Page 1 of Sycopation
CHAPTER
ONE
Ray Van Zellerstared at the tabloid website headline on the tablet their band manager held out for him. “What thefuckis this?”
DRUNKEN VAN ZELLER ATTACKS SCHMIDT AS TWISTED WISHES IMPLODES
“What does it look like, Ray?” A sigh and a hint of a sneer, but then Carl always assumed Ray needed to be spoken to using small words, the prick.
Ray wasn’t stupid. He was, however, too pissed to see straight. The text on the screen blurred and tumbled, just like his gut. Just like his life. “It looks like a shitty, lying headline.” He hadn’t been drunk at all. And he hadn’t attacked Kevin, their drummer—ex-drummer now.
Carl heaved another sigh. “They have a video of you.” He set the tablet down on the coffee table between them.
Ofcoursethey did. Fucking paparazzi. Ray clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
“Ray wasn’t the one who was drinking,” Domino said. He was dressed casually—looked more twink in his button-downand glasses than guitar rock god—but that was Dom. Out of sight, like in this fuckhole of a hotel, he stripped his persona off. “Kevin started in on that bottlebeforethe encore. Ray didn’t touch a drop!”
Mish grunted her agreement.
Their no-good band manager knew that, too. They’d been excited to get a manager when the record label had sent Carl. Not so much now. Didn’t know why, but Carl’s animosity rose damn quick, like the band, and Ray in particular was wasting his time.
Fucking thing was that Carl knew Kevin had been drinking on their tour. Hell, Ray had even approached Carl and asked for help, but no—he’d blown Ray off.
You’re the leader, Ray, Carl had said.
He was. That night, he’d been the bandleader when he’d stalked after Kevin, off the tour bus, a two-thirds-empty fifth of Jack in his hand. It had been full before the concert. There’d been yelling—Ray at Kevin to get his act together, Kevin back at Ray, all about how he didn’t give a fuck about the band anymore and a trained monkey could play his sets.
Wasn’t true. Kevin had been a fantastic drummer back when they’d started the band, his rhythms complex and stunning. Then he’d started celebrating a little too hard and never stopped. Maybe it was a way to cope with the pressure they all felt after “Dark Dreams” had hit the top five, but it didn’t matter.
His playing had gone to shit. Kevin now drummed out simple patterns that barely matched the songs they’d built around his original complex drumming. The more he drank, the worse they sounded.
The small tour they were on was supposed to show the label that Twisted Wishes could hack a major one. It had only proved they couldn’t play in a fucking Walmart parking lot.
Yeah, Ray had taken that mostly empty bottle of Jack and thrown it at the wall behind Kevin. Felt so good, the crash and splash, the shimmer as glass and golden liquid burst against the concrete wall. Like razor-edged confetti. Kevin had gotten quiet then. Told Ray to go to hell. He’d replied that it was rehab or leave the band. Kevin marched back into the bus, packed his bag, and left that night.
Ray scrubbed his face. The tablet had gone dark, but the headline still swam in his vision. “How bad is the video?”
The snort that came from Carl set Ray’s teeth on edge, and he ground them together while Carl woke the tablet, scrolled, and clicked the video clip.
After one of the most excruciating forty-five seconds of Ray’s life, the clip ended and he didn’t look up. Couldn’t, especially since heknewCarl wore that fucking smirk of his. Yeah, the video wasthatbad. Whoever had shot it had been far enough away, but the yelling, the anger, those had carried even if the words hadn’t. And from the angle, it did look like he’d thrown the bottleatKevin.
“Fuck.” It came out like a mantra, slow and long, and the word echoed in his aching head. So much for being in control. Being a leader.
“And now you have no drummer,” Carl said. “Whatever will you do?”
Ray lifted his chin and met Carl’s gaze, and lo and behold, the fucker flinched. Guess Ray still had thatI’m going to murder youlook down. “Hire a new one.” Ray didn’t look away from Carl’s dark eyes. “I would think a manager ofyourcaliber would know that.”
Silence in the room until Carl cleared his throat. “Of course. And there’ll have to be some other changes as well, to smooth things over in the press.”
Dom shifted next to Ray, and Mish muttered something low that was probably profanity. She had a mouth worse than his and Dom’s put together.
“What changes?” Ray ground the words out.
“No more drinking for you,” Carl said. “And you’ll make some kind of statement about getting help for your problem.”
The hell he would. He opened his mouth, but Mish beat him there.
“That some fucking bullshit and you know it.” She rose from her seat at the edge of the bed, and all six foot one of her towered over Carl. “Why thefuckare you punishing Ray for Kevin being a drunken piece of shit?”
