When I looked up again, Elle was there—in the flesh.
She was standing in the hallway, talking with Ashley Player, lead singer of the Penny Pushers. Clearly, neither of them had seen me.
The Pushers often toured with Dirty, and I could only guess that Ash was here because of Dylan; I knew the two of them were best friends. But it wasn’t Dylan he was talking with now, in low, hushed tones—and standing really fucking close to.
I watched as Ash put his hands on Elle’s slim waist. As his fingers curled into her. I couldn’t read the exact mood of the conversation, but it seemed… intimate.
I looked away, a heartburn feeling rising up in my throat. I swallowed. My hands were starting to sweat and I had to stop playing to rub them off on my jeans.
It was a challenging song. Especially when I hadn’t played it in years and my hands were wet.
Jesus, maybe this was a mistake.
Visions of my failure, of fucking up this audition and making a total fucking fool of myself, flashed through my head…
But I’d asked Jude to bring me this far, and now Maggie was involved. Liv was about to be.
So fuck it. I was committed now.
I owed Jude that much.
He was right about what he’d said when he fired me—the second time—on the band’s behalf. It was never about money, or even about the music. For the band, and for me, it was about far more than that.
It was about loyalty. Bandmates. Family.
And I could not walk away from that without a fight.
I’d sworn to myself I’d never do that again.
But still… I was getting nervous as fuck about seeing the band. About them seeing me.
I hadn’t been face-to-face with any of the members of Dirty since they fired me over six months ago. Since the blowout with Dirty’s manager, Brody Mason, at the old church where the band wrote music and rehearsed; when he’d punched me in the face onstage—several times.
I’d spoken with Zane a few times over the phone, briefly, and though he didn’t sound happy about it, his stance had been along the lines of: Not much I can do, brother. This is Brody and Jesse’s deal.
Spoke with Dylan once over text, and he’d said pretty much the same thing.
Neither Jesse or Brody would talk to me.
Elle hadn’t returned my calls to her assistant. That hurt the most, actually. Elle; knowing what she must’ve thought of me after what happened. Brody, attacking me in front of the band. Breaking my nose.
Accusing me of raping Jessa Mayes.
That memory made my guts churn now, just like it always did. But that, too, I had to face down. That was part of the deal in coming back here.
Because I could not let an accusation like that lie forever.
I looked over at Elle and Ash in the hallway again… and I could see how she’d changed over the years. Still gorgeous. More so, maybe. More… polished. Glamorous, in her strapless white top, gold suspenders and low, tight jeans, stylishly ripped to shreds. Her long, platinum-blonde hair was straight and smoothed over one shoulder, a single, thick braid weaving the top of it back from her face. But despite the sun-kissed glow to her skin, her glossy lips, her fresh, flawlessly made-up face… she looked weary, underneath it all.
Or maybe it was just the conversation she was weary of.
As Ash spoke quietly to her, close in her pretty face, she just nodded, her mouth tight. And it struck me: that I hadn’t been there to see her through all the bullshit that came along with the success, the insanity of the fame.
I’d let her down.
I’d let them all down.
I watched her turn and walk away, my gaze falling to her tight, perfect ass in her fitted jeans. Then she disappeared through a door.
Ash stood there for a moment after Elle left, staring at the wall. Then he turned.
He looked straight at me.
I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be practicing my song, and our eyes met. Recognition crashed over his features and he started toward the open door.
“This what I think it is?” he asked, stepping into the room with me. He looked around into every corner, like he was expecting someone else to be here.
My heart was beating a little too hard, so I took a breath. I had no idea where I stood with Ash. Hopefully not the same place I stood with Brody.
“If you think I’m here to audition, then yes.”
He stopped dead. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
He absorbed that, looking me over from head to foot. I did the same with him. Jet-black surfer-dude hair, piercings, tattoos that seemed to multiply every time I saw him. A serious, pensive look in his blue eyes.
I had no idea what he was thinking. I didn’t know Ash all that well, though I’d met him a few times over the years. He’d told me at the reunion show that he looked up to me, musically. Called himself “a fan.” Pretty humble that way, because the guy could play guitar, he could write, and he could definitely sing way the hell better than me.
“You here with Dylan?”
“I’m here with the band,” he said. “House band. All-star lineup.” A smirk crossed his lips. “We’ve got Raf out there. My man Pepper. We play with the kids auditioning, try to make them sound good. Or bad.” The smirk turned devious. “Gotta tell ya, a lot of shit out there.” He looked me over again, like he was still processing my presence.
“Today?”
“All fucking week.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You serious? You’re here to audition?”
“Yes.”
“You pick a song?”
Yeah, I’d picked a song. Wasn’t easy to do, since it had to somehow showcase what I could do, impress Dirty, and satisfy Jude’s bullshit request for Metallica. But I’d learned, from experience, how to slay even the most ridiculous of Jude’s challenges.
“You guys know ‘Stone Cold Crazy’?” I answered.
Jude never specified it had to be a song written by Metallica.
Ash
