“I want Ashley Fucking Player,” I said.
At that, the smile blazed across Ash’s face. He shook his head. “Alright.” Then he took a step toward me, clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Be careful what you ask for.”
“You’re shitting me.”
The female voice came from behind Ash. He turned, revealing Jude and Maggie in the doorway… and a small, pixie-like woman with short brown hair and glasses, wearing a grandma sweater with jeans and combat boots.
Ash grinned. “That’s what I said.”
“Hey, Liv,” I greeted her.
Liv just stared at me, but I could see her shrewd mind going a mile a minute behind her little glasses.
“We filming this or what?” Ash looked from Liv to me. He was starting to get pumped up; I could feel his lead singer’s ego blooming with the challenge of the song I’d chosen.
“Uh, yeah. We’re filming this,” Liv said. “Get your asses out there.” And then she was on her cell, Ash was barreling down the hall, and Jude was beckoning for me to follow.
Maggie sighed and muttered, “Oh, dear God,” then disappeared through a door along the hallway.
Ash went through another door, which had been spray-painted with a single word: STAGE. I was at the threshold, about to follow, when Jude’s big hand clamped down on my shoulder and I paused.
“Do me a favor,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Don’t shit the bed.” Then he released me.
I nodded, swallowed, then stepped through the stage door, alone. The door was heavy, sound-proofed, and it slammed shut behind me with a resounding bang.
I walked out onto the black stage, the overhead lights in my eyes. The stage was literally black; painted black and equipment-battered. It was a rock bar that had been converted to a dance bar; sometimes bands still played here, sometimes a DJ held court over the crowd. Right now, I was the main attraction.
Though no one could see me.
I heard voices, indistinct beyond the mellow classic rock music playing over the bar’s sound system. It was The Guess Who’s “Undun.” Which made sense if you knew that Burton Cummings was one of Zane’s all-time vocal heroes, and also, that Zane liked to play DJ wherever he could, even in Dylan’s bar, apparently.
I could envision Zane out there, with his long blond fauxhawk, lounged back in a chair, arguing with Jesse over virtually every guitarist they’d auditioned. Zane and Jesse could rarely agree on anything; I wondered if that had changed over the years.
With every step I took onto the stage, this shit was getting more real. The members of my former band were in this room. Right now.
The heartburn feeling was creeping up in my throat again and I tried to clear it—softly, as if anyone could hear me. At least this wasn’t a vocal audition; I probably couldn’t handle that.
But no matter how nervous I felt, my hands would know what to do.
As my eyes adjusted to the lights, I saw a drum kit on the other side of the stage, and Pepper, the Penny Pushers’ drummer, standing behind it twirling drum sticks. He didn’t seem to notice me. He was talking to someone in the shadows behind him, maybe a crew member. Ash was gone, vanished somewhere over there that I couldn’t see because of the giant silk screen that blocked me from the rest of the room—including most of the stage and my supporting band.
A couple of crew guys had appeared, scurrying around me, turning shit back on, and someone plugged in my guitar.
And that familiar sound… the sizzle of electricity and the whine of feedback. It took me right back—to the last time I was onstage with Dirty, at the reunion show in Vancouver. And how the crowd had loved it. Loved me.
I took a deep breath, letting the memories of that show flood my senses… and the nerves left me.
Certainty settled over me again.
All that bullshit about getting kicked out of the band—my band… it was like it never fucking happened.
This is what I am.
This is where I belong.
The fans knew it, even if Dirty didn’t.
Maybe Jude knew it, too. Maybe Ash knew it. Maybe Liv knew it, and that’s why she was making this happen.
And if that was true, I just needed to prove it to Dirty. Prove to them that I was Dirty, as much as any one of them was.
Obviously, I’d fucked up. I knew that. My talent had once made my wildest dreams come true, but I’d let my addiction twist those dreams into a nightmare.
I’d fallen—flat on my face.
I’d failed. Epically.
But my memories of failure weren’t going to stop me. Crashing from one failure to the next, hitting bottom, clawing my way back and still rolling the fuck on, stronger than before—that was what it took to be standing here.
Right now.
Stronger than ever.
I was a changed man, and I wasn’t fucking around anymore.
Dirty needed a new guitarist, but they sure as hell didn’t need the Seth Brothers they used to know; even I knew that. Or the Seth who made a half-assed comeback at the reunion show, bent on some kind of closure that never fucking happened.
As I slid my shades back on and got ready to play the hell out of this song, I knew I was ready—more than ready—to take back what was mine. And I knew, with certainty, I was gonna fucking crush this audition.
They thought they knew me…
But they hadn’t even met Seth Brothers yet.
CHAPTER THREE
Elle
Fuck this.
I was so done with this.
As I walked back out into the bar, I felt restless and agitated. Bored, actually. What the hell was left to discuss? We were at a stalemate. We’d gained no ground here at all.
This entire fucking process was a waste of my time.
Mind-numbing auditions. Listening to wannabe rock stars play song
