Summoned to the the Rocksteady office like a naughty school boy. That’s how Nate felt. He knew his album sales were abysmal. He’d pretty much prophesied it when he’d heard the final cut. The album was shit, but no one had listened to him. Rocksteady had ‘tweaked’ his image so much that the real Nate Nash had disappeared and what remained was some bad cliché of the label’s idea of what a rock star should look like. Now they were upset about it.

Nate knew exactly when things had started to go bad. As he was riding the high of his second album, he’d lost sight of both the music and himself. He’d gotten greedy and lazy. There had been no one to pull him aside and tell him what a fucking idiot he was being, because he was surrounded by people who blew so much smoke up his ass he couldn't see straight. It had made him arrogant and self-centered and he’d lost his way. The casualty was his music and his fans.

Now the label wanted to discuss his contract. He’d known it was coming, as they’d only signed him for a four record deal and he’d given them that, even if the last two were pieces of crap. Four records, five years of his life and his soul. That’s what it had cost him. What he didn’t know was why he was being summoned.

Knowing that his contract was just about up with Rocksteady, he’d begun to put feelers out to see about doing an album with someone else, something like he used to do. Something like the old Nate Nash. Maybe Rocksteady had heard that he was looking around or maybe they just wanted to can his ass and write him off as a bad deal.

The radio blasted as the wind tossed his hair about and the sun shone down, warm and bright. It was May and the perfect spring day to drive with the top down. He hadn’t driven himself around much these last few years. His schedule had been crazy busy in the beginning and it was easier to have a car pick him up and ferry him around. He could work or sleep or fuck in the back of a limo. This last year had been different though and he hadn’t been as busy. He hadn’t been in such high demand and he’d missed driving. He didn’t want to dwell too much on that, or on the fact that his phone had stopped ringing and that they’d cut his last tour short because the ticket sales had been so bad. No, he just missed driving.

“Next up a brand new song from a brand new band on the scene. We hear good things about this group and they’ll be touring with Lily Ames this summer, but remember you heard it here first. ‘You Walked Away’ by Court’n Jacks,” the radio announcer blared from his speakers.

Nate was only half listening. He hadn’t heard of Court’n Jacks. He was so far out of the loop that no one gave him insider tips anymore. Lily Ames was a hot property at the moment and any band that toured with her was going to gain some major air-time.

Then his world came to a screeching halt.

He pulled over to the side of the road, cutting off other cars as he swerved through two lanes of traffic. He didn’t care about the cacophony of horns or the screamed profanities at his lack of driving skill, he just had to pull over or he would end up causing a pile-up on the freeway. He knew that fucking voice, it haunted his dreams. Stevie Jacks was the ‘Jacks’ part of ‘Court’n Jacks.’

“Fu-ck,” he said, drawing the word out like an exhalation.

She sounded fucking amazing. The song was going to blaze through the charts and she was going to be a fucking superstar. It was almost karmic that her career was taking off just as his was being flushed down the crapper. God, what had he been thinking walking away from her? He’d been such an arrogant asshole, so full of his own fucking brilliance that he had sold her out. Rocksteady had offered him his dream on a silver platter and he’d climbed over Stevie to get it. Sure, he’d tasted the ambrosia of success, but it had been fleeting and it had cost him his integrity in the process.

He took out his phone and Shazammed the song and then hit the link for iTunes. He scrolled through the album songs and wondered just how many were about him. The strains of ‘You’re So Vain’ played in his head, but he couldn’t help wondering if Stevie had used her songs to burn him in effigy. He deserved it. He fucking deserved it. He owed her so much but he had just walked away like it was nothing, like the years they had spent together meant nothing. He’d lost his best friend all those years ago all because of his screwed up idea of success.

The song on the radio ended and he blue toothed his phone and hit play on Stevie’s album. Her voice surrounded him in all its glory and the old familiar, but in recent times elusive, buzz under his skin vibrated through him. He knew that if he had stuck with Stevie, their success might have taken longer, but they would’ve gotten there eventually and he wouldn’t have his name on two records that were shit. He wouldn’t feel like he’d compromised himself into a corner and sold out. He wouldn’t feel like he had let his fans down as he bowed to the pressure from the label. He and Stevie, Jacks & Nash, could’ve been big if only he’d had the balls to hold on and trust in what they had. Instead he walked away to follow his own path and now he was paying the price.

‘Cold Hard Bitch’ cut through Stevie’s voice and he looked at his phone screen and rolled his eyes. He punched the answer button and put on his fake smile.

“Gina,” he said.

“Where the hell are you Nash?”

“I’m fine thanks, and you?”

“If you are not here in fifteen minutes—”

“Cool your jets, hot stuff, I’m five minutes away.”

The call disconnected and Stevie’s voice filled the car again. He was so done with Rocksteady, so ready to cut ties with them and find his way back. Hearing Stevie’s voice reminded him of what he had left behind, of what he could have been. He needed to find the path that led back to that place where music was everything and all the other shit was just that - shit.

The adrenalin buzzed under Nate’s sweat-soaked skin and his knee bobbed erratically with his need to keep moving. He should be exhausted, but the intoxication of performing always amped him up instead of depleting him. Was there any better feeling than being on stage and singing your heart out? Maybe sex, but sometimes even that came second to the feeling that he had when he was in the limelight. It was addictive, the best high he could ever imagine and after a set like that one, he felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on earth.

He lifted the long-neck to his mouth and took a long draft, the cool liquor soothing his raw throat. Stevie was still backstage packing away their gear, but he was too keyed up to deal with it. She’d shooed him out to the main bar area and told him she would join him soon. He didn’t need to be told twice.

There was something different about tonight, something in the air that he could almost taste. They’d played this bar regularly for the last couple of years and they were always well received, but tonight… tonight felt more. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t define what it was, but there was definitely something in the atmosphere.

“Great set tonight Nate,” someone said as they walked past, patting his shoulder.

“Thanks man,” he replied automatically to the retreating back.

The Red Boot wasn’t much, just another small town bar that was popular with the locals, but they’d been the first place to give Jacks & Nash a paying gig and there was always a good turnout whenever they performed. Jacks & Nash - that’s what he and Stevie had called themselves the first time they’d performed together for a school talent show. They’d flipped a coin to see whose name went first, and she’d won. It was only fair. Stevie Jacks was the driving force behind their duo and he had been just along for the ride, right up until that first performance and then he’d gotten it. Music had just been a bit of fun before, but after that first time up on stage, he’d known…that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

“Nate Nash?”

Nate turned to see a dark haired beauty wearing a pair of jeans so tight that they looked painted on, and a yellow leather jacket over a black scoop-necked top. He let his eyes wander over her body, taking in each inch of her from her knee high black leather boots to her tumble of dark curls that fell over her shoulders. He wasn’t a stranger to having women approach him after a gig, but she wasn’t the usual type. When their eyes met, she cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips before sticking out her hand.

“I’m Gina Grimes,” she said, “I work for Rocksteady Records.”

He took her hand and shook it slowly. “Are you shitting me?”

The side of her mouth quirked up, but her eyes remained cool. “No,” she said, “do you want to see my business card?”

“Sure,” he said turning back to the bar and taking a drink, hoping to get his nerves under control. When he turned back to her, she had a business card in her hand. He took it and read the words, still not believing it.

“Look,” she said and then sighed as she leant against the bar. “We saw a clip of you on YouTube and we’re interested.”

He held up his hands to slow her down. “Hang on a minute,” he said. “Let me go get Stevie and then we can all sit down together.”

“Is he your agent?” Gina asked.

“No she’s the girl that was singing with me, the other half of Jacks & Nash.”

Gina’s lips thinned for a moment and her eyes were hard before she shook her head. It was just one quick decisive shake. “We don’t want her, we only want you.”

“Shit,” he breathed, running his hand through his hair.

Gina’s eyes wandered around the bar before coming back to rest on him. There was a look in her eye, a look that said coming here tonight was beneath her and she really didn’t want to be here. Which meant that she must have seen something in him to make her come.

“Look,” she said, “I get it. She’s your girlfriend and you don’t want to leave her behind, but she’s holding you back. She’s cute and all and her voice is okay, but that’s not what we’re looking for. We like your sound and your guitar work and if you work with us we can pretty much guarantee you a hit record, but it has to be just you.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said automatically as he reread the business card she’d handed him.

“What?”

“Stevie,” he said, looking up at Gina. “She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we’re friends and, well, she’s a girl, but we’re not involved.”

“Well that makes it easier then,” Gina said with a tight smile that didn’t travel past her nose.

Fuck. What was he supposed to do?

“I—I’m gonna need to think it over,” he said. “Stevie and I have been together for a while—”

“I’ve booked a studio for Monday morning, nine a.m. The address is on the back of the card. We want to cut a demo with you, no strings. We want to make sure that you’ve got the goods when you’re in the studio. If you like us and we still like you after that, then,” she shrugged, “we’ll have a contract for you.”

“I need to discuss it—”

“Be there,” she said tapping a long red nail on the card. “Or don’t be, the choice is yours.”

Nate watched her walk away not quite knowing what the hell had just happened.

He picked up his beer and drained it.

“Jenny,” he called to the bartender, “I’ll have another one of these.”

“Sure thing Nate,” she said flipping the top off a cold bottle and sliding it across the bar to him.

He smelled her perfume first and then heard her voice.

“Who was that you were talking to?” Stevie asked as she slipped onto the stool beside him.

“She’s from Rocksteady Records,” he said. “Said she saw us on YouTube and came to check us out.”

“Shit, really?” Stevie said, accepting the vodka and lime from Jenny. “I put up the clip that Darla took from last month’s gig. It’s gotten a few hits, but, shit, Rocksteady? Really?”

He nodded and took another long pull of his drink.

“So,” Stevie prompted, “what did she think?”

“She liked our sound,” he said distractedly.

“Then why the hell aren’t you happy about this? What else did she say?”

“Come on,” he said standing and grabbing her elbow, “let’s get out of here so we can talk.”

Nate was going crazy. He hadn’t been able to find Stevie after she had stormed out on him. She wasn’t answering her phone and when he’d gone to The Red Boot, she’d already picked up her gear and left. Why couldn’t she understand why he had to do this? It was just a demo and may very well go nowhere. Why couldn’t she understand that?

He kicked the tire of his truck and looked up into the lightening sky. If he was going to do this demo, he couldn’t wait any longer. It would take him all day to drive the distance and then he’d have to find a place to stay for the night. He tried to tell himself that Stevie was just having a tantrum and she would eventually call him back or reply to one of his many text messages. But there was something final about the way she’d walked out and he didn’t like that feeling at all.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, pulling out his phone one more time. He dialed and waited. He knew it was early, but he couldn’t leave until he knew that Stevie was okay.

“Hello?” the voice was thick with sleep.

“Mr. Jacks? It’s Nate.”

“Nate,” he said with a heavy breath.

“Stevie and I had a fight and—”

“I know,” he said. “She called. She’s on her way home on the Greyhound.”

He held back the profanity and kicked the dust. “Did she tell you what happened?”

“No,” he said, wearily, “just that she was coming home and asked me to pick her up when the bus got in.” He paused and Nate held his breath. “Do I need to get my shotgun Nate?”

He wished it was that simple. He wished that he and Stevie had that kind of relationship. At least then she might not have run off on him leaving him here worried sick about her.

“No sir,” he said. “I’ve never touched Stevie, that’s not what we have.” He ran his hand through his hair for about the millionth time and blew out a breath. “Look, I have to go, but can you ask her to call me? I don’t want to leave it like this and she’s not answering my calls.”

“I’ll try, Nate,” he said, “but you know what she’s like.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his dusty boots and jeans, the same ones he’d been wearing all night. He hadn’t even had a shower and washed off the sweat from their last set. Shit, their last performance, their last gig. Fucking hell, he wasn’t ready for things to be over for them. “Just, please, tell her I called.”

They disconnected and Nate shoved his phone in his pocket before climbing into his truck. He had to do this, he just had to. It’s what they had both been working toward and if nothing else, getting time in a studio was an experience that he couldn’t turn down. It could all turn to shit and they might hate him, but if he didn’t at least try, then he was a fucking idiot.

Why couldn’t Stevie understand that?