The Brick Yard (26 page)

BOOK: The Brick Yard

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Brock shook his head, stepped quietly away from the door and headed for the exit. Outside the surgery, the weather was doing its best impression of a tropical monsoon, though without the heat. The rain beat down onto pavements already awash after days of continuous downpours. In the distance, thunder rumbled ominously and the sky had a threatening purple hue that spoke of more rain to come.

Brock looked up just as lightning split the sky. The rain got even harder. Stoically he turned up the collar of his waterproof coat and grimaced at the trickle of cold water that immediately slid down his neck. In seconds, his hair was soaked and plastered to his head. Brock hunched his shoulders and lengthened his stride toward home. It wasn’t strictly his home. He was just house-sitting while his brother, sister-in-law and two young nephews spent their annual fortnight’s holiday on one of the Balearic Islands—he couldn’t remember which one.

Brock spent such a lot of time traveling on photographic assignments that he’d never bothered to get his own place. When he was in England, he spent the time with his brother’s family or returned to his mum and dad’s rambling old place in Northumberland. Their house was so big, and they were both so busy with various pet projects and charities, that he could probably have lived there full time without them even noticing his presence. Brock smiled to himself at the thought—he was very fond of his eccentric parents.

Brock soon arrived at the edge of the new estate where his brother’s house sat on a decent-sized plot, halfway down a tree-lined avenue. Despite the miserable weather, he felt uncomfortably warm and was glad to make it to the sanctuary of the front hall, where a small puddle gathered around his feet as he stripped off dripping outdoor clothes and boots. Feeling progressively worse, he met his own piercing blue eyes in the hall mirror and grimaced. His skin looked clammy and his hands shook a little.

‘Rockin’ the Alternative’ by Morticia Knight

“He’s the one I want, Ed.”

Tapping his index finger on a photo of the author of a Rolling Stone magazine article, Aubrey King stared down his manager of almost twenty years.

“Shouldn’t the two of you meet first, see if you click before you make such a momentous decision?”

Really? Has the man ever met me before?

He didn’t answer. He merely raised one eyebrow and pursed his lips ever so slightly. It was the look he’d learned over the years would make almost anyone fall at his feet, make them clamour for the privilege of doing his bidding. Ed, fans, straight men…

“Ed, please. Bryan Gallagher is the man who will write my memoir. I don’t want to waste any more time on this subject. Give his agent a call and set something up—the sooner the better.”

“But what about Conrad Jensen? He’s very edgy and has a lot of buzz right now.”

“I hate that shit, Ed.”

Ed sighed. “What shit, Aubrey? Am I using too much industry speak for you?”

“God, yes. Please stop.”

“Aubrey, I’ve managed your rock singing career for, what, twenty years? I’ve been there from the first hit that Falling in Stereo ever had, through the gruesome break-up then all the way to your glorious comeback.”

Aubrey snorted. “I’m reserving comment as to how glorious this comeback actually ends up being.”

Frowning, Ed continued. “Regardless, I’ve used industry speak that entire time. It’s as silly to criticise me for its use as it is for me to question whether you should do something when you’ve so obviously already decided.”

Ed arched his eyebrows at him and Aubrey let out a bellow of laughter.

“This is why we’re so perfect together.” He chanced a sly peek at Ed and winked. “As manager and client, that is.” He ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. “And you also know how much I despise labels. Categories. Boxes that people are forced into. It’s what killed the band.”

After the music became dulled and artificial by the endless demands of touring, recording and the pressure to crank out the hits—Aubrey had needed to take a break, re-evaluate everything. All he’d ever wanted was to make music that mattered, the music his fans yearned for. The other band members strongly disagreed since only he and Chad—the lead guitar player—wrote any of the songs. The tours were how their bandmates made the real bucks.

Aubrey had tried to convince them to give the band a breather, that it would become revitalised and would be best for everyone in the long term. However, the party rock star life they’d been living had made it impossible for them to take any breaks—their money had already been pissed away. His band mates had all decided they could do just as well by going off on their own and forming solo projects. Their plan hadn’t worked out so good.

In Aubrey’s case, he’d taken the time off for himself that he’d proposed the rest of them do all along. His disillusionment with the industry had been so all-encompassing that he’d stayed off the music radar almost completely for close to ten years. It remained to be seen if he could ever recover from his self-imposed absence.

He looked up to see Ed gazing at him thoughtfully.

“I know, I get it. You take care of your music, I’ll take care of the business. If Bryan Gallagher is the one you want, I’ll make sure you have him.”

Aubrey lifted the corners of his mouth in a satisfied smile. It wasn’t about him being a prima donna. It was about knowing what the best thing was for him. Bryan Gallagher’s writing style, his taste in music, his understanding of the emotion behind rock‘n’roll—all of that made the young writer the only one who should tell his story. At least the parts Aubrey was willing to reveal.

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About the Author

An avid reader for years, one day Carol Lynne decided to write her own brand of erotic romance. Carol juggles between being a full-time mother and a full-time writer. These days, you can usually find Carol either cleaning jelly out of the carpet or nestled in her favourite chair writing steamy love scenes.

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