Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I stared down the room of producers through the glass of that recording booth. “You’re gonna hate me anyway,” I said to their smug faces, “might as well hate me for a reason.”
Then I banged out some nasty chords on my guitar.
And those bitter words became lyrics.
And by the time I was through, the whole room was silent. All of them. Even my bandmates. No one knew what just happened, only that it’s exactly what every last person in that room wanted.
That’s how it happened. Just like that.
One burst of pure, honest rage, and our hit was born.
But it isn’t the same hit I’m singing now. Five years later, I’m a different man. My band is different, too—literally, Raj considered. And I’m no longer the boy chasing that dream of stardom. I found a new dream. A better one. And he’s out there in that audience.
And just like in that cold recording booth, he’s one brave and terrifying step away, just out of reach.
That’s how the lyric changes.
I’m gonna love him anyway.
So you might as well love me for a reason.
Yeah, I hear what you want, you hear what you want …
No one ever listened to words anyway.
Might as well love me for a reason, yeah …
And that reason is you.
The last chorus gives way to a whole solo section for Fiona to rock out on her keys. The camera focuses on her. I see passion in her eyes when she shows us everything she’s got.
I sure hope Laina is watching this live stream.
In my heart, I want to believe it’s not just my love the four of us are fighting for.
Maybe we’re even fighting for Ian, too. His right to never miss another damned moment with his wife Hailey and their beautiful daughter. All the Ians out there. All the Fionas and Lainas.
All the Chase Holts and his secret TJs.
When Fiona’s last chord is struck, and Wily’s rich bass hangs in the air, and the hiss of Raj’s last crash of the cymbals linger, and Glorious hums his final chord of the song, our crowd explodes into cheers and screaming that surprises us all.
It’s surprising because the crowd is barely half the size of the ones we’ve been performing for.
I can’t help but crack a smile, amazed at their enthusiasm.
I take hold of the mic. “Now hold on a minute, hold on,” I say through my chuckles. “This just ain’t gonna do. All of you watchin’ this through your computer screens or phones or TVs or whatever need to know who’s here in person. Look out there, go ahead.” The frazzled cameraman slowly pans out to the technicians, to people from all around Spruce who came in support, came to help, came dutifully at the calls of Cissy and Tim and TJ himself. “You see all these wonderful faces out there? A band ain’t nothin’ without the people that work tirelessly behind the scenes to put these shows together. And for puttin’ this together with such short notice? I’m for real, from the bottom of our hearts, my bandmates included, we thank you. Y’all deserve a round.” I start the applause and it carries on through Wily, Fiona, and Raj, too.
The camera slowly turns back to me as I start talking again. “I also want to thank you viewers out there—whether a diehard fan or casual listener—for your part in makin’ us what we are today. It ain’t lost on me that we wouldn’t have this privilege of sharin’ our music with the world if it weren’t for your support for us over the years.” I pull the mic off the stand and pace over the stage. “But I gotta say … despite as much as we try to give you guys in return … maybe I ain’t given you enough.” I take off my hat and fling it back at my stool. “I want you to stop seein’ me as a star. We ain’t stars. We’re simple-ass human beings who just want things. Y’know, like jellybeans and Pop-Tarts at 2 in the mornin’. And sometimes … our hearts want things, too. And just like you, I want to listen to mine and chase what it wants. Can you let me do that?”
Someone in the audience shouts, “Yes!!” Probably Cissy. But I can’t be sure. And then the rest of the audience chimes in with their shouts and cheers, eventually shattering into another wave of enthusiastic applause and whistling.
“I mean, if I’m gonna stand up here and sing about love,” I go on with half a laugh, “and sell y’all a hundred songs about what it feels like to want somebody … well, shoot, don’t I owe it to y’all to be honest about when it’s real?”
That same woman: “Hell yes!” And the audience goes nuts yet again.
And in that crowd of faces, TJ’s right in the center, beaming.