Page 34 of The Deviation

Ned nods his head, slow and easy. His body is relaxed. His beer half gone. If I’m ever going to make this deal, now is the time.

“Too many managers forget the artists in their care are more than products to be packaged and sold,” I tell him. “Musicians are people first. If you don’t take care of the people, they start to fall, and before long the band is lost. The product ceases to exist. The way I see it, the best business decision I can make is to take care of you, Gavin, Oz, and J-Johnny.” I trip over the last name in my effort to make it sound like the rest. “I will work every day to further your career in the ways you want it to progress, and I will never betray your trust. That is my promise to you.”

Ned considers my words for a long moment. “If we do this,” he says in a low voice, “Fifth Circle signs with you. Only you. Rush will not have the option of slotting someone else into your spot if you leave or they decide to ditch you. Not unless the four of us agree on it unanimously. It will be in the contract, or we don’t sign. Understand?”

Genevieve won’t like it, but she’ll accept it. I’ve seen it happen before, but always with experienced managers. Never with a newbie like me. “We can make that work.”

“I also want those references you mentioned,” he adds, as an afterthought.

I grin, while also trying not to faint with relief. “Done. Anything else?”

Ned’s mouth twists, as if he’s trying to choose his words wisely. “I don’t know if you’ve been in contact with any of the others.”

“You’re the only one who called me about my offer.” The half-lie is sour on my tongue. We haven’t even started working together, and I’m already jumping through loopholes in the promise I’ve made. But life isn’t black and white, and in this case honesty would do too much damage. It’s not just about keepingmy job, although that would be enough. I refuse to out Johnny to one of his best friends. This is a hit my ethics can take. I’ll still sleep easy tonight.

“Okay,” Ned says, releasing a breath. “Let’s do it.” He tells me about the weekly rehearsal the band has scheduled for tomorrow night. I agree to meet him there with copies of the contract. “If anyone does reach out before then, I’d appreciate it if you could keep our conversation to yourself. I’d like to be the one to tell them.”

“Of course,” I assure him as we get up to leave. “This is your news to share. I won’t say a word.” At least this is one promise I can keep. Ned will tell the band before I meet with them tomorrow night, which will give Johnny time to cover any reaction he might have to seeing me again.

After that, all we have to do is keep our distance and remain professional. Johnny will get to be a rock star. I’ll get my promotion.

It might not be everything we want, but the most important parts are covered. That will have to be enough.

SIXTEEN

______

JOHNNY

Wednesday night. Six o’clock. The Jam Shed. It’s been a standing rehearsal for Fifth Circle since the beginning. In fact, Oz and I helped Gavin build this place in the back of his and Charmaine’s small property soon after the band’s formation. Gavin chose the apt, if unoriginal, name during a laughter and alcohol-fuelled celebration the day we hammered the last nail into place. Each member of the band has a key and an open invitation to use the space at any time.

The building is small and simple. It’s little more than four walls, really. But it also has enough insulation to muffle a stampede of rhinos, so we can play at all hours of the day and night without getting noise complaints from the semi-distant neighbours.

My parents would be horrified to hear me say this, but this place is as close as I will ever come to having a church. I can come here and allow all the expectations of the world to fall away. I can surrender to the movement of my fingers and the rhythms of my heart.

I slept here more than once after Ellie and I argued—about how much time I spent here. The irony may have amused me if I hadn’t felt torn in two. This place was my solace when I went through my divorce. It was my happy place once the pain gave way to healing.

After the events of the past week, I’m left with the realisation it’s never been about the building. The power of this place lies with the men who come here every week to fill it with music.

Gavin, Oz and I have shown up by default. None of us mention what happened after the gig last Friday night. Those conversations have already been had. There’s no point in rehashing.

My guitar waits beside me on the couch as I sit, stiff and restless, on the edge of the cushions. On the far side of the room, Gavin is hunched behind his drum kit, glaring at a random spot on the floor. Oz plucks absently at the strings of his bass, murmuring the odd reassurance that Ned could be running late. He could still show up.

Ned is never late for rehearsal.

I can’t stop thinking about what Calum said, about how wounds don’t always heal just because the clock keeps ticking. I keep remembering the way Ned behaved when he first came back from Sydney. Small and sad… and quiet. Even when he’d sit in on sessions here at the shed, or when we were in the car with the volume cranked… the quiet in him seemed like it would go on forever.

I did ask him what happened, but when he refused to talk about it, I didn’t push. I told myself it was his business, and I shouldn’t pry. The truth is, I was so busy trying to keep Ellie happy, make my parents proud, and still have time for the band, I hadn’t really taken the time to be there for him when he needed me. Ned was never going to share that kind of pain with someone who was only half listening.

Then my life fell apart, and Ned showed up like a boss. He came over with beer and pizza on a Friday night. He called and texted to check-in. He listened to me rant about Ellie for months on end. He said yes to performing at Autumn Skies, knowing Zac would be there.

The true enormity of what it must have cost him has finally sunk in. Ned has been the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve repaid him with frustration and whining.

Man, I fucked this up. The same way I fucked up my marriage. Obviously, I haven’t learned the lesson losing Ellie should have taught me. I’m the same selfish arsehole I’ve always been. Never content. Always reaching for more than was meant for me and letting down the people I love.

Now, I may have lost the one thing I really need. Not fame. Not money. Not the elusivemore. I just need my band. To create and play and perform with the three men who are the only brothers I’ll ever have.

I have to be content with that. Like I was before.