Page 1 of Accidental Fire
Prologue
River Ashe
“… Happy birthday to you!”
The singing was off-key and too loud, but I loved it. I glanced at my family—my mom, Jeanne; my dad, Regal; my brothers, Skyler Ashe and Arlo Timmons; and the rest of my band, Accidental Fire. They were all family to me, and I would be nothing without each and every one of them.
When the singing stopped, Mom touched my shoulder. “Make a wish, Riv.”
I closed my eyes and thought back over the last year of my life. It had been a whirlwind, what with Sky coming home to help with the music after Dad had a heart attack during a threesome with my mom and Hope, Sky’s mom. Back then, I was a wallflower, hiding in the shadow of my hard-partying rock-star father.
Experiencing firsthand how easy everything came to a member of a rock band gave me insight into how my father became the man he is today. Life on the road was a constantparty, and Goldie, JD, Arlo, Hardy, and I took advantage of every perk that came our way—legal or not.
Some days it was exhausting, but that didn’t matter to us. We were in our early twenties, and we were gonna take our bite out of life. Fuck anyone who got in our way.
I made a wish for our band to have a successful tour with lots of partying before I blew out the candle. Everyone clapped as Mom and Hope began cutting the cake while Regal walked around Marshall’s yard in San Jose, carrying a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of red wine, refilling glasses for the guests.
Sky and Sandy had come to town for my twenty-first birthday party on their way to New Zealand for their belated honeymoon, and the guys and I were getting ready for our tour. We’d been writing new music to try out, always preparing for our next album.
“Happy birthday, little brother. Here’s your firstlegalbeer.” Skyler walked up and handed me a bottle of beer. He chuckled. “You notice I didn’t say your first beer. Marsh has been keeping us updated on your antics on the road. Did you guys really tear out the drywall in a hotel in Lake Tahoe?”
I sighed. We’d had a few parties where things got out of hand, but it wasn’t just me. Arlo was working through some issues with Regal—who was still trying to adjust to admitting he was Arlo’s father—and more than one wall had received a fist-sized hole when Arlo finished talking to Regal on the phone.
“Something was up with one of the lights beside the fireplace in the suite. We were working through the intro of a new song, and the lights kept flickering, which was driving all of us nuts. Goldie worked a couple of summers as an electrician’s helper, and he thought he could fix it.” It was a pathetic excuse, but when you’d smoked a bowl and glugged down a handle of Jack, you thought you were capable of anything. Obviously, we were proven wrong.
“But hedidn’tfix it, did he?” Marsh asked as he stood next to me, his hand on my bicep, squeezing hard. Obviously, there was another problem.
“Actually, no. He tried, but he ended up shorting out the entire floor of the hotel. We paid to have an electrician come out and fix it though. No harm done.” Based on Marshall’s expression, I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
“Let’s step over here, myfriend. We have a little issue that needs to be addressed and settled before you fly off to housesit for Sandy and Sky in the good ol’ Midwest.” Marshall tugged my arm, guiding me to the front porch, and slammed me onto the bench swing Regal had Dusty, one of his bandmates in From the Ashes, hang last Christmas for the moms.
“What’s up, Marsh?” I flashed my famous Ashe smile, which made the ladies swoon when we performed, not that I was looking for the ladies.
It did nothing but piss off Marshall. “You guys are in deep shit with Nate Ashby.”
That was puzzling. “Who’s Nate Ashby?”
Marshall’s face flamed with anger. “I swear to god, you guys are a bunch of self-centered, juvenile assholes. Nate Ashby is the CEO of Sound Wave Studios. You know, yourrecord label?”
“Oh. Why’s he mad at us?” I barely remembered the guy from the day we signed with the label and took pictures in his fancy office in Century City.
“He got a message from Chamberlain West Hollywood Hotel for two empty minibars, a broken toilet tank, and a shredded bed quilt to the tune of eleven thousand dollars. Nate said the hotel manager told him your credit card was declined, and when they called you about it, you never called back. That’s ridiculous, River.
“You’re not kids anymore, dammit! Not answering your phone won’t make the problem go away. On another note, the band’sdrug use is out of control. You guys need to get your shit together, or Sound Wave is going to drop you.” Marshall’s nostrils were flaring, which was an unattractive look on him.
“We were just blowing off steam after the show. We wanted to go to a club, but you wouldn’t let us go without you, and you didn’t want to go. We’ll pay for the damage we did at the hotel, Marsh. I swear.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that shit before from you idiots. Now look, I’m going to check out a band in Billings, Montana, during the first week of your tour, so I’ll have to meet you little shits in LA for the Summer Heat Fest at The Offbeat. If you little fuckers get into any trouble before I’m there, I will quit you. I won’t represent a bunch of stupid, immature dickheads who don’t know when they’ve been given an amazing shot at a great future. You’re about to blow it. Ask The Claymont Sprites about this very thing,” Marsh said.
“Who the hell is that? I’ve never heard of them.”
“Exactly!”
Marsh turned to walk away, obviously believing he’d made his point, then he stopped and turned. “Call the Chamberlain West Hollywood Hotel and find out how to pay them back. I’m going to call Mr. Ashby and ask him to have someone watch you guys, so you don’t fuck up again.”
Marsh would never quit us. We were the first band he’d signed on his own, and we would make him a lot of money in the years to come. He wouldn’t walk away from that, no matter what we did.
We were grown men and were due a piece of the rock-and-roll lifestyle. Nobody could write songs about love, drinking, gambling, and heartbreak unless they experienced it for themselves, and one day, I wanted to be in the Songwriters Hall of Fame! I had a lot of life to live before I got there.
