Page 121 of Finding Storm

“Do I sound like I’m asking? Your boys have been covering for you for the last few weeks. But, ultimately, you’re the songwriter. Get your ass back here and do your fucking job.”

Pausing, I sigh. “Have you spoke to Jake?”

“I speak to Jake more than I speak to my wife. Your fucking point is?”

“Well … is this him telling me to come home?”

Zane laughs. “I’m not Jake’s fucking errand boy. Whatever the hell family shit you have going on, I don’t care.” He enunciates each word clearly. “This is me, the VP of the label your replaceable band is signed to, telling you to get your ass back to LA and start working on this fucking album ASAP. We invested money in you. I expect to see a return on it.”

Jesus. I have to go home.

Swallowing down, I say in a quiet voice, “There’s no movement on tomorrow at all?”

“No. I’m running a business here, Storm, not a fucking preschool.” Then, he hangs up on me. Which is usual protocol for Zane.

Fuck. I have to go back tomorrow.

Fucking fuck!

I’m not ready to leave Stevie.

But if I don’t go … the album will be screwed. I can’t have other people writing the songs. We write our own music. We always have.

Fucking Zane.

Though I can stand here and blame him, he’s only doing his job. Doing what I’ve seen Jake do to other bands over the years. The world doesn’t stop turning just because I decide I need to step off for a while.

And I do need to go back and face Jake, Tom, and Denny. I have to sort things out with them.

I might still be angry with them over what they did. But they’re my family.

The only family I have.

Palming my cell, I open up the Messenger app.

I open the group text with the boys, firing off a message, letting them know that I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon and to meet me at the studio.

I’m not leaving tonight. I want one more night with Stevie.

I’ll drive back early tomorrow morning.

An ache pierces into my chest at the thought of driving away from her tomorrow.

Don’t think about it.

Just focus on what needs to be done.

I open up another message to send to Jake, Tom, and Denny, asking if I can see them tomorrow night to talk.

I don’t bother to wait for the replies to come back in.

I’ve got this one night left with Stevie. I’m not wasting a second of my time with her.

I’ve also got to figure out a way to tell her that I’m leaving.

Even though I know she knows it’s coming at some point, the coward in me—the one who doesn’t want to say the words out loud because when I do, it makes them real—doesn’t want to tell her.

But I know I have to.