Page 72 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

The article included stories from high school but they twisted the roles. They talked about the many shitty things they did to me but made me out to be the bully and them the victims. I can’t believe it. I sit on the edge of the bed and read some of the other articles. Apparently, Aiden and the others had run their mouths to anyone that would listen.

I can’t believe they can just make up lies and get them printed. I’m pretty sure this has to be defamation. I need to call Liz. She’ll handle this. That publicist lady I’ve been dealing with will put out a statement.

I’ll sue the fuckers. How dare they say such things? But truthfully, the articles aren’t what really makes me feel like shit. It’s my dad and my brothers. They must hate me right now. I click off the bullshit article and call Michael first. He doesn’t answer. I call Caleb. It rings once and then I’m sent to voicemail.

“Shit.”

This isn’t happening. This can’t—

A sharp knock at the door.

“Jack?” Liz’s voice, all business. “Open up.”

I’m sure she’s seen the articles and is here to tell me how they’re going to fix it.

I stumble to the door, my bare feet sticking to something spilled on the carpet. The second I turn the knob, Liz strides in—followed by Richard Kessler from the label and two suits I don’t recognize.

No one sits.

Richard folds his arms, his Rolex glinting in the sunlight. “You’ve seen the news, I assume.”

I rub my temples. “It’s out of context—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Liz taps her tablet. “Your streaming numbers dropped sixty percent overnight. Ticketmaster’s getting flooded with refund requests for the fall tour.”

“Liz, it’s all bullshit! I want a lawyer. I want to sue the shit out of those guys.”

One of the suits clears his throat. “Per clause fourteen-A of your contract, Rockline reserves the right to terminate agreements in the event of reputational damage rendering the artist ‘commercially unviable.’”

“What does that mean?” I ask, looking from him to Liz.

“It means you’re a sinking ship and we’re not letting you take the label down with you,” Liz replies.

The words take a second to land. When they do, I laugh because I can’t believe it’s actually happening. “You’re dropping me? Over this?”

Richard’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “The board voted unanimously. Effective immediately.”

“You’re the one who gave me the fucking alcohol,” I remind Liz. “I didn’t do anything wrong. So what I called my dad. That’s my business.”

“It’s our business when you insult farmers,” Liz says.

I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. “You’ve been insulting my past and farmers for months.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not on stage in front of thousands of people.”

“You can’t do this,” I say.

“Oh, we can and we did,” she shrugs.

“Fine, fire me, but my music is still mine,” I snap.

Liz shrugs, scrolling through her phone. “Honestly, Jack? You should’ve read the fine print.”

“Now what are you saying?”

She glances up, her expression cool and detached. “Your contract gives Rockline full ownership of any music produced during your tenure. Your songs, your lyrics—they belong to us now.”

The room tilts. I grip the edge of the table to steady myself. “You’re lying. That can’t be legal.”