“I wasn’t spying. I was enjoying your show.” Theo shoves both his hands in his pockets. “I’m a fan.”
Kenny, always too tenderhearted, drops his scowl. “Oh, yeah? What’d you think of the set?” I clear my throat and he shoots me a guilty look.
This seems to be the opening Theo was waiting for. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and cracks his knuckles. “Look, I promise I’ll never bullshit you guys. Later, we’re going to talk about why the three of you are going through the motions up there. But right now, I don’t care. That’s a minor problem. Whatever that song was you played at the end—” His gaze sweeps to me, and we lock eyes. For a moment, a charge sparks: the kind you can’t predict, a knee-jerk response to a person who gets under your skin.
Then I see the sympathy in his eyes. Like he’s trying to tell me he saw me up there and he gets what I’m going through. I want to throw the glass in my hand against the wall, but I take the high road and slam it on the counter.
Theo startles. “All I’m saying is that song was the best I’ve heard in a long time. It gave me chills. Now, I know Roger wasn’t too keen on the sample you sent of your new stuff, but did you include that last one—”
“What’s your opinion on making things fresh by letting me play lead guitar?” Ripper asks.
I want to murder him, but I force myself to bend and pick up my backpack. It would be best for everyone, especially me, if I left before I exploded.
“Look, I don’t know,” Theo says. “We can discuss it. I’m just excited you’re open to talking about the next album. Now that your tour is over, I’m thinking we can devote all our time to it, treat writing and recording like a nine to five. You have a good start with that last song—what’s it called?”
“‘Six Feet Under,’” says Kenny, the traitor.
“‘Six Feet Under.’” Theo runs the words over his tongue. “I like it. I think we can turn out a record in no time. Look, I’ve helped a lot of bands who’ve been in your position. You could even say I’ve developed a bit of a reputation—”
Backpack hoisted, I spin around. “No, thanks,” I say, cutting him off. Everyone, from Ginny to Theo to Bowie, stares. I was going to walk out without a word, but something about Theo’s cockiness, his talk about the other bands, makes something snap in me, sudden and
sharp. “Return to sender.”
Theo frowns. “If you’d give me a shot, I promise—”
“We have no interest in giving you a shot, do we?” I look at Kenny and Ripper. I’ve dealt with plenty of guys like Theo. The story’s always the same: corporate goons don’t actually care about us. We’re a product funneling money into their coffers. And if you’re not funneling money, you might as well be gum on the bottom of their shoes. I don’t trust Theo’s offer to help us put together an album. There has to be something else behind it.
At my prodding, Kenny shakes his head. “Nah, man. Sorry. Appreciate you coming out, but your services aren’t needed.”
Ripper kicks off the couch and stands, towering over the rest of us. “Feel free to grab some merch on your way out, though.”
They’re both making their way to leave, and I feel a storm of ridiculous, heart-pounding relief that even now, with the three of us at our lowest, Kenny and Ripper are still my family.
I give Theo my dead-eye stare. Bowie shifts uncomfortably, standing close enough to Theo to get caught in the crosshairs. “You think we don’t see through you?” I wave a hand at him. “Just because you’re dressed like us doesn’t mean we can’t tell you’re a suit.”
“Yeah. We’re not looking for a hostile takeover.” Ripper bumps his backpack up his shoulders.
“Go back to the suit factory,” I say, and watch as Theo’s face shutters. “Tell Roger thanks but no thanks. We’ll do this on our own.”
“Good for you,” Ginny says, in a rare moment of earnestness. She’s looking at me like she can read everything inside my head. “Don’t let anyone step on you.”
“Hey,” Theo says, his voice turning unexpectedly gentle. “I should’ve said this from the beginning—I just got too excited to talk about your music. But I’m really sorry about your last manager.”
My heart drops into my stomach. Beside me, Ginny blanches.
“I know you’re still in mourning,” Theo says, “and the last thing I want you to think is that I’m trying to fill your old manager’s shoes.
I just want to help you. Because I’m going to be honest—Manifest is ready to let you go. It’s either play ball with us or Roger’s going to cancel your contract and sue you for the money.”
There it is—the snake lurking in the grass. The truth behind Theo’s offer. For the second time since he’s walked through the door, discomfort hangs over the room. One by one, all eyes turn to me.
“Tell Roger he can go fuck himself,” I say. I turn to Kenny, Ripper, and Bowie. “I’m done with the Saints.”
Kenny takes a sharp breath, but Ripper is stone-faced.
“What do you mean, you’re done?” Theo asks.
“Exactly what it sounds like.” I turn my back and walk out the door. “I quit.”
