Page 95 of Five Summers

I want to hear what’s going on, due to Ace not sharing things with the band. We’re heading to Australia for a seven-week tour, followed by a week in New Zealand and I want to know what the fuck is going on. What interviews they are forcing on us. Our schedule is always jam-packed, and it never seems to let up. I hate giving interviews. All I crave is being on that stage, soaking up all the energy that comes with being in the spotlight.

Despite our first album being our best, and how the label now owns my songs, I wasn’t letting that happen again. I’ve told the label that I can’t write anymore. It’s a lie of course I still write every day.

The label now pays someone else to write our songs, and I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no say over what I sing. We have a different sound now to the one we originally had. Sadly, it feels like Broken Oasis has lost its essence. Even though the media has never mentioned it, I can sense it. The rest of the guys can feel it too.

“Hey, man,” I say, settling down next to Ace without even glancing at him. Instead, my attention is fixed on the blonde bartender as she skillfully serves the numerous guests at the far end of the bar. Her soft, feminine curves captivate my gaze, causing my dick to become interested.

"How many is that?" Ace asks.

Lately, all he does is complain about my drinking.

“You might need to slow down, Xander,” says the asshole, Reg. I’d rather drive nails into my ears than follow his instructions. “Don’t mess up tonight, Xander, seriously. Not here. Lionel is already furious with all your outbursts and the negative attention it brings to the band. He’s been on my ass about all the trouble you’ve caused in the past few months.”

Ace chimes in with Reg, adding his thoughts. “It’s not just about you, you know. Your actions affect all of us.”

“You ought to talk asshole, when half the time, you're the problem,” I tell Reg, knowing that he is behind most of the shit that goes down.

“Xander,” Ace says, and instead of listening to the asshole give me a lecture, I fix my attention back to the blonde bartender at the end of the bar.

I watch her for a moment moving around, chatting, filling up glasses, and then I hear her laugh. Suddenly, my heart starts racing in my chest. Fucking hell, it can’t be. She couldn’t possibly still be here in this shitty town, no way. She should be out there chasing her dreams.

I swallow over the thickness in my throat as I watch her intensely, completely disregarding everything else around me. I’m freaking out just by looking at her, to the point where my leg won’t stop bouncing. I wonder if she’s noticed me sitting here. No way she hasn’t. The Poppy Reeves I know would've totally called me out with her sharp tongue. She would've called me the biggest scumbag by now.

Wanting to confirm that the alcohol hasn't affected my vision and it's really her, I get off my stool, hoping to get a closer look. But before I can take a step in her direction, I freeze when I catch the sound of a familiar voice - one that I wish to never hear again in my life.

“Don’t you wanna say hi to your old man?”

With a sense of urgency, I swiftly turn towards him, and spit my words that reflect the intensity of my anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

I can't help but notice the heavy silence that hangs in the room. But I don’t care. It’s no surprise that my asshole father has chosen this exact moment to cause a scene. And, of course,once again, all eyes turn towards me because they think I have something fucking important to say.

He smirks and takes a stumbling step forward. “Just came to see my boy,” he slurs.

I feel Ace’s hand grip my arm, trying to get my attention. But I don’t bother to look in his direction.

“As you’ve constantly reminded me, I’m not your son.” I spit the words at him. My lips tighten, and my fists involuntarily clench at my sides, memories of the beatings this jerk subjected me to flood my mind, all because he discovered I wasn’t his biological child.

His bloodshot eyes lock onto me. “You always were a little cunt of a kid. And now, hotshot, I see nothing has changed.”

With a glance, I observe the stains on his shirt and the greasy, disheveled state of his hair. He appears significantly older than I remember, maybe the alcohol has finally taken its toll.

“Your old man is having some money problems. You owe me a favor after all I did for you.”

And there it is. This asshole didn’t want anything to do with me when I needed him the most, especially on the day my mother passed away. Instead, he constantly abused me, day in and day out, and now he expects me to help him out. Fuck no.

My anger rises to the surface that this asshole now wants to call me his son. I don’t care about the executives from the label, the mayor, or any other high-profile person who thinks they know me because of my success.

Ace places his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Xander, it’s not worth it.”

Despite Ace’s effort to prevent a public showdown, I am too angry to listen. The intensity of his cruelty fuels a growing rage within me, urging me to unleash my true feelings - to tell himwhat he told me, that he is insignificant, a worthless asshole, and he will be now and forever.

I forcefully shake Ace's hand off my shoulder and move forward, my face burning with anger. Strong feelings consume me as I recall the words, I've rehearsed for years to tell him if I ever saw him again. Ignoring the spectators in the room, and the phones pointed in my direction does nothing to stop me from lashing out.

“Fuck you!”

Reg moves in front of me, his hands outstretched, desperately trying to silence me and avoid any commotion, but his attempts are in vain as I am determined to speak my mind. I know well that once this situation unfolds, it will be plastered across the media. My every action seems to find its way into magazines, although most of the content is nothing but lies. It’s just another means for them to profit off of me, much like this record label.

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