Page 1 of Never To Suffer

CHAPTER 1

TO ALL THE ONES THAT I LOVE

PRESS CLUB

The obnoxious flyeron the walls of the preppy coffee shop yells at me the minute I see it.

Is your band good enough to be the next megastar headliner?!

I read it over and over again, building my confidence each time until I’m screamingYES!in my mind. We’re ready for fame to throw its arms open and invite us to play for the gods and goddesses of Olympus. For the world to cheer our names and wear our merch. We were born for this, for stardom, tours, and fans.

Or, that’s what I’m standing here trying to convince myself to believe.

Am I sure we’re ready to let that fickle bitch embrace us before turning her back on us for the next new, shiny thing? Can we handle going so big, we spend every minute on tour or sitting for interviews on global television and podcasts? Would we survive touring with each other non-stop for months at a time?

Am I ready to drop everything I know and love to make the leap into uncertainty? I have no idea, but I’d like to give it a try.

“What’s got your attention? Please tell me it’s not another psychic convention or whatever they’re called.” My girlfriend checks the reflection of her hair in the window next to me, even though I’ve assured her the braids still look fine after our make-out session in the bathroom. She used to trust me, but we’ve been clinging to a dying relationship for weeks now. Or maybe it’s me ignoring the red flags she waves in my face. Either way, one of us will break soon enough. We’ve got too much crackling energy between us and not the positive, fun kind. Every card I pull over the last two weeks has been a warning to let things go, but I’m stubborn.

Okay, I’m controlling. Whatever.

She smears my gloss over her pouty lips before thrusting the tube in my direction. She refuses to use my lip gloss after me if I’ve gone down on her.

So. Many. Red. Flags.

“It’s for a contest.” I nod to the flyer, refusing to break over cosmetics. I pull my phone out of my purse and snap a picture so I can upload it to the group chat. They’ll laugh and tell me I’m crazy for thinking we could handle that kind of competition. But it could push us to get out of Connor’s storage unit and into a real studio. Leave the small bars behind for actual venues. If we give ourselves a chance, nothing can hold us back.

Nothing but ourselves.

And maybe Rory, our bassist.

“You’re not seriously thinking of entering that, are you?” Megan squints and leans close as if she doesn’t have perfect eyesight. She loves drama, which makes the film industry the perfect career for her when she’s on a gig. “Dani, that’s a lot of money for an entry fee. We just moved into hell on earth because we’re broke and you want to dothis?”

“What are you talking about? Our awesome apartment? Right in the middle of?—”

“A dump?”

“Whatever. The view?—

“Of a billboard that’s lit the fuck up twenty-four-seven?”

“Fine, okay, the apartment sucks. But maybe this could help? Look here, they’re covering all the marketing, booking all the venues, and, if you make it to the top ten, they’ll cover all travel expenses after that. That’s totally worth the entry fee!”

I’ve read the poster at least ten times now, and each time, the adrenaline rushes through me, my toes tingle, and I bite back the grin. Our big chance right there on a flyer tacked to a wall of a coffee shop. My fingers are begging me to rip it down so no one else finds out about it, but the big, cartoonish logo of a chimp in a backward baseball hat reminds me this isn’t an event you publicize on a bus stop or two. We’re talking billboards on Sunset Boulevard levels of big. NotOkay Records has the pull and the money to put together something like this, something raw and untested. This isn’t like those stupid auto-tuned contests on TV. Live, baby!

That terrifies me, and I swallow back the bile rising in my throat.

Odds are super in their favor that the contest will grow into a multi-billion-dollar music empire reality competition, like the singing one did years ago. Bands from everywhere competing against each other for a ticket, humiliating themselves in the process of selling out. The first year, though? That's when everything they do has one foot in reality, still about the music and the magic and not the money.

The prize payout for the top three doesn’t suck though. I’m not above saying I’m in it for fame, fortune, and glory. I’m just saying I’malsoin it for the music.

“Dani?!” I’m yanked out of my daydream so fast my vision blurs for a moment until I focus on Megan’s scowl. “They’vecalled your name like five times now. Are you going to get your coffee, or what?”

“After what I did to you in the bathroom, you could have grabbed it for me,babe.”

Three. Orgasms.

That’s how my girlfriend starts her day. I start my day getting bitched at because I won’t leave my boyfriend, and I daydream too much. Ugh. She used to be fun when we first met.

---