Tori

The next few weeks are pure bliss. Staying with Serge has been great, and spending more time at the center has been amazing for keeping me centered and focused. We’ve been hanging out with Ian and Chelsea a lot too, which is good for both of us, I think. Ian keeps Serge centered the same way Serge keeps me centered. He reminds him of what’s important in life, and Ian and Chelsea have given me serious relationship goals. They’re so good together, so in sync. Sometimes it’s like they share a brain or something.

I’ve done a really good job of ignoring any of the tabloids or articles about me, too. I did one quick Google search when I first got out of rehab, but the headlines were enough to convince me that reading that trash wasn’t going to help me at all.

So I’ve just been spending a ton of time with Serge, with the kids, with the center, and mostly trying to forget music exists except when we talk about our plans for the center or the upcoming State competition.

I’m cleaning up Serge’s place — he’s gone to get Chinese and we’re expecting Ian and Chelsea over — trying to make it presentable for guests, when my phone rings with a call from Huey. Huey, my old manager. The one that dropped me as soon as the label made my suspension permanent.

I’m tempted to ignore the call, to let him go to voicemail and forget all about it, but curiosity’s always been my downfall, and it’s no different this time.

“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound annoyed the moment I answer the phone. Huey doesn’t deserve pleasant Tori after the way he dumped me.

“Tori! It’s so good to hear from you!” I don’t point out that he called me.

“What do you want, Huey?” I snap, not in the mood for pleasantries.

He chuckles and I grip the countertop, my knuckles going white. “You always were right to business,” he says, still laughing.

“What do you want?” I ask again, patience waning.

“Listen, we heard about that unpleasant business with Garret, and you’re not the only person to lodge a complaint against him, so we’ve moved him to another department.”

I snort. Some punishment. Fucker doesn’t even lose his job for trying to force me into his bed.

“I wasn’t planning on pressing charges if legal’s up your ass about it,” I grumble, wanting desperately to get off the phone.

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Okay, so spill it,” I say, clenching my jaw.

“I want to represent you again. You heading to rehab and getting through that program showed some mettle. And the record wants to give you another chance too.”

My heart jumps, my pulse spiking. Ever since I got dropped, all I’ve wanted was to get picked up again. Or so I’ve been telling myself.

Well, I’ve been telling myself a lot of things. When I’m sad about not having a rep anymore, not having a label, I remind myself how fulfilling it is to work at the center. But it doesn’t last long, because I know I belong on stage. I know I should be performing and touring. It’s all I’ve ever done, and while I’m managing this other stuff okay, I think it’s only because I have Serge to guide me every step of the way. Without him, I’d be hopeless. Without him, I’d fail at everything.

Everything but being in a band.

“Okay…” I say, waiting for the fine print. There’s always strings attached with this shit. Maybe they’re looking to renegotiate my royalty rates and screw me over. It’s a shame Huey’s actually good at his job, because he’s the one that taught me to be suspicious of things like that.

“They want you to fly out to New York this weekend to start recording on Monday.”

Monday. That’s the day of the State competition. I have to be there.

“Can we push it back a week? I’ve got other obligations.”

“No, they’re pretty adamant that this happen now, on their schedule. I think a recording slot’s opened up so they’re trying to get you in right away.”

“I can’t do it,” I say, the words crushing me with their weight. Knowing it’s the right thing to do doesn’t exactly make it feel any better.

“Why the hell not?” Huey roars, dropping the fake pleasantness act.

“The kids have their big competition Monday. I have to be there.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to throw away your shot on a bunch of kids from the ghetto? Did rehab make you stupid?”

I hang up, still shaking as I slam the phone down on the counter and go back to scrubbing the kitchen down, this time taking my frustration out on the tile grout.

I know what I have to do. I know I need to keep my promises. I’m not letting those kids down.

But this might be my only shot. My one chance to get back in the game before I’m irrelevant and no label wants me. I may never have this opportunity again, and do I really want to throw it away just to be a chaperone?

That voice gets quickly silenced when I think about Kamala and Amanda and Eddie and Juan and all the other kids that will be so disappointed I’m not there again.

I hear someone coming down the hallway, the rustling of bags, and I open the door, holding it open for Serge, Ian, and Chelsea. Serge leans down to plant a quick kiss on my lips before walking by with bags and bags of Chinese food.

“I invited Onyx too,” he says shrugging. “Figured why not make a whole thing of it.”

“You didn’t invite Luke, did you?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.

“You’re hanging out with Luke again?” Ian asks.

Serge shrugs. “We’ve been running.”

“Running from what?” asks Ian.

“Honey, I think he means they’ve been exercising together,” Chelsea says gently, sitting next to her husband on the couch.

“With Luke, though?” Ian asks, incredulous.

Serge nods, laughing. “I know. He’s a lot different than I remember. But no, I didn’t invite him.”

I let out a relieved sigh. Luke’s nice enough, but he’s kind of crazy. And once the sun goes down, he’s never sober, so there’s that.

We’re halfway through the mountain of food when Onyx shows up and we all greet him warmly. He’s met and hung out with Ian and Chelsea a couple of times in the past few weeks, so they’re not strangers. It feels really nice to have all my favorite people in one room.

Of course, with this many musicians in a room, it’s not long before instruments come out and conversations and songs weave together. Serge and Ian are teaching Chelsea one of their older songs when Onyx catches my eye and jerks his head toward the bedroom. I frown, but follow him and he pushes the door mostly closed as I walk in, folding his arms over his chest.

“Did Huey get ahold of you?” he asks. I don’t answer right away. I don’t know the right answer here. I don’t know what Huey said to him, I don’t know what he said to Huey. I just know this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions and I’ll be much happier if I never hear from Huey Gleason ever again.

“Yeah,” I finally say.

“And?” Onyx looks jittery, on edge, clearly searching for a specific response. And I think I know what it is. Because I know how excited I was for a minute when I thought I was going to be back in the game. And then it was all ripped away. But from the look in Onyx’s eyes, he’s still holding out hope. Which means Huey didn’t tell him I’m not taking the deal.

“I told him I’m not doing it.”

Onyx’s arms drop to his side and I brace myself for him to try to convince me to change my mind, but instead he wraps his arms around me and hugs me.

“What’s that for?” I ask as he pulls away.

He shrugs. “I think you’re doing the right thing. I didn’t know if he even talked to you, because he called all of us and offered to put the group back together with a new lead singer.”

My heart stops. I can’t imagine Onyx up on stage with someone else. “What’d you say?” I ask, my voice a hesitant whisper.

“I told him to fuck himself, obviously. Sam and Rock fucking took it, the traitors.”

That doesn’t actually surprise me. As much as our little band is a family, the family’s been on the rocks for a few years now, and after the recent stunts I’ve pulled, I’m not surprised at all that they want to move in another direction.

“Well, I hope it works out for them,” I say.

“Fuck them,” Onyx replies.

The door pushes open an inch and Serge peeks in. “Everything okay in here?”

“Yeah,” I answer quickly, before Onyx can say anything. I still haven’t told Serge about the offer and I don’t want him to hear about it from someone else. “We were just talking about how Onyx has found himself without a band and I was thinking he could be a big asset to our plans.”

He opens the door all the way, and it feels silly to still be standing in the bedroom when our conversation’s not private anymore, so we just go back into the living room.

“That’s a great idea,” Serge says.

We tell Onyx about the plans; I haven’t really told him much up to this point because telling people about it only means they know that I was supposed to be doing something else if I screw up and don’t do it. Ian and Chelsea are into the idea too, but they’re obviously way too busy to participate regularly.

“This seems like the kind of thing Merrill would be all over,” Chelsea says, her eyes bright as she looks to Ian. He considers it and nods.

“You’re probably right. And he knows Serge, he’d be down to help.”

“Who’s Merrill?” I ask.

“Former manager,” Serge answers.

“My current manager,” Ian interjects. “He loves doing things for charity, he could spread the word, help generate some buzz.”

“That would be great,” Serge says, getting excited.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still don’t even know what kind of music we’re going to be playing. We should figure that out before we start trying to work in the media or guests or anything else.”

Serge nods, kissing my temple. “You’re right of course. You can’t blame me for being excited, can you?”

“Not when it’s so damn cute,” I say, grinning.

Ian clears his throat. “Well, I think that’s our cue to get the hell out of here.”

Serge rolls his eyes. “Like you weren’t all over Chelsea when you first got together.”

Chelsea’s face goes bright red and she coughs, turning her head.

“We’ll get together and talk about this thing when you’ve got solider plans, yeah?” Ian asks, standing, holding a hand out to his wife, heading to the door.

“For sure,” says Serge. Then turning to Onyx, he adds, “And we’ll get together and play some shit, try to figure out what direction we want to go in.”

“Sounds good, man,” Onyx says, taking Serge’s hand and going in for a bro hug with a hearty slap on the back.

“Thanks for coming!” I call to the door, everyone filtering out at once. “Man… If I knew calling you cute in front of them would get them to go, I might’ve done that a couple of hours ago,” I joke after I close the door.

Serge frowns, but it’s not serious. “I thought you liked hanging with Ian and Chelsea.”

“I do, but I can only be around you so long before I need to get you naked again.” I grin, closing the distance between us.

Serge’s eyes darken and he growls, lifting me up against him, kissing me until I can’t breathe, and then tossing me over his shoulder, ignoring my protesting squeals as he carries me to the bedroom and throws me on the bed. The wild, feral hunger in his eyes makes me wet in an instant.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” he says, peeling my jeans down my legs, kissing the insides of my thighs as he does.

“You complaining?”

He yanks the jeans off my ankles and tosses them to the far side of the room. “Not even a little.”