Page 131 of Fire
Before I can decide when to ambush Asher with the news, I get a text from him instead.
Asher
Can you meet me in the green room before sound check today?
Well, I guess I can stop wondering how soon I’ll be leaving the tour.
Fuck.I don’t want to say goodbye to Zara.
Not so soon after my diagnosis.
It’s too new. Too raw.
I’m still too raw.
Maybe I can just tag along with them until the end of the US tour, then head home. We’ll still be apart for two months, but at least it won’t be right away.
Two months.
I try not to think about it as I type out my reply.
Me
Sure.
The treatment plan Dr. Deshmukh put together is thorough and aggressive. She wants me to see a movement specialist right away. They’ll try to rewire my brain’s fine motor patterns using different techniques like mirror therapy. Depending on whatgoes on, we’ll discuss further treatments such as medications or even Botox injections.
Zara’s story about the guitar player who taught himself how to play with his left hand gives me hope. I guess if someone can do that, anything is possible.
But the only goal on my mind right now is to finish this tour and stay with the group of people I’ve come to consider family, but as our car pulls up to Madison Square Garden, I start to think this all might be coming to an end.
As we go inside, Zara takes my hand and asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”
I give a solemn nod.
We pass by crew members, and we both say hello as we follow the signs to the green room. When we finally arrive, I stop and take a deep breath.
Zara gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
I push open the door and freeze.
Standing front and center in the middle of the room is Asher. Flanked on either side of him are Darius and Zander. And next to Zander is Evans Sterling, the original bass player for Manic at Midnight.
Fuck.
Is this an ambush?
Am I being fired?
It takes me a moment to notice Elena sitting toward the back, holding a sleeping Marisa in her arms. Next to her, Ridge sits in a tan suit and blue tie, typing furiously on his phone.
I turn to Zara for guidance, but she appears just as clueless. What’s going on here?
Zander gestures to the table nearby, filled with bottled water and snacks. Who the hellwants to munch on a bag of chips right now?
“Hey, Hen. Wanna take a seat?”
“You first,” I reply coolly.
