Manaconda 2: The Second Coming(10)

“Pussy,” Noah muttered and only added cheese and onions to his.

“I don’t need heartburn at ten at night, asshat.”

“Pussy,” he said again.

I rolled my eyes and brought my bowl to the table. “What, no work tonight?”

“Nah. CEO Fucktwat is having an evening in with his mistress.”

“Which one is he?”

“App developer rich dude.”

I nodded. “It’s kinda nice having you around.”

“I miss Colorado. LA is a cesspool.”

I grunted my agreement. This week that certainly was the case. “How long do you have to look after him?”

“Just this week. Quinn comes in to take over. He’s better at dealing with the needy ones.”

I frowned. “Isn’t Quinn the one who barely speaks?”

“Yep. He just ignores them and gets the job done. Marcus knows I can only deal with the bullshit for so long. I like my job most of the time. I just prefer the guys that have more for me to do than hang out by the car while they spend money they won’t have in two months.”

“Nice outlook you have there, buddy.”

Noah shrugged. “You know it’s true. Can’t give these idiots money. They do a lot of stupid shit with it in record time, then cry about it when the funds dry up.”

This was the same lament my brother made when I started making money with my music. Instead of rolling my eyes and ignoring him, I learned how to invest. And I wasn’t scraping by during the days that Beyoncé was ruling the charts instead of rock. I was still more comfortable than most—even my bandmates.

Hammered was luckier than most bands. And as ridiculous as the last ten days had been, it had secured us platinum status with our new album, Bronze. Not the easiest to do in a world plagued by illegal downloads and streaming music. No one bought anymore. We understood that most of our money was made with merchandise and touring.

But Donovan’s number crunchers were pleased with us.

In fact, we were asked to do a Spotify session, as well as an iTunes exclusive show. In fact, BBC One wanted to fly us out in two weeks.

These were the things we’d dreamed of.

If only me and Bats could control ourselves in a room together.

The only sounds in the room was Dierks Bentley and our spoons clicking against our bowls.

Noah pushed his empty bowl away. “Are you going to make me ask?”

“About what?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

I sighed and lifted my napkin to my mouth. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Obviously it is since you are usually getting in the fights beside Bats, not trading swings with him. And they definitely don’t include one of your precious Les Paul’s.”

“It’s the only way he’ll listen evidently.”

“Oh, really? Is that what he’s been doing?”

“Noah—”

“No, seriously.” He stood and took both our bowls with him back into the kitchen. “I get it. He’s dipping his wick where it definitely shouldn’t be, and that deserves a beating. One. Not this tantrum shit. You’re thirty-two fucking years old, not twenty-two.”

“Am I the only one who sees what a bad idea this is? Reed is a magnet for strays and Vic is the master at burrowing under your skin and getting what she wants.”

“Just because she did it to you?”

“Yes, goddammit.”

Noah rested a hip on the kitchen island and crossed his arms. “So, I’d say this was more your problem than Reed spending time with her.”

Christ, that was the same thing Kenny had said. I’d gotten over Vic ages ago. Almost scary fast to tell the truth. In fact, she hadn’t even stayed with that guy more than a month before she’d moved onto some executive at ABC.

But the seething anger that crawled up my spine couldn’t be denied.

“Pride, little brother.”

“What?” I got out of my own damn head and met Noah’s gaze.

“Not only did she cheat on you with a no-dick actor, but she’s wading into the band waters. The problem I have with this whole situation is that Reed isn’t this dumb.”

“Thank you!”

Noah held up a hand. “No, I’m not condoning your adolescent behavior, but one has to wonder if there’s something else going on. And you’re too in your head about this whole situation. All you see is Victoria’s past history. What you should be worried about is what she’s up to now, not that she’s banging Reed.”

I growled.

“Just put your pride and your dick aside and think, man.”

I crossed my arms. He was right. I was so fucked up about the entire situation, I was simply reacting, and not in any way that was helpful. I was the lead of the band—yes, the singer, but I’d always been the one who they looked to. I’d put together the band, I’d helped Wyatt through his accident that took his racing away, and I’d dragged Bats out of his self-destructive partying phase. Owen and Zach had their share of headaches, and Keys had family issues that we’d talked through over the years—everyone was used to me running the show most of the time.