“Yup,” Mike answered.
Zane glanced at Dean, who was standing behind the bright blue tiled peninsula in the kitchen. He gave him an urgent look, directing his manager to step in. Dean set his jaw, then walked into the living room. “Look guys, we all knew things weren’t exactly in sync on that last one. They felt off from the start. And Zane’s right. If he’s not feeling it, it’s not going to work.”
Zane nodded gravely. “Honestly the last thing I want to do is clip anyone’s wings, but… well, there’s no choice. We either fix the problem or we all go down.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and stared at his best friend. “I can’t let us go down, man, even if it stings a little right now.”
Mike stood up and waved a dismissive arm at Zane on his way to the fridge. “This doesn’tneedto be done. It’s just an excuse.”
“Mike’s right. This is bullshit, Zane,” Rusty told him, lighting up a cigarette. “’The Edge of Everything’ is still our biggest hit to date.”
Mike cracked open a can of Miller Lite. “I also wrote ourthirdbiggest hit. Let’s not forget that.”
Zane’s stomach churned. “That’s true. I’m not saying you don’t have talent, because you do. That’s an indisputable fact, and I made sure that Larry knows it too. But things have changed for me. As anartist. I’m not sure why, but it’s gotten a lot harder for me to get to that place I need to go to when I’m performing. And if I can’t do that, we’re all screwed.”
Rusty blew out a puff of smoke in Zane’s direction. “If you’re the problem, fix yourself. Don’t handcuff the rest of us.”
An indignant frustration came over Zane, and he bit back words about them just sucking it up because he was the star. Instead, he would give them an ultimatum. He was already an irredeemable prick in their eyes, but he was also the face and voice of the band, so he knew they’d have no choice but to go along. “I’m sorry if it hurts you, but if I’m going to sing something, it needs to come from me. If you can’t live with that, you’re free to leave.”
Mike scoffed, set his can down carefully on the counter, then gave his best friend a long, hard stare. “Freedom’s sounding pretty good right about now. Fuck you.”
With that, he walked out, leaving the door open behind him. The men stayed where they were, stunned into silence as the cold air flowed into the loft.
Finally, Dean followed him, and for a second, Zane thought he would chase Mike down and drag him back inside so they could sort this out. But he didn’t. He closed the door and turned back to the guys, looking defeated.
Rusty shook his head at Zane. “What happened to you, man?”
“I grew up.”
Dean gestured for everyone to calm down. “Let’s give Mike some time. He’ll come back.”
Steven narrowed his eyes at Dean. “And what if he doesn’t?”
MALIBU, CALIFORNIA
MIKE KURILLA
Mike sat on the beach in front of his home, sipping a cold beer, while the rest of the six-pack waited in a small cooler beside him. It had been a warm March day, but he had a small fire going in the sand to take the chill off the early evening air. The waves rolling in and the crackling of the fire did little to soothe his mood. He was restless and frustrated and generally pissed off at the world. But soon, the sun would sink into the Pacific, and the night sky would calm him down. Venus would show herself first, then Jupiter, and as the stars followed suit, they’d be exactly where they were the night before, all lined up in the same scattered order as they had been for billions of years. His future used to feellike that—certain and perfect. Nothing but more songs and crowds, more flights and autographs. Nothing but more days and nights with the family pulled together through a shared purpose, instead of a shared bloodline.
It had been over a month since he stormed out of the meeting at Dean’s, and in that time, he and Zane had yet to talk. First, Rusty had come by to try to urge him to come back. Then Dean, followed by Steven, but Mike’s answer remained the same.No.
And the longer he went without Zane trying to make amends, the angrier he became. They were locked in a game of chicken, and he wouldn’t flinch first. He couldn’t think of anyone who had hurt him the way Zane had, which was saying something.
A light cough from behind him interrupted him mid-sip. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
Zane plunked himself down on the sand next to Mike. “Got a beer in there for me?”
Mike gave him a sideways glance. “That all depends on why you’re here.”
The wind whipped Zane’s hair across his face, and he tucked it behind his ear. “If I said it was to apologize and get you to come back, would that get me a drink?”
“Only if you meant it.”
“I mean it. It was a shitty thing for me to do,” Zane said. “And I’m sorry.”
Mike took off the lid and handed him a Molson. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you pin the blame on me and Russ like that?”
Zane cracked it. “I didn’t pin the blame on you guys. I stood up for you. I told him you’re both extremely talented songwriters.”
Agitation scratched at Mike’s skin, making him want tostrip down and run into the frigid Pacific. Instead, he scoffed. “But you also told him you won’t sing if we write anymore.”
