She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and wrings her hands together in her lap. “Can I think about it first? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I might freeze up.”
“No way. It’s in your blood,” Trent says, admiration and confidence in his tone. His comment strikes me weird. What blood? He coughs, clearing his throat and letting loose a laugh. “I mean, hanging around with all of us has worn off on you. You’d do great.”
“Let’s run through it one more time. Record it on my iPhone for now?” Sean asks.
We each nod our agreement, but before we begin Sean frowns at his phone. “That’s strange. Emergency conference call in twenty.”
“What?” Trent scrunches his brow.
“Our publicist from Off Track. She sent an email just now.”
Dread fills my gut. Is this about me? About what I leaked to Bedo, even though it wasn’t true? I brace myself for the fallout. Maybe I’m being paranoid. This could be about something else entirely. I have to ask. “Is everything okay?”
Sean shrugs and sets his phone in the center of the table, the recording app pulled up and ready to go. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Does it happen a lot? Emergency calls with your publicist?” I should keep my mouth shut and let everything play out, but the need to ease my apprehension trumps my good sense. If this is about my involvement, I could get sent home immediately. I’m not ready to leave.
“Ourpublicist.” Trent clasps my shoulder and gives a little shove. “You’re a part of this shit show too now. And no, but whatever it is they’ll take care of it. Nothing comes close to what we’ve already been through.”
“Cool.” But it’s not cool, and his friendliness only makes my betrayal that much worse. If he was an asshole or a piece of shit I could rationalize what I’ve done. But Trent has been nothing but welcoming since we hit the road for this tour. I’m the ass in this scenario. I hate myself for it.
As we record this last take, the high of writing a new song deflates under the reality of what I’ve done. I’ve always been a resourceful kid, but I have no idea how to dig myself out of this one. The lack of control spikes my anxiety. My only move is to hope for the best and even I recognize that kind of plan is fucked from the start.
* * *
“Here’sthe short of it. We think someone’s leaking stories to the press. A crew member. A relative. Someone with a personal vendetta or who could use the financial gain.” Julie, Off Track Record’s lead publicist says all the way from LA. We’ve gathered around Trent’s cell phone, switching to speaker for this call.
“A rat,” Austin says incredulously. “You’re saying we have a rat?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Julie clears her throat. “This isn’t the mafia, but yeah.”
“Could it be someone at the label?” Trent asks.
“We’re investigating the possibility, but considering the longevity in which everyone on the team has worked with you, we think not.”
Trent runs his hands through the long ends of his hair and tucks them behind his ears. “So, what do we do?”
“You need to take extra caution. With private phone calls. Personal matters. Look around before speaking. A conversation that’s overheard can be twisted, well, to the next TMZ headlines.”
Stay away from your drummer.I school my features because I swear if I make one move they’ll notice the sweat beading on my brow. I’m so fucked.
Sean chuckles but it’s humorless. “For the record, Jess and I aren’t engaged.”
“Yeah, it’s like they’re finding new and creative ways to make shit up.” Trent shakes his head. “They don’t need an insider to write this stuff. Who’s to say it’s coming from within? Anyone could claim to be a long lost friend and make up lies.”
“I understand, and that’s a possibility as well, but as your publicist, I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Julie.”
“Also, if there’s anything you’re keeping from us—something the press could catch wind of and run with? It’d be prudent to let us know now so we can mitigate any negative effects. I don’t need to remind you the board of directors wasn’t happy with everything that happened last month.” The more she goes on, the more guilt eats at my fears. I did this. It’s my fault. We wouldn’t even be having this conference call if it weren’t for the lies I told.
“Oh?” Sean slams a fist onto the table, making the phone bounce on impact. His tone laces thick with sarcasm. “They weren’t happy our friend lost himself in addiction? Funny, ’cause they didn’t have a problem when he played shows high as fuck. Why is that, Julie? Oh, right. Because everyone was getting fucking paid.”
“Sean, calm down.” Trent reaches his arm out to his friend.
Sean shoves it away. “I won’t calm down. This is fucking bullshit!”
