Page 24 of Fame and Obsession

Julian

My fourth shot of tequila is followed by a round of awkward silence. Gritting my teeth, I sweep a narrowed gaze around the studio control room. “You all have something you want to say?”

It’s well after five o’clock, so I have no idea why everyone’s staring at me like I’m a criminal.

The band steals calculated glances at each other until Zane finally stands with a groan. “Fuck it, if nobody else will, I’ll say it—your performance sucks.”

Running a hand through my hair, I let out a rough chuckle. “Okay, please enlighten me as to what the hell I did this time?”

Zane and I are as close as brothers, but he’s close to meeting the end of my fist.

“Brother, your notes are so all over the place I’ve got whiplash.”

I glance up to find his inked cheeks red.

Fuck, he’s pissed.

It usually takes more to rattle Zane, but the fucker all but has smoke coming out of his ears.

If I hadn’t just spent four hours rehearsing in the live room after the mail delivery from hell, I’d laugh. “You obsessed with me too, man?”

“Look, I’m sorry you got another one.” Pausing inches front of me, he jabs his finger in my face. “But you aren’t doing shit about it anyway.”

I clench my fist around the tequila bottle. “You’re sorry? You crawl in bed every night, never having to deal with shit, and you’re sorry?” If he doesn’t move that fucking finger, I’m going to break it.

What the hell? They think I can just forget about being hunted?

Making sure Zane is watching, I lift the bottle and drink until my lungs burn.

His ruddy cheeks turn blood red. Grabbing it out of my hand, he throws across the room. “Goddamn it, Jag! Did you hear a word I said?”

I stand, returning the fire in his eyes. “If you don’t like how I run my show, there’s the door.”

Before the words are even out of my mouth, he shoves my chest, knocking me backward. “Your show? Oh, this is a one-man show now? Fuck you, Jag. Try coming in on cue and hitting a note once in a while.”

“Back off, Z,” I warn.

“You want to self-destruct? Fine.” He kicks a metal chair, sending it flying across the room. “You’re the one who wouldn’t go to the police when the letters started. Why are you bitching now?”

As his words hit me, something in me snaps. Lunging, I knock us both to the ground and throw the first punch. While everyone else gapes in shock, Ty wedges himself in between us, breaking his calm observance.

“What the hell?” he roars. “We’re in a goddamn control room! You assholes want to pay for all this equipment when you break it? Because I don’t have a few hundred thousand rolling around in my pocket to foot the bill. You feel me?”

Wiping the blood from his lip, Zane glares at me.

The words brew in my head, but the alcohol fast-tracks them out of my mouth. “You think this band would survive without me? Fuck you.” Even to my own ears, it sounds childish.

Lately, every move I make is a dick maneuver.

Grabbing his guitar, Zane mumbles an apology to Ty, then turns his attention to Tanna, who’s remained uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m finding a different hotel tonight. Are you two coming?”

Blowling out a slow breath, Ty nods toward the door, answering for them both. “In a few. We’ll catch up.

Zane glares at me once more before slamming the door behind him. What’s left of the band avoids me by staring at the walls or their own hands.

“I lost my cool, but I’m not going to go all Dahmer and serve you two up for dinner if that’s what you’re thinking,” I joke, trying to ease the tension.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for being freaked out.” Ty pushes his six-foot-five frame off the wall, scanning my face for a reaction. “Zane said you’ve been getting those letters for a year now.”

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