Page 69 of Deliverance

We skipped dinner on account of the celebration and my stomach rumbles. I flip through the menu, my eyes sweeping over the text without registering the actual content. It’s been a long day and there’s too much shit on my mind. Plus, all this fucking camaraderie I’ve been subjected to soured my mood a little. Not because I’m still trying to figure out how I fit in with Leo’s crew but because I’m feeling goddamned nostalgic…and terrified. Terrified that I can’t remember the last time Justice, Cruz, Tyler, and I weren’t miserable together. I suppose there were a few moments during our last tour run, but the real magic was way before that.

Before Chance died.

“Whatever you think is good. I’m not picky,” I tell the waitress.

That’s not exactly true. I’m a foodie. I like good shit. Just not feeling it tonight.

When she’s gone, Leo drags his chair over and asks, “You cool?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m cool.” I rest my elbows against the table, my gaze trained on the ice bucket and the champagne bottle.

What exactly are we celebrating?

“Hey”—I turn to Leo—“you talk to Ashby at all? How’s he doing?”

“He’s all right. He’s getting himself fixed up.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

The music stops, and for a brief moment, we’re surrounded by a wall of distorted voices, the din of silverware, and the clink of glasses.

“It means the fucking world to me, dude.” Leo slaps his chest and leans forward to close the distance between us. “That you’re helping out. I love Ashby with all my blistered heart and it hurts me.” He’s whispering now. “It hurts me because I hate seeing him like this. Defeated. What you’re doing is fucking golden. He’d be proud if he’d been in that studio with us today.”

Emotions cram my chest. “Look.” I run my palm over the light scruff dusting my chin. “I’m not going to lie. You know this isn’t what I’m used to playing, but the material is great. I’m just happy to be on board. Happy to be a part of the project.”

“We’re gonna nail this record.” Leo grabs at my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You feel me, brother?”

I nod.

The corner of his mouth twists up. “I got some girls coming.”

The girls—four of them, all doe-eyed, silky-skinned, and insanely young—show up right after we finish the first bottle of Grey Goose. They quickly spread out around the table and introduce themselves. The blonde, Maya, doesn’t wait for an invitation and settles on Leo’s lap. There are empty shot glasses lined up in front of him and he doesn’t mind the company. On the contrary, he welcomes it with open arms. Literally.

Stevie and Jacob push their chairs aside to make room for two of the other girls. They, in turn, giggle and bite their lips, their hands wandering to body parts I don’t care to see.

The scene takes me back to my twenties, right after we hit it big. When we were irresponsible fucks and didn’t think about anything but getting high and writing music. One didn’t exist without the other.

“My name’s Violet.” The girl with long, dark hair falls into an empty chair to my right. “What’s yours?” She has a slight accent. Eastern European.

I see no point in lying. My gut tells me these girls aren’t just some friends. They’re girls for hire and know the art of keeping their mouth shut.

“Zander.” I reach for the bottle and the clean glass the waitress brought a while back per Leo’s request. “You want a shot or you want me to get you something else?”

“I’ll do the shot.” She gives me a toothy smile. “Thank you.” Her dress is short and tight and screamsavailable, and ten years ago, I would have stared at her legs like a dog would stare at a bone.

The alcohol is slowly working its way through my system, pushing my worries away, but for some reason, the idea of consorting with females who look half my age doesn’t sit well with me.

“Are you in a band?” The girl—Violet—asks as I sloppily pour her a drink.

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.”

Nice?

Who talks like that?

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