tegan has…”
“No. His mom.” Justin shook his head as he slid by me. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s not my story to tell, and it’s none of your business anyway. If he said he’d help you, he will. Just cut him some slack. And if possible…don’t be a self-centered prick.”
His parting shot rang in my ears as he strode away. I looked over the row of empty desks in the middle of the office. Charlie hoped to fill this section one day with a staff who dealt with anything from finance to publicity for a roster of up-and-coming bands.
For now, I was glad to be alone.
Cancer.
Fuck, I hated that word. And now I couldn’t get it out of my head. I hadn’t seen Tegan’s mom in years, but…I couldn’t imagine her sick.
Mrs. Monroe took care of everything and everyone. I had a rogue memory of racing after Tegan, tripping over a hedge, and scraping the hell out of my shin. I was maybe seven at the time. My own mom was at work, but to be honest, she wasn’t the warm, fuzzy type. She tended to place blame rather than give comfort. It was my fault for running and not watching where I was going. Or maybe it was Tegan’s fault…just because.
T’s mom, on the other hand, was more likely to give a little extra attention and affection. She had a homespun way of giving perspective that stuck with me twentysomething years later. She opened her home, her refrigerator, and never thought twice about including me in family activities. Yeah, my status as Tegan’s best friend and neighbor had a lot to do with her generosity. Nonetheless, she made an impact. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of her being sick. It didn’t seem possible…or fair.
Christ, when it rained, it poured.
It didn’t occur to me until I scrolled through missed messages later that day that I’d forgotten about Xena.
My offer stands. You can have my drummer and my manager in exchange for an interview. Details to follow.
I typed a quick, No thanks. I added a few more incendiary lines, then erased them. She wasn’t worth the headache. I had bigger things to worry about. We all did.
Tegan didn’t show up at our studio that day. I think he made an appearance next door, but he asked Charlie to let me know he’d be available tomorrow. Not ideal, but now that I knew the reason, I understood. In fact, I was anxious to see him and get some more information. I hoped to bump into him in the office or the parking lot, but it didn’t happen. So I arrived at the studio early the following morning and tried again.
And this time, I got lucky. Well…sort of.
I paused in the kitchen doorway and checked the drool when I spotted Tegan leaning against the counter, cradling a cup of coffee. His snug-fitted white T-shirt showcased his bulging biceps and his faded Levi’s were a fucking gift from the gods. I took a second to enjoy the view as I gathered my thoughts. I thought this would be a weird conversation when all we had to discuss was an impromptu sexcapade. Knowing heavier things lay in the balance made me feel like I was walking into a minefield.
Tegan glanced up with a start. “Hey.”
“Mornin’.” I forced my lips into some semblance of a smile and made my way to the coffee machine, mentally sorting through which topic to approach first.
If he were anyone else, I’d ask about his mom first. But this was Tegan; the guy assumed everything I did or said was tied to an angle. If I asked after her too soon, he’d clam up. If I brought up the BJ, he might accuse me of using sex as a weapon. Don’t ask me to explain. We were two very fucked-up individuals who’d lost the ability to communicate years ago.
“I heard I missed an interesting meeting yesterday,” he said.
“Hmph.”
“Did Justin turn your bandmates against you when Charlie spilled the Gypsy Coma beans, or do they still think you’re a rock god?”