Uncovering Hope (Uncovering Love Book 3) (6 page)

AFTER THREE MONTHS ON THE
road I’m ready for a break. I love my bandmates, but traveling the East Coast in a van is not my idea of a good time. We’re putting in our time, though, waiting on a big break, and then we can at least travel in style on the big bus.

Trent and I flew back a few days ago, in time to play Kate’s friend’s engagement party, while Austin and Sean stayed in The Big Apple as tourists. I thought about sightseeing but I wanted my own bed. That, and I hoped I’d run into Kate’s hot friend.
Carly.
I’ve gotten off to the image of those pretty pink lips and hot little body more times than I like to admit. Ever since we met at a gig, and then I ran into her at Kate’s art show, I can’t get her out of my head.

When I saw her watching me play across the patio Friday night I was sure I’d spend the night exploring those beautiful curves and tasting those sweet, pouty lips.
Fuck.
I stop and adjust my jeans before I hop inside my SUV.

Well, she completely shot me down and that was . . . unexpected. I need to work on my game. Quite frankly, I was disappointed in myself. And the fact that I went home alone to jack off to those lips drove the point further.

I shake my head and focus on the road. It’ll be a long day of band rehearsal but our manager is coming by to discuss our next plan of attack. Since our album got picked up by a national label we are finally getting air play on stations outside of our home state.

We did a short tour opening for a hard rock band with a larger following, but by no means huge. We’re all hoping our next gig provides a little more exposure. We’ve been playing together for six years, though that doesn’t mean shit if you aren’t talented. I’d like to say we’ve got what it takes to make it big. And I’m not looking for fame, I just wanna write music, and being twenty-eight with no work experience other than crap jobs between gigs won’t pay bills and allow me to pursue my passion.

“Hey, JD.” I nod to the owner of Off Track, the recording studio we’ve worked with for years. They produce mostly local bands. They aren’t about fame or fortune. They’re indie through and through, and I always feel most comfortable here.

“’Sup, Derek.” He greets me with a hug and pat on the back. “How’d the tour go?”

“Good, but glad to be home.”

“We’re glad to have you back. I set you guys up in Studio C. The rest of the guys walked in a few minutes ago.”

“Sweet. Thanks, man.”

I meander down the hall and open the door. Trent’s reclined on a couch with his eyes closed, Austin’s talking on his phone, and Sean’s got his ear buds in, plucking away on bass.

“I’m here! The party can start!” I plop down onto the couch and slap Trent across the chest.

“What the fuck man?” He slides up to sit tall and rubs his temple with his fingers.

“You hungover? It’s Monday, man. Surely you recovered from the party on Friday night.”

He pushes his hair back from where it falls onto his face and grins. “Oh, Friday night. Thanks for the reminder. That was some Grade A sweet ass pussy I took home. I was buried deep in that girl until I left her apartment Sunday morning.”

“Two days of fucking?” Austin ends his call and looks at Trent in awe.

“Yeah. Was just the kind of homecoming I needed. How about you, Derek? You hit that pretty brunette you were hanging all over when I left.”

I can’t help but bristle a little. “Nah, man. Turns out she was the groom to-be’s sister.” They all look at me like I’m stupid. “And she has two kids.” I add.

“So . . . she was married?” Trent’s brows knit with confusion.

“No. She wasn’t married.”

“So, what was the problem? She was fucking hot, and had she not been making eyes at you all night I would’ve hit that.” I bite back a smart remark and ease my features into a carefree expression. The thought of Trent with Carly makes me want to punch that smirk off his arrogant face.

“I just wasn’t feeling it.” I shrug.

I’m met with a room full of laughter.

“What the fuck, man?” Sean says.

“Oh, snap, Derek’s lost his mojo,” Austin adds.

“Dude, if you got rejected by a hot single mom, you’ve lost your touch.” Trent shakes his head.

They continue to harass and haggle me about Carly and I walk over to the drum set and bang out a loud series of beats. They’ll never stop. Once you give them material they’ll go on for fucking hours. I should’ve lied and said I banged her.

A loud whistle stops my hands and pulls all our attention to our manager, Bedo. Yeah, I have no fucking clue if that’s his real name or what that’s short for, but Bedo is what we call the shark who goes to bat for our vision. He’s small in stature but sharp as fuck and been in the industry for longer than I’ve been alive.

“Trent, Derek, Sean, Austin, good to have you back. Gather ’round. I have a meeting in thirty minutes so I’ll make this quick.” I stand and pull a chair to circle where the rest of the guys sit.

“I want you guys to stay fresh. Get some rest. Keep practicing the usual set and don’t focus on anything new or lay down roots ’cause I just booked you as the opening act for Justin Hill.” You can hear a pin drop and Bedo nods like he didn’t just release a fucking anvil on our lap. “You leave in one month and if you play your cards right, it’ll be a six month cross country tour, one month break home for the holidays.”

“Someone pinch me because I thought I heard Bedo say we’re opening for Justin Hill. As in,
the
Justin Hill, legendary rock god and multi-platinum selling artist.” Austin looks as though he’s about to puke.

“I sure as shit did.” Bedo puffs his chest out and gives rise to hooting and hollering from all of us. I can’t help but hug Bedo and my fellow band mates. This is unreal. It’s everything we’ve worked for and more.

“All right ugly boys, get a good practice in and then take the night to celebrate.” Bedo glances at his watch. “I’ve got to run. Derek, walk with me?”

“Uh . . . sure.” The guys eye me warily, and I feel like the kid who’s being pulled out of class by the principal. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, but I’m racking my brain just the same.

Bedo opens the studio door and strides out, and I jog to keep up with him. “What’s up, Bedo?”

He doesn’t answer until we’re standing in the parking lot next to his BMW.

“Derek, you remember when we talked about your song writing on tour?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry, I know it’s not stuff the band likes or our fans want to hear. I promise I won’t let that affect my time with the band. I’m completely focused and 3UG is my priority.” Shit, when Bedo caught me writing my folksy-acoustic music I was worried he’d take it the wrong way. I can’t help what I hear. I have to write it, even if it doesn’t go anywhere.

“Derek. Stop apologizing. I think you’re really talented, kid. I want to put you in touch with a friend of mine. He’s always looking for songwriters. Most of his artists wouldn’t know how to write a song if it bit them in the ass, but they have the look and the voice. Get my drift?”

“Wow, that’s awesome. I’d love to talk to him, but I should probably run it by the band first, make sure they’re cool with it.”

“Derek. Look, I know the band is like family, but I’ve been around the block a few times. You’ve got to put yourself first, look out for your best interests. You can make a good career, an excellent living out of writing music. I believe 3UG has what it takes to be a successful band, but that relies on the individual choices of four different people. I’d love it if you all can hack it. Hell, it bodes better for my paycheck. But it’s a lot, riding the elevator to success, and one member can fuck it all up at the drop of the hat. So, despite what the band says, you need to consider doing this for yourself.”

I nod, listening to all that he says. The man knows this industry better than the back of his hand, and I’ve always felt he has our best interests at heart.

“Okay. Thanks for your perspective. I respect what you’re saying. I still wouldn’t feel right moving forward without letting them know. But you’re right. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. I won’t let it interfere, either. I’ll give both opportunities my complete attention.”

He assesses me with a knowing look and pats my shoulder before sliding into his car. With a wave out the window he’s gone in a flash, leaving me standing in the lot even more overwhelmed than before.

We’re going on tour with one of the biggest artists of our time. I’m getting a shot at writing songs for money. Shit. Life couldn’t get any better.
Too bad you can’t score any tail.
Fuck.

The teasing from earlier gets under my skin. I could get laid if I wanted to. And I want to.
I really want Carly
. Shit. This is bad. I need to confirm I haven’t lost my skills somewhere on the road home. Before I walk inside the studio I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, landing on a pretty bartender from a spot we used to play on the regular.

“Hey, Sarah, it’s Derek.”

“Derek, you’re back!” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah. Hey, so you wanna come over later and fuck?”

“Wow, you get right to the point. No sugar coating.” She’s trying to act put off, they all do, but I know she wants me.

“Well, that’s what we’re gonna do if you come over.”

“M’kay. I work tonight. I’ll come over about ten?”
Yep. This is why I like Sarah. No bull shit games or pretenses.

“See you then.”

I end the call and pocket my phone; a giant grin pulls at my face. Take that, naysayers. Fuck them. This guy’s still got it.

The rest of the practice goes smoothly and I can’t help but feel satisfaction knowing that I’ve got a hot thing waiting for me at the end of the night.

After practice and when I’m back home in my room I pull out my Fender six string and stroke the sturdy grain three times before settling my fingers over the nylon threads. This is where I get lost. Same place I find myself. Happy. Sad. Angry. Joyful. I lay it all out. Been this way since I stumbled into a Guitar Center, a pissed off skinny little brat of a teenager.

Back then I was angry at the world. I’d been suspended from school, busted for smoking pot in the restroom when I should’ve been in algebra. Again. My mom came and picked me up from the office, angrier than I’d seen her in months. Sad thing? I was proud of myself for making her so upset, for causing some reaction. She dropped me home, chewed me out, and swore she’d beat my ass if I left my room. She went back to work and me being me waited a full five minutes before I left the apartment.

I thank God I wandered into the store that day. I was looking for something, just didn’t know it at the time. An older guy with a long gray and white beard and bald head caught me eyeing the guitars. I expected him to ask me why I wasn’t in school. Tell me to get lost.

“You play, kid?” He nods to the wall.

“Nah.” This old man is sure to give me shit, and frankly I’ve had enough of that for the day. Looking down at my dirty, worn Chucks, I turn on my heel to leave the store.

“I can teach ya.” I glance up to scrutinize his face. He’s studying the wall of merchandise, nods at one of the acoustics before he pulls it off the wall. He sits on a stool, fishes a pick from his front shirt pocket and gives it a strum. He’s not pushing, actually ignoring me, and ultimately that’s what draws me near. That and the bluesy tune he plays.

Closing his eyes, he rocks his head to the imaginary bass beat. The light reflects off his bald skin. He stops playing, opens his eyes to reveal one blue, one brown iris. It’s jarring but I’ve a well-practiced front, never show emotion or thoughts. Hell, in high school it’s a sure way to get your ass handed to you.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. That’s if you have time. Like, aren’t you supposed to be working or something?”

His lips pull into a wide ass grin and he lets out a chuckle straight from his gut. “Yeah, kid. I’m workin’ but there ain’t no one here but you and me. Sit down. Let’s teach ya to play.”

That’s how I learned to love music. That’s how music saved my life. From that day on, every day after school I skipped the bus ride home in exchange for a walk to Guitar Center. Richard was always waiting, ready to teach me something new. To patiently practice with a young, awkward kid. He taught me drums when I asked a year later.