Rocked (The Everyday Heroes World) - Julia Wolf Page 0,71
was disgusted—or worse, pitying.
I walked away, lifting a hand to wave as I went, feeling that rock under my feet crumbling to dust.
Outside, the air was thick and hot, nothing like the cool nights we got in Sunnyville. A few random girls splashed around in the pool. From where I stood, they appeared to be topless, but I’d wager they were also bottomless. A couple guys I recognized were sitting in chairs poolside, vacillating between watching the girls make out with each other and doing lines of blow. Keating was kicked back in a lounge chair, ankle resting on his knee, his phone in one hand, drink in the other, oblivious to the debauchery taking place mere feet from him. I took the seat across from him, tipping my head back to look up at the starless sky.
“Hey. I didn’t know if you were going to show,” Keating said.
“Yeah, I didn’t know either. Kat wanted the full experience.”
“Where is she?” He glanced around the patio, then back at me.
“Inside, talking to Carter Dawes.”
“Oh shit.” He dropped his drink on the table beside him and rubbed his jaw. “You left her with Carter, the kid with the face that launched a thousand ships?”
“Kat’s a friend. I’m not gonna go ballistic if some douchey actor flirts with her.”
I could see them through the windows, Kat pointing toward the rock wall, probably showing him the route she’d take, while his eyes were glued to her tits. I wanted to rip that motherfucker’s head off and feed it to him, but that was just my ego being bruised. Kat wasn’t mine. She’d made it clear again and again, and we both knew our expiration date was looming.
If the situation were different, if I had a claim on her, I’d never even consider leaving my girl with Carter Dawes or anyone like him. Not because I didn’t trust her, but because men like that viewed women as sport. Carter Dawes would love nothing more than to bag Devon Chambers’ woman. I knew that, because I’d been him. I’d had that mindset.
I was no saint now. Not by a longshot. I’d simply been slapped in the face with enough self-awareness to take a long look at my actions and be disgusted by them.
“That’s good to know. Then you’ll be ready to return to New York in three weeks and get back to work.”
My attention was torn from Kat and Carter to Keating, who looked like the cat who ate the canary.
“What’s in three weeks?” I asked.
“You’ve got studio time booked with Horse. Fucking Horse, man. This is exactly what we’ve needed.”
Horse, a wunderkind DJ who wore a horse head on stage. Over the last couple years, he’d produced single after single with the biggest names in pop. Not rock, though. I couldn’t think of a single Horse-produced rock song.
I shifted in my seat, not sharing Keating’s enthusiasm. “You sure that’s the direction I should be taking? I was thinking I’d get back to my roots. I’ve been writing—”
His head bobbed, he nodded so hard. “Yeah, yeah. You can still do that. But who’s going to listen, Devon? The first step is getting your name back out there. It’s been almost two years since you toured, and I don’t think I need to remind you what a shitshow that was. These days, memories are short. Yeah, you’ve been making music for fifteen years, but the only thing kids remember is what’s right in front of them. Horse will put you in front of those kids, the ones who will slap down a couple Benjis to go to your concert. You want your next song to be on every TikTok video made in middle schooler’s bedrooms across the world.”
His foot bounced as his enthusiasm grew. He was hyped about this idea—to be fair, he was probably also hyped up on a mind-altering substance or two—completely sold on how effective it would be.
“That’s what’ll launch your comeback. This is your golden opportunity. Look at what the Chainsmokers did for Coldplay, what Marshmello did for Bastille. That’ll be The Devon Chambers Band and Horse.”
I exhaled slowly, shoving my hands through my hair. My gut churned, some of Keating’s enthusiasm catching, turning to nervous excitement. In three weeks, I could be back in the studio, making music. Not the music I’d been wanting to make, but it could be the gateway to getting me back there—right where I wanted to be. Horse was a crevice for me to grab onto and