Sounded awesome. Sign me up. Community college, here I come.
I sighed. What was I even saying? Give up music? For better or worse, I loved it too much to ever walk away. Eventually I’d crawl back, tail between my legs… like I always did. See, the thing about being a McKallister was we never knew what was best for us. It was almost like we were genetically predisposed to screw up our lives—as if rash decisions were hardwired into our DNA. I suppose you could say it was a family curse, really. If only my brother Keith had said no to drugs or if my mother could have kept it together when we’d needed her most. Or hell, I might as well get to the root of the issue: if only Jake and Kyle had gone to the skate park like they were supposed to that day, their lives—all of our lives—would’ve been so different. But they hadn’t. We hadn’t. And now here I was, adding to the family’s compost pile.
Speaking of family… what the hell was I going to say to mine? I couldn’t exactly admit that I’d opened the portal to hell up there on stage. Evading capture seemed the best way to stay one step ahead of the genetic firestorm coming my way. Although to be fair, bolting off the stage in front of a live audience really wasn’t that far out of character for me. I had a reputation in my family for being unpredictable—the squirrel in the road. You never knew in which direction it would run until it was either under your tires or safely across the street. It was too early to tell whether I’d be roadkill or burying my nuts by morning.
What I needed now was guidance, and there were three members of my family that might see my point of view. First was my baby sister Grace. She’d always been able to talk me through a crisis. But Gracie was currently overseas on a semester abroad, and until I figured out how to tell time in other countries, she was not a viable option.
My brother’s wife Sam was like a sister to me too, but involving her in my drama in her current state wasn’t a good idea, seeing she was so pregnant at this point that any undue stress might set her off like a shaken can of carbonated soda.
And then there was Emma. She was available, yes, but my older sister had a tendency to be a tad opinionated. And by ‘tad,’ I didn’t mean like a pinch of salt in the cookie dough. No, more like an entire tablespoon of judgment. Emma was always good to have around in someone else’s crisis, but in my own? Uh… no thank you. I’d rather get my life advice from my brother Kyle, the guy who routinely referred to broccoli as tiny trees.
Sprinting past all the stage-side naysayers, I booked it down the long narrow hallway until I arrived at the dressing room door. Sidestepping one of the PR ladies, we did an awkward dance before I grabbed her shoulders and physically moved her aside.
“Sorry,” I apologized as I slipped past her and then through the door. There was no time for further niceties because, by my estimate, I only had about two minutes to vacate the premises before the powers that be pounced all over me. I aggressively shoved Lucia, my most prized possession, into her guitar case before grabbing my belongings out of my locker and hastily ramming them into my backpack. Hold up. How the hell was I going to blend in with the tourists on Hollywood Boulevard in shiny performance pants and a frilly pirate shirt? Dammit. I was going to have to change.
Snagging my jeans out of the bag, I’d just begun the laborious process of peeling the skintight vinyl down past my waist, much like I might extract a fruit rollup from its plastic wrap, when the door blasted open on its hinges.
“Don’t you dare take those pants off, McKallister!”
I froze as a group of well-dressed, middle-aged men filed into the room, each one more red-faced and fuming than the next. And as if they’d choreographed the entire intimidating performance just for my benefit, the men stepped aside to make way for the head producer of the show and Satan himself—Andrew Hollis.
Hollis beelined it straight for me, waggling his pointer finger in the general direction of my shaft. “I swear to god, Quinn, if I see dick, I will destroy you.”
Phillip, the mild-mannered lawyer without the clout or backbone to stand up to anyone, jumped into the fray. “Oh, um, Mr. Hollis, that’s dangerously close to sexual harass—”
“Zip it!” Hollis shut him down with the rise of a steely fist before lowering his voice to a menacing growl. “Here’s what’s going to happen, shithead. You’re going to pull those pants back up and get your ass out on that stage. And once you’re there, you’re going to extend your sincerest apology to the audience and the judges for having the mental capacity of a dishrag. Now, let’s go!”
Before I could get a word in, Marvin, the stage producer, chimed in with his own useless chatter. “Quinn will need to give some excuse, Mr. Hollis.”
Hollis flung his arms in the air in a show of frustration, and I watched in fascination as the broken, dilated capillaries beneath the surface of his skin turned his nose bright red.
“Assclown here can tell the crowd he had an urgent call with the Pope for all I care,” Hollis blasted before turning his vitriol back on me. “But hear me now, McKallister, youwillfix this! And then, once everything is under control, I’m going to take you around back and beat some sense back into you.”
“Oh, nowthatreally is inappropriate, sir,” the lawyer tried to arbitrate once more. Not that anyone but me was listening. I had the distinct feeling that Phillip was the type of person who got picked last for every activity. But today, somehow, this slightly built man had become the captain of my team. “We really can’t be threatening the contestants with bodily harm.”
“Says who?” Hollis scoffed.
“The Penal Code, sir.”
“If you have an issue with how I run my show, Phillip, you can go back to your five-figure salary chasing ambulances.”
Andthatwas the end of Phillip. He shrank back into the corner he’d briefly ventured out of, offering me a demur shrug of his narrow shoulders as an apology for his cowardliness. So much for my savior. But I didn’t need him to speak for me. I didn’t need anyone to speak for me. Never had.
Shoving my dick back into the vinyl pants, I hastily buttoned them back up and took a step closer to the prince of darkness before delivering a daring reply. “No.”
His eyes rounded. “No?”
I stood taller, towering over Hollis and letting him feel the full weight of my conviction. “You heard me. I’m leaving, and you can clean up my mess. How’s that sound?”
The room fell silent, nervous eyes darting from person to person as if they were about to witness an execution. My execution.
Through clenched teeth, Hollis responded in the hushed, homicidal tone reserved just for me. “It sounds like a man digging his own grave.”
“Maybe,” I said, all full of a bravado I had no business displaying.
“No, McKallister, not maybe. Iwillannihilateyou, and when I’m done, not even your brother will be able to save you. Mark my words—you’ll never work in this business again.”
Well, shit. How thoroughly had I thought this all through? My conviction wavered as reality set in.
