Page 86 of The Chance

His deep sigh echoes over the line and when he remains silent, I take it as my cue to go ahead.

“I … this is—”

“Spit it out, kid. I gotta get this crowd cleaned up.”

I lick my lips and drop my gaze to the floor.

“I quit,” I rush out before I can stop myself and knock the fucking wind out of my own lungs.

“Come again?”

“I … I’m giving you my notice, Ian. I’ll stay long enough for you to find my replacement, then I need out.”

He huffs out a grunt.

“Call Mac.”

I bristle at the mention of the drummer and scowl. “What? What’s he got to do with—”

“I don’t rehire, Jordan,” Ian grinds out.

The room suddenly feels too small, the ropes at my back too stiff.

“I don’t understand.”

“The night the video leaked, I fired you.”

I swallow, something deep and heavy settling in my chest at the reminder of the spoof video that got me canned, only to be brought back. There was a guy that looked an awful lot like megetting what looked like head, inside Mac’s hotel room. Except it wasn’t real. None of it was, except for the footage of the room itself. “That was years ago.”

“Uh-huh.”

Popping to my feet, I tug on the collar of my Sentry Security shirt when my throat feels too tight. “What are you—”

“I wasn’t the one that brought you back after that fucking fiasco. Mac did.”

All I hear is wooshing in my ears. All I feel is that festering wound in my chest spreading.

Mac did?

I look down, if only to see the logo printed on the shirt, confirming its mark over my left pec.

“Call Mac,” Ian repeats but all I hear is …

Let him go.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Jordan

Tension lines my shouldersas I push, push, push until the bar finally clinks against the rack and settles in the hooks.

I’m covered in sweat and in desperate need of a drink. Something to help me forget the last twenty-four hours.

Hell, something strong enough to wipe out the last fiveyears.

The last two fucking decades.

I take my time showering in my new studio apartment two floors up, doing my best to wash away the heaviness of the day. But when I stand in the middle of it in nothing but a towel, trails of water still clinging to my skin, my feet root to the spot.

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