Page 100 of Revel
True to form, I avoid.
Deter.
Distract.
Lie.
It’s what I’m good at, but deep down, I’m terrified about seeing her again. Red… she doesn’t comment either. She smiles politely, teases them with snarky comments. I like to think I taught her well.
I knew eventually we’d run into one another and it becomes real in February when the Grammy Awards approaches. A year after the concert where I destroyed everything. I’m not sure my attendance is welcome. I’m warned not to make a scene, or how I feel about it, and I don’t particularly want to attend. I don’t want the first time I see her again to be at the fucking Grammys.
About two weeks before the show, Liz sits me down while we’re planning out the next tour.
“You look good,” she tells me, smiling.
I roll my eyes. “Ialwayslook good.”
“Still the same old Rev, even after rehabilitation,” she teases, curling her legs underneath her on the large sofa in the studio. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
Turning in the chair, I push away from the table, facing her and hold my hands up in defense. “I didn’t do it.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What?”
“I haven’t left this studio in months. I haven’t fucked any women or touched drugs.” I grab my water bottle. “And this is fucking water, I swear.”
“Not about that. You didn’t do anything wrong,that I know of.” Her eyes narrow, then soften. “But the Grammy committee reached out to me this morning.”
My breathing changes and I’m not entirely sure why. “Do they want me to leave?”
“No, the opposite. They asked if you would play ‘Roses of Revenge’ at the awards. All the songs of the year are being performed so they’re coming to you first because you own the rights to the song.”
My jaw clenches. “That’s bullshit. I only did it that way so her fucking asshole of a father didn’t see any royalties from it.”
I’ve tried to get my label to change it, but they won’t so instead, I have the checks sent directly to her. Not once has she cashed them. Can’t say I blame her. “I know you’re upset about that. I’m working on it, but do you want to perform it?”
I raise my eyebrows, the beating in my chest suddenly kicking up a notch. “Withher?”
Liz nods and searches my face for a reaction, waiting.
Do I want to perform with Red? I’d give anything to see her again, but I’m not sure she feels the same. We haven’t spoken other than those two text messages. What am I going to say? I’m an asshole. She knows that already.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my knee bouncing. “What did she say?”
“I haven’t gone to her yet. I wanted to see how you felt about it first.” Liz watches me, her voice lowering when the guys return with lunch. “Have you talked to her?”
I shake my head, unable to say it aloud.
“How do you feel about it?”
How do I feel? Anxious. Worried. Scared. Nauseated. The list could go on but not a goddamn chance in hell I’m telling Liz or anyone else that. Clearing my throat, I lean back in the chair, relaxing and putting up the front I’m so good at. “I’ll do it if she will. It’s up to Red.”
She nods. Look at her face. I’m transparent. “Okay. I’ll reach out to her manager.”
Three agonizingly long days later, I’ve barely eaten, had a few hours of sleep, and amazingly, despite many trips to the bar where I stand and curse the door out, I’m still sober. That’s when Liz calls me while I’m in Los Angeles with Cruz and Deacon filming the music video to our single “Lucifer.” I don’t think I need to tell you what that music video will look like, but we’re all zombies. You didn’t think I got soft just because the wolf fell for little Red Riding Hood, did you? Fuck that. I may be in love, but creativity should never be held back by one’s inability to lose their mind over love. Not a goddamn chance. Hardin’s black eye is a testament to that. He popped off with a comment about Red’s cover art and how it’s spank bank material. Though I know how very true that statement is, and I’d bought all the local copies there were to buy, I didn’t appreciate his comment and let him know. With my fist.
Liz starts out with small talk. I don’t, nor have I ever, enjoyed that. Finally, after three minutes of that bullshit, I sigh into the phone and snap, “Did you ask her or not?”
“Yes.” She has the nerve to laugh. “I got her assistant.”
