Hell Bent (Rock Bottom #1) (9 page)

Standing in a room full of music icons who probably don’t take me seriously isn’t how I planned on spending my afternoon. The second Jason left, all eyes turned to me. I don’t know what to do, an issue I’ve never had before, so I stare at my feet. When Abby opens her mouth to speak I expect it to be something about the album and signing with them, but I’m wrong.

“I probably shouldn’t ask,” she starts, clearing her throat like she’s uncomfortable.
At least I’m not the only one
. “But how is she doing?”

“I honestly can’t say. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you or anything, but I didn’t know her before a few weeks ago, so I don’t have anything to base it on. She never seems to stop going, though.” I won’t say it out loud because I don’t know for sure, but I know there is no way that caffeine is the only thing keeping her going.

Abby nods and thanks me. “She being helpful getting you settled in?” 

“She’s done more than I could ever thank her for. Hate to say it, but I’m glad she put me in my place in Chicago.”

Vanessa drops down in the chair next to Abby and wipes her eyes. The song she’s been attempting to lay down since before we got here is killer and seems to hit hard with her which makes it even better. Harder to get out, but better in the long run.

“What do you mean?” Vanessa asks.

Laughing, I scrub my hands over my face as the entire thing plays through my head. I can’t believe that they don’t know how much of a dick I was to her. “I thought she was an assistant or an intern, so I got pissed and let my rock and roll, diva personality come out and treated her like shit. I said a bunch of shit that I really didn’t mean, and I forced her to sing because I was hoping she would make a fool out of herself.”

“Didn’t work out the way you expected did it?” Jameson chuckles. I think it’s Jameson, anyway. I’m pretty sure I have them right. Jason has brown hair, Jameson is blonde. I repeat the differences between the two until it sticks in my head.

“Not in the least fuckin’ bit. I still don’t understand why the hell she isn’t recording.”

Abby sighs, her eyes drifting to a row of photos on the wall. “She says she doesn’t want to. Part of me has always wondered if she said no to singing because she wants to be more like her father.”

I push away from the wall and make my way over to the photos that she is looking at. There’s an entire row of photographs with a little blond girl that must be Izzy and a guy that I’m assuming is her father. Each one is of her helping him in the studio, and you can see how happy she is. But the row below it is of her on stage singing with different people. I don’t think she can be more than seven in any of the photos.

“She stopped singing when Alex died, so I’m really surprised she sang for you,” Abby says sadly as she steps up beside me. “She threw herself into becoming like him, and it makes me wonder if somewhere along the line she forgot that she had a choice in her life.”

I scan the photos again; I don’t understand why they say she stopped singing.
Does she only sing when she’s with me?
Part of me hopes that she does it because she trusts herself with me, but that same thought breaks my heart.

“Have you ever come out and asked her what she wanted?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m just wondering if you’ve actually straight out asked her what she wanted. Because she sings with me and is helping me write. I mean we were writing at the Opry the other night, and I asked her if she ever wanted to sing there and she told me it was something she thinks about every day.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Abby cross her arms and quickly swipe at her eyes. She stays silent for a minute, thinking over what I said, and I really hope she isn’t going to tell me I overstepped.

“She never told me that,” she whispers sadly. “Why didn’t she tell me that?”

“You’re Abby Irons, maybe she’s intimidated by you.”

All three of them laugh at me. “Did you miss how she just called me out when I did something wrong?” Abby asks, pointing at the chair she was sitting in when we showed up. “That girl is anything but intimidated by me.”

I shrug, deciding to keep my mouth shut and stay out of it. Family therapy is not my specialty, but maybe now that they know Izzy wants more they can talk about it.

“The booth’s open if you wanna roughly run through something while we wait for Izzy to calm down and come back. It’ll give us an idea of what you’re working toward.”

“What the hell,” I say, heading for my notebook and guitar. If I’m going to make a fool out of myself, I’d rather hear it from these guys. I hand a copy of what we’ve been working on over, and just before I open the door, Abby grabs my arm. She pushes a leather-bound notebook into my hand and closes her eyes.

“This was her dad’s. Maybe since she actually talks to you you can figure out how to make her see that the world should hear them.”

I stare at the book she just entrusted me with and have no clue what to say. Knowing that nothing I come up with will be sufficient, I simply nod and continue into the booth. I tuck the small book into my back pocket as I step into the open room and get myself situated behind the mic. The intercom clicks on and the room fills with Abby’s voice as I pull my strap over my head and slide the headphones on.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she tells me. Every mistake I make in the first run through I blame on nerves because of who is watching me. There is a hell of a difference between working with a producer with a full band surrounding you, and working alone with three huge names in the music business on the other side of the glass. They don’t seem to care as they watch me make a fool out of myself, but I’m still really glad that I decided not to go with the first song we wrote the other night.

“We’re gonna send Jameson in just to round out the sound a bit right now and then we can layer other stuff in later.”

I agree because I know the song sounds better with more than one guitar but it’s usually Izzy playing beside me. I shake it off because I know I’m going to have to get used to doing this a different way. Just like getting used to singing like I did with Moist Wood, it’s something I have to adjust to. I need to get myself to think that I’m going to crush this like I do everything else instead of thinking that I’m going to tank like I have been.

Closing my eyes, I let myself fall into the music like I did the other night with Izzy, but something feels off. I’m still stiff and keep missing chords. We make it halfway through before Abby stops us and has me start over again. I take a deep breath but do it all over again. This time, something inside of me makes me open my eyes before I’m even halfway through the first verse. Instead of Abby occupying the seat in front of the sound board, Izzy has taken her spot. I want to ask questions about why she is still fighting with her family, but I figure I shouldn’t waste time and make an ass out of myself. Raising an eyebrow, she smirks at me, challenging me without a word. Whatever I was having an issue with before disappears, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with Izzy being the one I see on the other side of the glass.

Something tickles my upper lip, waking me up. I try to ignore whatever it is because this is the most sleep I’ve had in a while, but it happens again. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I try to keep my eyes closed but the snorting coming from the other side of the room worries me. The second I look at them, Jason, AJ, and Jameson drop their heads and try to hide their laughter. 

Suspicious...

I reach to grab a slice of cold pizza from the table beside me and Izzy, who up until this moment was sitting cross-legged in her chair and working, snorts. Her body shakes as she tries to hide her laughter, but she fails and ends up dropping her head into her hands.

“You fuckers are scaring me.”

Willow drops down on the other end of the couch and shakes her head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to fall asleep at a party?”

“Oh, shit.” I scramble to get my phone out of my pocket, ignoring the massive amounts of notifications that do nothing but remind me that I need a manager, and hit the camera button. The second they know I’ve seen their handy work, all hell breaks loose, and the room fills with roaring laughter. Somehow, when I was passed out they managed to take markers and draw ridiculous things on my face. There are at least four cocks, the word pussy across my left cheek, cumstain written across my forehead, and when I realize they did something to my eyelids I close one and realize they turned my eyes into tits. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

Izzy spins in her chair so she can see me. Her eyes are glassy and filled with tears, but at least they’re from laughing this time. Running her hand through her hair to get it off her face, she bites her lip. “You haven’t shaken your head yet, have you?”

I narrow my eyes at her which does absolutely nothing but make them all laugh harder. Stupidly, I shake my head, and it’s like a damn blizzard as glitter flies everywhere.

“Oh, motherfuckers, I look like I dove head first into a stripper’s glitter-filled twat.” Pinning her with a glare, I shake my head slowly. “There’s a special place in hell for you.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s called the throne,” she tells me with a smug grin.

“You’ve got that right.”

“Do they actually do that?” Izzy asks, her voice breaking through the laughter. “Do you have enough hands-on experience with them that you know for a fact strippers fill their vaginas with glitter?”

Without thinking about what I’m saying I open my mouth. “I came from a band called Moist Wood, what do you think?”

Izzy shrugs, but I can tell my words change her attitude. “That it would be harder to get glitter off your moist wood than it will be to get it out of your hair.”

I open my mouth to say something else, knowing full well that I shouldn’t, but Jameson cuts me off with a single look. It’s like he can read my mind and knows that at this very second—obscene drawings on my face and all—all I want to do is wrap her legs around me and fuck her until neither one of us can move anymore. Despite how hard I keep trying to force those thoughts out of my head, working shoulder to shoulder with her constantly isn’t helping me at all.

Pushing off the couch, I shake some of the glitter off. The guys watch me carefully as I walk toward them and drop down into Jameson’s lap. I grab Jason’s arm, pulling him closer, and drop my head against AJ’s shoulder. “You forced me to do this,” I tell them. I hold my phone above us and I call the girls over, waiting until they’re crowded around us before snapping the shot.

Izzy watches me carefully as I fiddle with my phone once we’re all back in our seats. “You better make damn sure you’re ready for this if you’re about to tweet that picture.”

Up until now, we’ve managed to keep everything happening under wraps. I have no clue how, but the only news that has broken so far is the fact that I left Moist Wood. 

“I’m ready,” I assure her. Uploading the photo, I caption it with hashtags about shenanigans with the Thirty Ought Six guys while working on new material.

Climbing to her feet, Izzy stretches her arms above her head. The hem of her shirt rides up, exposing toned skin that I want to run my tongue over. When her phone rings, she quickly excuses herself and I have the first chance to look at the book in my pocket since Abby gave it to me.

I flip through the pages of lyrics but keep ending up back on the same one. I grab my guitar and try to make what I hear in my head come out. I jump when Willow, who showed up a while ago to record with us, leans forward and keeps a beat going with me by banging her sticks against the floor.

How could they keep this song hidden for so long? Izzy has to realize how good it is and how much it could do for someone if she let them record it.