Page 47 of Dirty Like Brody
“Just don’t fuckaround,okay?”
I stared at him. “Excuseme?”
“Don’t make them think you’re coming back, that you’re staying, when you aren’t,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t start writing songs with them you’re not gonna finish and don’t let them get attached to the idea of having youaround.”
Okay; that got mybackup.
I wasn’t one of his clients. I wasn’t paying for his advice and I sure as hell didn’t askforit.
Brody could freeze me out, hate me if he needed to; that was his prerogative. But who was he to give me orders? Who was he to tell me what I could and couldn’t do with the band? With my own brother? He was their manager, yes. But I didn’t need his permission to hang out with them, to write a fewsongs.
They’d be mysongs,too.
I stood and crossed my arms over my chest, giving back all the attitude he was giving me. “You telling me that as their friend, or as their manager? Or just out of the good of yourheart?”
“I’m telling you that as a man who knows what it’s like to be leftbyyou.”
With that, he turned and walked back up the aisle towardtheexit.
Oh,damn.
Lowblow.
I hopped down from the stage, going after him. “They told me you found this placeforthem?”
He turned back tome. “So?”
“So… it’s amazing. Perfect.” I met him partway up the aisle. “You always did know what was best for them. You’ve been a great manager to them, and a great friend. You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished together. But… that doesn’t mean you have a right to tell me where I fit in, just because you give a shit and you think that makes you boss. If the band wants to write with me… if I want to write with them… you’ve got noright.”
“Actually,” he said grimly, “I do. It’s my fucking job. A job I’ve been doing every day while you’ve been gone. A job I’d do even if they never paid me. That’s how much of a shitIgive.”
He got closer and looked me right in the eye, and I felt that magnetic pull between us, overwhelming. His eyes were dark and hooded and for a confused moment, I thought he might kiss me. And I wanted him to, even though I knew it was a bad idea; because if Brody kissed me again before I confessed all my fucking sins, things were only going to get more complicated. For bothofus.
But he didn’tkissme.
“And for the record,” he said instead, his voice low, “I’ve advised them against writing with you. I told them you’re unreliable, you’re unstable, and you’re not committed. We’ve been down that road before, with Seth, and we all know howitends.”
Wow.
That was not flattering. At all. And being compared to Seth felt… unfair. And yet, somehow, exactly what Ideserved.
But true or not, it hurt to hear all those unflattering things out of Brody’s mouth. To know that he’d said those things about me to Jesse, Zane, Elle andDylan.
I opened my mouth to respond, but hewasn’tdone.
“This isn’t about you, Jessa. It’s not about me, either. It’s about Dirty. Things are raw with the band right now. With Jesse and Elle’s break up, and their tenth anniversary album and tour around the corner, and now we’re without a rhythm guitarist, again. They’ve got enough to deal with. They don’t need any bullshitfromyou.”
“Wait. What do you mean? What happened toPaulie?”
“Paulie’s out.” Brody rubbed his hand over his face, looking weary. Suddenly I recognized that dark look in his eyes, and it had little to do with wanting to kiss me. “His wife’s been diagnosed with some shitty rare cancer. He’s dropping everything to get her throughtreatment.”
“OhmyGod.” The words came out of my mouth in a blurred, painedbreath.
“I just got the call. Came to tell the guys. Look,” he said, sounding beyond tired, “this is gonna take the wind out of everyone’ssails.”
“Yeah.” I hugged myself, suddenly cold. The church was drafty, and that warm and fuzzy adrenalin buzz of playing with the guys? Long gone. “I understand. Just let me know what I can do to help?Please.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, looking me in the eye again. “Except leave now if that’s what you’regonnado.”
