Page 18 of Edge of Heaven

“Of course, of course. I’m sorry you’re going through that…” She rifles through some papers, murmuring to herself. “Do I have your headshot… oh, yes, here it is! Excellent. Right then. I can slot you in. I’ll reach out to your agent with the details. Thanks for coming by.” She closes the door again with a little click, and I stand there for a second, trying to understand what just happened.

“It’s all who you know,” Stevie says gently. “I had a lot of people step up for me after my incident, so I’m happy to pay it forward.”

I blink and then turn to her, suddenly too emotional to respond.

“It’s okay,” she says, squeezing my arm. “Don’t cry. Us women need to stick together.”

“Oh my gosh.” I finally come to my senses and manage a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Stevie. I mean, you don’t even know me. Not really.”

“I know enough to know when someone is in trouble. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.” She writes her phone number on the back of a business card. “Call me any time.”

“I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing. Women have to have each other’s backs. If my friends hadn’t had mine, I’d probably be dead now.”

Her words give me pause.

That’s something I have to think about.

Just not today.

Chapter5

Mick

Now that we’reno longer in the Midwest, the crowds aren’t as friendly, and I leave the stage in Salt Lake City wondering what the hell our management team was thinking. We knew it was a risk to tour with Karnal Death, but they offered us a good deal. Except their fans aren’t necessarily our fans so it’s not working out the way it’s supposed to. I’m pissed off about the whole thing.

I grab a towel from my bass tech and rub it down my face.

“This is bullshit,” I mutter to Jonny.

“I know.” He doesn’t look happy either.

“At what point do we call it a day?”

“We’re meeting with Sasha tomorrow,” he says, referring to Sasha Petrov, the band’s manager and record company rep. Her mother, Casey Hart, owns Hart Records, and though they’ve been extremely good to us, this tour is bullshit.

We’re not making money yet either, which pisses me off even more.

“Are we going to say what we’re thinking,” I ask in frustration, “or continue to toe the line?”

“What’s the alternative?” Tate Jeffries, our rhythm guitarist, asks. “A club tour? The momentum is happeningnow—we don’t want to lose it.”

“We just gotbooed,” I say, throwing up my hands. “What is that doing for momentum? The press is going to have a field day.”

“We’ll give Sasha a head’s-up tomorrow,” Sam Fielding, our lead guitarist, says firmly. “In the meantime, we need to keep our heads down and keep doing what we’re doing.”

“What? Kissing their asses?” I grunt.

“I agree with Mick,” Angus interjects. “We need to think about a change, maybe consider some options.”

“It’s only been a few months,” Jonny protests. “And we’re making money despite the lackluster response from some crowds.”

“If the press keeps writing about those lackluster responses, they’re going to assume we suck.”

“No one is going to assume that,” Tate says. “Come on, it wasn’t a great night, but that happens. Let’s go get drunk and forget about it.”

“We need to be on the same page,” I press. “We have to let Sasha know we’re serious about wanting out.”

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