Page 50 of Living on the Edge

“The band—or yourself?” I counter. “Because from the outside looking in, I don’t see much backlash on the band as a whole, but your reputation has taken quite a hit.”

That pisses him off—I recognize the fire in his eyes because I see it in myself all the time—but he hides it well.

“I don’t really care about me,” he continues, his face tight. “I can handle whatever people want to dish out. My concern is the band. Our reputation. Our future. The music.”

“Then why not come clean from the beginning?”

“Because we didn’t know each other then, and as soon as you say the name Hollingsworth, people squint. They think. Then they ask if it’s the Holland-Burke Hollingsworths, and things go south from there. It was brutal in college, which is why I started going by Angus.”

“And you legally changed your name?”

“Yes. After my junior year.”

“How did your family feel about that?”

He pulls in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. “About how you’d expect.”

“So your goal is to piss offeveryone,” I say quietly.

This time when our eyes meet, there’s something different in his.

Regret?

Guilt?

Maybe it’s my imagination.

Or wishful thinking.

“It’s complicated,” he says after a moment. “I grew up with so much pressure, and I didn’t want to bring that to the band. There’s enough pressure in the music business in general, adding my personal shit to it seemed unnecessary. I was willing to take on that risk on my own, but it wasn’t fair to the guys to have to.”

“Shouldn’t that have been their decision?”

The room is quiet.

Everyone is staring at something different, but no one is looking at each other.

“I look at it differently,” Sam says after the silence stretches out. “I see it from Angus’s point of view, and I get it. I did some digging around online and the hate for what his family did is everywhere. Stories about people who died because they couldn’t afford the chemo meds. Gossip columns about the entire family, showing off the good, the bad, and the ugly. I found some stuff dating back to when Angus was in high school, asking why his father didn’t get him skating lessons so he would be a better hockey player. I imagine carrying that around your whole life is heavy. But sharing it could be heavy too—and we’re guys. We’re all about the music and the parties and having a good time.

“Deep down, I firmly believe that we might have passed on having him audition if we’d known who he was. I know I would have rolled my eyes and thought he was another bored rich guy, looking for a pastime. And Crimson Edge was never going to be someone’s pastime.”

Oh, wow.

That was an unexpected perspective, and I see the surprise flicker in Angus’s eyes.

“I think there’s some truth to that,” Tate adds carefully. “I didn’t think about it until you just said it, but yeah, I definitely would have been hesitant to play with him if I’d known who he was.”

The tension in the air lessens slightly, and I see Tate and Angus exchange a glance, Angus’s filled with gratitude.

Those two are close, and it’s pretty obvious in the look they just shared.

Mick nods before adding his two cents. “I think I would’ve been cool with him auditioning because I honestly wasn’t sure what was going to happen with the band. In the beginning, we were just having a good time. But I probably would have kept him at arms’ length, you know? I would’ve assumed he wasn’t in it for the long haul because… I mean, why? He’s rich as fuck—why would he need to focus on some dumb garage band?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, that’s part of it too. So I get it. I wish he’d trusted us, especially once we started to find our groove, but if I put myself in his shoes, I can see how hard it was going to be to come clean.”

“So where do you go from here?” I ask, looking around the room.

I note that Jonny hasn’t said anything yet, merely following the conversation with an inscrutable expression on his face.

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