Page 13 of Creed

Though I don’t mind being alone. I never did. I was raised by my dad after my mom died when I was five, but he’s rarely around anymore. He’s always worked his ass off on multiple jobs just to make sure I wanted for nothing. I know his first job as a driver is what takes up the majority of his day, but he’s got this extra job that he works overnights that I have zero knowledge of. He won’t tell me and it sounds shady as fuck, but he tells me that the reward is worth the risk. I owe everything to that man because he’d shown me enough love in the moments that he was home just how much he loved me. He’s the best father a kid could ask for, but he works entirely too much.

I feel like I can’t complain because some kids have it so much worse.

My thoughts turn to a sad-eyed Collins and my stomach turns sour. I have no idea how Asher will handle telling her that he’s leaving, but what I do know is that if her parents don’t step up, she’ll really be up shit’s creek without a paddle.

The thought of her being taken away, going into the system. It fucking sucks.

My thoughts are interrupted by my phone ringing in my pocket. I pull it out and see that it’s Hanson, the talent scout I’d spoken to weeks ago.

“This is Creed.” I answer.

“Good evening, Creed. I apologize for the late night phone call; I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I’m awake. What can I do for you, Mr. Hanson?” I try to keep my voice calm, but him calling so late at night has me nervous.

“As you know, we’ve got you and your band mates scheduled to fly out in a few weeks after graduation to meet with Cortland Shepard in regard to the possibility of a record label contract.”

“That’s correct,” I confirm, feeling wary.

Hanson clears his throat before continuing. “I just spoke with Mr. Shepard before calling you. He informed me that he’s reviewed some of your other gig footage of concerts past and, Creed, he’s really impressed.”

Relief washes over me and mixes with shock, and the weight on my chest feels a little lighter. I’m not sure what to say, so I settle for, “Thank you, sir.”

“He’s flying back to the states tonight and wants to move the meeting up to next Friday.”

I only have a week?

“That is correct.” Shit. Must’ve said that out loud. “Is that a problem?”

“N-no,” I stutter out quickly. “It’s just, what about graduation?”

A sigh comes from the other end of the phone. “You are aware of Cortland Shepard’s success, no?” Before I get to respond, he pushes on. “He has never been known to have a failed artist associated with his label. And he has a good feeling about you. It’s a complete rarity that he actively seeks out talent himself, let alone rearrange his own schedule to secure a band or artist. So you tell me, Mr. St. James…what about graduation?”

He's right. My bandmates and I have worked our asses off to perfect our own sound, to create our own songs, and make sure that our sound dynamic is always well-balanced. Too many new bands like ours sound just like we did when we first started. Messy. Unbalanced. Clumsy.

We may be punks, but we’re smart enough to know when and how to make changes and learn to adapt our sound so that we’re actually entertaining to listen to.

I’m hoping my bandmates can get onboard with flying out two weeks earlier than expected. Bear, our lead guitarist, is actually three years older than me. He works as an apprentice and receptionist in a tattoo shop in town, so he may have an easier time than the others at leaving earlier. Benjamin, our drummer, is my age, but he attends school a few towns over, and is supposed to graduate days before I do. And our new bassist, Tony, is a lazy fucking punk-ass who’s a year younger than Bear and still lives with his mom. When our last bassist flaked on us, this guy named Steve approached us and threw Tony’s name out there as a replacement. He’s annoying as shit, but he’s got skills, so we tolerate him. Barely.

“You’re right, sir.”

Hanson chuckles. “Talk to your bandmates. I’m sending over an email containing your new flight itinerary. Start packing, Creed. Life is about to look a little different for you all.”

“Uh—thank you Mr. Hanson. We look forward to it.” I try to not jump out of my skin with excitement.

“Alright, I’ve got to get some shut eye. Do you have any questions for me before I let you go?”

“Just one, I guess.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“The lease for our apartment was signed for three weeks from now, is there a motel nearby you recommend we crash until our lease is active?”

Another chuckle comes from Hanson. “That’s all taken care of, Creed. Mr. Shepard has four suites booked for you at La Barga hotel next to Cort Records. His treat to you boys for the inconvenience of arriving outside of your scheduled time for your lease. Is that all?”

“I—yes.” I answer, dumbfounded.

“Well then, I’ll see you in one week, Mr. St. James.”

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