18: HADES
My flimsy condo walls don’t protect me from the blast of headlines over the next couple of weeks. I’m accustomed to the villain role but not on a such a public scale. It’s a relentless wave of hostility that I can’t erase with a swift blow to the jaw. The speculation about our band breakup ranges from a royalty dispute to a surprise pregnancy. That one makes me laugh. I can only imagine how Luke feels about his girlfriend’s phantom bundle of joy. Theories vary on the father.
For the most part, Holland is supposedly the victim of this mess. The unfortunate angel whose only crime was partnering with a plague like me in the first place. There’s even a classic Frederick Alton I told you so in the form of an Alton Media campaign to distance them from me. I guess I should be honored that my father finally used his vast PR resources to impact my career.
Everyone has different opinions, but they all agree that Wes Alton is done. No band in its right mind will ever touch him after this.
I shove my phone away and opt for a drink instead. Whisky, my faithful ally. Never judges, never uses lame-ass words like “reportedly.”
Reportedly, I can spout whatever bullshit I want because I used the word reportedly. You can’t give “reportedly” a bloody nose either, which frustrates the hell out of me.
I’ve just filled my glass when the damn phone erupts again. For once I don’t hate the thing.
“Hey, Sophia.”
“You answered!”
“I’m surprised you’re still talking to me. Dad let you call?”
“I’m twenty-four,” she huffs out like she’s so not. “He doesn’t get to boss me around anymore.”
“…once he’s paid for your wedding.”
“Shut up. Actually, that’s why I’m calling.”
I swallow the unexpected knot in my throat. “Okay?”
“Dad doesn’t want you there. He told us we should all distance ourselves from you as much as possible.”
The pressure sinks to my chest. “I’m not surprised.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Don’t feel bad. I get it. You can’t have me there.”
“Huh?” I picture the pink splotches spreading over her cheeks. “No, that’s bullshit. I’m calling to see if you’ll perform at the ceremony.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“Wes? What do you think?”
“You’re serious?”
“You’re my brother and the most talented musician I know. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
“Your wedding is in a few months.”
“Exactly. Plenty of time. I’m thinking a couple songs during the ceremony and a longer set at the reception.”
“Um...”
“You can pick the songs, but I want an original for the processional.”
I laugh. “Oh really?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of song?”
“Surprise me.”
“You know I don’t do fluffy love songs.”
“Duh. That’s why I’m asking you. I want something kickass that’ll make Mom crap her pants.”
“Ha! Okay, I’ll just whip that right up.”
“Good. Hey—”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, big bro. You’re going to survive this. You always do.”
∞∞∞
My next call is to an ex-lawyer on the outskirts of town. Her voice is thick with the nap I just interrupted.
“Ugh. What do you want?” Hannah groans.
“Hey, sunshine. I need the lyrics to that song.”
“‘Viper Rising?’”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to work on it?”
“Better. We have a gig.”
“What?”
“We’re going to finish that song and perform it.”
“We?”
“Yes. We.”
“But—”
“Not interested, Han.”
“In?”
“Excuses.”
“Okay, but—”
“It’s for Sophia’s wedding.”
“She wants me to sing at her wedding?”
“She wants me to sing and I’m not doing it without you.”
“But—”
“I’m hanging up now. Send me that song, then get over here so we can work on it.”
∞∞∞
Hannah waves her hand halfway through the bridge. “Do you think we can take the song up a step? It would have a lot more power in E.”
I glance at her in surprise. “You think you can sing it in E?”
She shrugs. “Won’t know until we try.”
“Damn, if you can hit the end of that bridge in E, do it.”
“You’re going to harmonize lower, right?”
“The last time through, yeah.”
“Let’s take a break first, then run it again.” Damn, she’s bossy. I smile to myself as I rest my guitar against the coffee table.
Two hours into rehearsal and I realize how much I miss having Hannah Drake in my guest room. I’ve always preferred being alone, so this revelation doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t like that I have to find excuses for her to stay after we wrap. Her gaze doesn’t help when it keeps wandering over my body, triggering hot memories.
Her perfect curves have been taunting me all afternoon. Hidden in a retro band tee that’s cropped just enough to make me think I’m supposed to look. And hell if I don’t. Look. Over and over, my optic nerve singes with her.
“Want to watch a movie or something?” I ask.
“Not really…” Her gaze locks on mine, then travels to my lips before resting on the open v-neck of my shirt. Her touch sends spikes of electricity through me as she traces my ink. She’s waiting for a reaction, inching closer the longer I go without rejecting her. I should push her away.
Her hand spreads farther now, contracting beyond our line of sight. I hiss in a breath at the pressure of her body as she removes the space between us. Aligning in all the right places, securing her grip around my neck so I have no choice but to…
I groan at the movement of her hips. It’s not even me, just my fire that consumes her mouth. It rips that fading band image right over her head. She’s ready, so ready. Arching from the aggression of my mouth that travels over her body, her hands threaded in my hair to lock me where she wants me.
“Is this what you want, babe?” I flip her on her back.
She gasps at my desire digging into her hips and tears open the zipper of my jeans. “You’ve been my wet dream since I was fourteen.”
“Ha. I knew it.”
“Shut up, you—”
I cut her off with my lips. My tongue. She moans, and…
We’re screwed.
∞∞∞
“Have I ever told you how much I love Hades?” Hannah says, grin as mischievous as her hands exploring my chest.
“You may have mentioned it.”
“He tastes good too.” She proves it with a trick that already has me hard again.
“Dammit, you’re impossible,” I gasp, eyes clenching as she works her way down once more.
“You don’t want another round?”
“Never.”
“Liar.”
She has me paralyzed. Fuck, I’m obsessed. She’s ruined any chance I have with finding satisfaction in other women. Are my groupie-days over? I have no idea what to do with that.
As always, my phone takes a perfect moment and makes it crack.
“Holland,” Hannah says.
“Really? That can’t be good.”
Hannah hands me the phone and slides off so I can adjust.
“Do you mind?” I ask.
“I need a drink anyway. You want something?”
“Sure.”
She clears the couch while I accept the call.
“Holland, hey.”
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?”
“With me? Not really, but I’m getting there. Thanks for what you did at the contract negotiation. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah I did. I want you to be happy, Hol. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”
She quiets. “I know. Anyway, that’s kind of why I’m calling. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about the Mila Taylor thing. I don’t know where she got that information, but my people are working on fixing it.”
My heart stops. “Mila Taylor?”
“You don’t know?”
“Um…”
“Crap. Wes, I’m sorry. I thought… I mean, everyone’s talking about it.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why I’ve been trying to avoid it.”
“I figured at least Jacob would have called you.”
“Well, he hates me more than anyone right now.”
I can almost hear her bite her lip through the phone.
“What’s going on?”
She sighs. “I’ll send you the link. Mila Taylor got involved and posted about you yesterday.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t good, Wes.”
“Does that bitch ever have good things to say about an artist?”
“She liked our last album. Remember? We went platinum after her stamp of approval.”
“I’ll never understand her power in this industry. She’s not even a good writer.”
“I know, but she’s popular and makes and breaks people.”
“I’m guessing I’ve been broken?”
“I told you: it’s not true, and I’m going to figure out where she got the info.”
“What’s not true?”
“She… just read it? I’m sending you the link now.”
“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”
“Wes?” She stops.
I wait.
“I wish…” It’s all I get, but right now, it’s everything.
I barely hear Hannah return as I open the link and read.
Alright people! Everyone’s talking about the breakup of Tracing Holland, aren’t they?! Turns out, it’s looking more like a massive cock-up if you ask me. I’ve heard that lovers-gone-sour Holland Drake and Wes Alton haven’t only had enough as a band, but will be scrapping it out in criminal court. Apparently, Canada’s rocker bad boy has also buggered it up to the point of felony charges. OOPS. He might have to live off royalties from the film version of his life after he gets out of nick! Ta-ra, Wes. Your pretty mug is going to be a hit in the slammer!
- Mila Taylor, over and out.
“Fuck!”
This time I really do smash the damn thing.
“The Mila post?” A voice interrupts, and I twist toward Hannah who lowers herself beside me.
“Wait, you knew?”
“Everyone knows. It’s all over the news.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t going to bring it up. It’s bullshit.”
“Like that matters,” I mutter, resting my head on my fists.
A squeeze on my arm reminds me that one person in this universe hasn’t abandoned me. I reach over and take her hand. Cling to it while what’s left of my world crumbles around me.
“I’ll never work again, Han.”
“But it’s not true.”
“Doesn’t matter. When Mila Taylor says you’re out, you’re out.”
“That’s not fair.”
I shrug, and push myself up from the couch. Water isn’t going to cut it anymore.
“What are you going to do?”
Her question digs into my chest. “Write the shit out of ‘Viper Rising.’ Let’s get to work.”
∞∞∞
Writing is a great distraction. Unfortunately, it can’t block freight trains.
The criminal charges turn out to be assault related to my now infamous fight(s) with Luke on our tour. Holland assures me he didn’t press charges and won’t. I believe her since typically the perp is included in the process. Apparently, that fact is irrelevant in the world of pop “reporting.” If I still had a label, a manager, anything, we’d be working on a publicity stint to clear this up. I don’t, so all I have is Hannah’s concern. Must be a slow news season if my collapse is the most remarkable topic in Canada.
“You have to do something,” Hannah says, marching from one side of the living room to the other. I must look particularly bad today if she’s willing to take up arms on the one subject I insist is off limits.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Did you see the thing about the strip club and those girls?”
“Yeah. They just want their fifteen minutes. I don’t do drugs.”
“I know but what if the spotlight isn’t enough for them? What if they escalate their claims?”
“What, like harassment?” Apparently you can’t turn off lawyer brains. “They pursued me. Not the other way around.”
“It doesn’t matter, and you know it. Just an accusation is enough to hurt you.”
I suppress a laugh. “What’s left to hurt, Han?”
Her gaze hardens, and I clench my jaw. I haven’t told her yet. Honestly, I didn’t want to, but she seems intent on fighting battles that don’t matter anymore. “I’m officially banned from the Alton estate.”
“What?” Her lawyer-face melts into compassion.
“Frederick didn’t even give me the message himself. I was informed by security this morning.”
“Oh my... I’m so sorry.” She lowers herself beside me, but the heat of her presence isn’t enough this time.
“No violent felons in his house. Definitely no drug addicts. Makes sense after spending a fortune on the ad campaign to cut ties with me. The editorial in The Star? Genius.”
“Wes…”
“He’s been waiting fifteen years for this moment.” I squint at an imperfection in the white paint. Scuff? Small crack? Hard to tell from this distance.
“How can he believe those lies about you?”
I don’t answer at first. She hasn’t spent a lifetime picking through my father’s hatred. To her, family is more than a stigma.
“Hannah, he was probably Mila’s source.”
I’m relieved that she doesn’t respond. She’s too intelligent and I’m too serious for some pointless declaration about how that can’t be true. We both know it can. We both know it probably is.
“Kick ‘em when their down. The key to Frederick Alton’s success.” There’s an edge in my voice that scratches deeper than intended. What do I care about this final betrayal? He’s been trying to erase me for as long as I can remember. Well done, Frederick. I’m annihilated.
Hannah tucks her arm around mine, rests her head on my shoulder. She reaches for my fists and smooths my fingers in hers. The violence in my stomach is no longer directed outward, and it fucking aches with the weight of failure.
“You know the worst part? I always figured I’d end up here at some point. This last decade has been a fight against the inevitable. Holland blocked the walking shit-storm that I am.”
She squeezes my hand. “That you were.”
I glance down at her. That I am, babe. “I need food. You hungry?”