Page 65 of Hard Rock Temptation
You can have every food imaginable delivered straight to our door,I would remind her.
It’s always lukewarm by the time it gets here, she would shrug and continue slurping her shake.
I found myself smiling as I reminisced. Anya was a force of nature on stage, but off-stage it sometimes seemed like a gust of wind could knock her over.
It was always so interesting to see that transformation as she stepped into the limelight. I regretted the fact that, as the drummer, I was always behind her and could rarely see her face as she sang. Her expressive bearing was what drew people in, making concert go-ers feel like she was singing straight into their hearts. Anya was half the reason our concerts were always packed. The fans loved her. And she always wanted to please those fans.
I looked down at my now-lukewarm coffee. Anya really did care about the fans. She wasn’t wrong when she said we needed to give them the music they wanted to hear.
But how could we know they didn’t want to hear our new stuff if we didn’t try?
I groaned and slumped forward to rest my forehead against the counter. I just kept going around and around in circles, with no answer.
Micah thought I was being stubborn, but I wasn’t the only one clinging to my ideals with both fists. It was just as frustrating for me to replay their arguments in my head and try to come up with counter arguments to convince them.
If Finn and Anya hadn’t been hiding away, maybe we could have talked things out.
If Zain hadn’t stormed off in a huff maybe we could have come to some sort of solution.
If Micah would justlistento me, and try to see it from my point of view, maybe we could come up with a compromise.
I made a displeased noise in the back of my throat and kicked the stool next to me. Micah wasn’t the only one who was frustrated. The emotional swing from despair to irritable was a welcome one. I didn’t want to be angry with my friends, but it sure was better than wallowing in my own misery.
My phone rang, startling me, and I looked at the screen.
It was my mom.
That irritable frustration swelled up within me. My ire had been seeking an outlet, and here was the perfect one.
Maybe it was time to end this once and for all. Maybe I could channel this anger and keep myself from folding and giving my mom whatever she wanted.
I pressed the answer button.
“Stop calling me.” Not the best way to begin a conversation, but I was already worked up.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” my mom screeched. Apparently she was already all worked up, too.
“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I stated. “In fact, this is the last time I’m going to speak to you at all. I’ve already given you enough money that you should be set for life. I’m not giving in anymore.”
“You selfish little?—”
“You can call me selfish if you want, I don’t care,” I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear from you anymore. I don’t want to have anything to do with you from now on.”
“But you’re still going to keep playing those songs about me, aren’t you?” she snarked. “You’re going to keep sullying my reputation, making everyone think I’m a terrible mother? Don’t you think I deserve some of the money you’ve made off all your whining?”
“Then go ahead and sue me,” I snapped.
“You—”
I stabbed my index finger on the end button. My hands were shaking so much it took me three tries.
A part of me couldn’t believe I had just told my mom off like that, and without even bursting into tears. Another part of me felt somuch relief it felt as if I had lifted off the ground, weightless and free. Another part of me was worried about her wrath, worried about what she might do next. Show up in person again, probably. But now I knew how to channel this anger and aim it at her.
Next time I would be ready.
TWENTY-EIGHT
MICAH
