Page 3 of Stolen Harmony
The door slammed open with enough force to rattle the frame. Sasha stormed in like a tornado in a business suit, her heels clicking against the concrete in sharp staccato beats. The manila folder in her manicured hand looked like a weapon.
“Twenty-six years old and you still can’t tell time,” she snapped, dropping the folder on the makeshift table with a sound like a gunshot. Papers scattered like confetti, but the mood was anything but celebratory. “Do you want to know what’s in here, Rowan?”
“Probably your fanfiction about me.”
“Cute. No. Contracts. Three of them. All canceled.” She opened the folder and spread the papers out like she was dealing cards in the world’s worst poker game. “The Mercury Lounge, Baby’s All Right, and Pianos. All pulled out in the last two weeks.”
That got my attention. My stomach clenched, but I forced my voice to stay level. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sasha’s laugh was razor-thin. “Maybe because you missed soundcheck at Mercury, showed up drunk to Baby’s, and walked off stage halfway through your set at Pianos?”
“I had the flu at Pianos,” I saidautomatically.
“You had a hangover and everyone knew it.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “Quote: ‘Rowan Hale is unprofessional and unreliable. We can’t recommend him for future bookings.’ Want me to keep reading?”
“I always did love a good review section,” I muttered.
Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already exhausted.
“There are no other places!” Sasha’s voice cracked. For a second I saw the woman who’d bet her career on me, not just the manager. “Your reputation is toxic right now. Venues won’t touch you, and the ones that will are paying fifty bucks and a drink ticket.”
“Fifty and a drink?” I shrugged. “Sounds like a deal.”
She shot me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You think this is funny?”
“A little,” I admitted. “Mostly tragic, but a little.”
Caleb muttered, “You’re really not helping yourself.”
“Shut up, Caleb,” Sasha and I said at the same time.
For a heartbeat, the tension cracked — and then her voice went lower, more dangerous. “I’ve been doing this for twelve years. I’ve seen talented kids crash and burn, and I’ve seen mediocre ones make it because they showed up and did the work. You want to know what you are right now?”
“A pain in your ass?”
“Nothing,” she said flatly. “You’re not burned out, Ro. You’re not having an artistic crisis. You’re disappearing. And pretty soon there won’t be anything left to save.”
That shut me up.
Sasha stood, gathering her papers with sharp, efficient movements. “I’m taking a break from managing you. Find me when you remember why you started playing music in the first place.”
She paused at the door, hand on the handle. “Gosomewhere quiet, Rowan. Figure out who you want to be before there’s nothing left to figure out.”
The door closed behind her with a quiet click that sounded final.
Caleb and I sat in silence for a long moment. From the stage, I could hear Marcus finishing up his stalling routine, probably running out of material. The crowd was getting restless—I could feel their energy shifting through the walls, patience wearing thin.
“She's not wrong,” Caleb said finally.
“Fuck off.”
“I mean it. You've been phoning it in for months. Maybe longer.”
I wanted to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Because he was right too. They were all right, and that was the worst part. I'd been sleepwalking through my own life, going through the motions of being a musician without any of the passion that made it worthwhile.
“We should get out there,” I said again.
Caleb nodded, but I could see the worry in his eyes, the way he was already calculating how to explain this to the rest of the band. “Yeah. Okay.”
