can also talk about the riffs and the songs,” Jay said. “Skip the history of the band and Mitchy.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Save that for the book.”
We all collectively groaned.
Sometimes things felt too commercial for the band. But we were a business. We were a brand. We were a product. It didn’t sit well with me, but it was reality.
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and wandered to the stage.
The rest of the band followed. We sat on the edge of the stage with five guitars and just started to mess around.
Of course, in typical Filthy Line fashion, Jay and Dex started jamming a new riff.
Reed picked it up for a second and then traded his guitar for an acoustic bass.
I jumped in on rhythm, strumming the root chords of the main riff.
Nash just plucked at the strings of his guitar when he felt like it.
Then out of nowhere, he started to belt out some lyrics…
Your sound when quiet.
We’re left in silence.
The star fades into a brand-new day.
The street is empty.
The past is tempting.
We’ll carry you always.
Just like that, we were writing a new song.
A sad song with nothing but an acoustic sound.
It flowed so easily it was like we had been playing it for ten years.
In the middle of the song, Jay began to play a solo and he nodded to Dex.
Dex then played the same solo, leaving me and Nash to carry the song by strumming the chords louder.
I wasn’t sure we ever wrote a song like that before…
When we stopped, it was silent.
Jay rubbed his jaw.
Reed looked away.
Dex cleared his throat.
Nash casually wiped the corners of his eyes.
“So we have something new to play,” I said as I swallowed hard.
“Do we open or close with that?” Jay asked.
“Open,” Nash said. He stood up. “We open with it. I think I’m done for tonight.”
“It’s heavy,” Dex said. “I’m feeling it too.”
They all stood up to leave.
They all had someone to go home to.
That never once bothered me before.
Not that it bothered me now.
I could easily just swing by the strip club again and actually spend some money and have fun.
Before I could make a final decision, my phone buzzed with a text message.
From Bree.
Can I come to LA to be with you?
I read the text ten times and checked the time each time I read it.
She never texted me this late.
She was drunk.
Drunk and emotional.
The band all said their goodbyes and I hung back in the practice area.
The guy driving the car for me was taking a nap.
I let him be for the moment.
Hey, babe. Are you okay?
I sat down and stared at my phone, refusing to blink.
Waiting for Bree to text me back.
Just answer my question, Sebastian.
My fingers hit the screen to reply.
I swallowed hard.
You never text this late. You’re always welcome out here. What’s going on? Can you call me?
Five seconds later, the phone rang.
I stood up and almost felt nervous to answer.
“Bree,” I said.
“You said I could come down there,” she said, her voice slurred.
I shut my eyes. “Yeah, I did. But you’re drunk, babe. I don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”
“I need to get out of here, Sebastian,” she said. “I’m not playing around. I need to get… out of here…”
She started to cry.
Fuck.
“Oh, don’t cry, Bree,” I said. “I’m right here. Talk to me. We can stay up all night and talk on the phone. Remember when we used to do that?”
“Of course I remember it,” she said.
“Hey, where’s Mia?”
“Asleep on the couch.”
“Okay. You’re not alone. That’s good.”
“I’m fine, Sebastian,” she said.
Her drunk voice told me otherwise.
“I’m sure you are,” I said.
“I need to go somewhere,” she said. “I need to think.”
“Then come here,” I said. “Come hang with me and the guys. You’ll love it down here. Clear your head. Go to the beach. Hang out with some rock stars.”
“Watch you sleep with other women,” Bree added. “Or maybe I can get some rock star loving. Right?”
My stomach burned for a second. “Bree…”
“It’s bad up here,” she said. “I miss you. I want to come down there now.”
The words tore through me.
She was grabbing at whatever was lingering in her mind.
“I’m not who I thought,” she said. “You’re not going to believe this, Sebastian. That letter my mother wrote? It was to tell me I was adopted.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s right. She left me a letter… to tell me that…”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Or in a little while. You should get some sleep. Then you