Trust (London Love #5)

“You mean the vocal schedule?” Josh whispered. “Yeah. Saw that.”

“What do you mean?” I was still chewing. I hoped this stuff was actually good for me, because my jaws were starting to ache. I didn’t mind salads. I liked vegetables. But this? What even was this?

“There are a lot of the same names, all on the days where they don’t want us here. I have a feeling the plan is for us to…like…not be part of anything this time around. They’ve discarded all our songs, our vocals are minimal. Nothing we do is good enough, and there are these other five guys laying down vocals all next week.”

“Five,” I said. “And then they have me coming in.”

“I saw that.” Musa sighed. “Which means they’ll be the ones in breach of contract.”

“I’m so sick and tired of this.”

Josh agreed. We were all sick. Tired. Everything.

“I wish they could just be honest. This is like…psychological warfare. Keeping us all bewildered in the dark, and then they’ll come in and shove contracts under our noses and refuse to pay us again and pretend we’re the ones in the wrong. But we’re not stupid. None of us are.”

Musa definitely wasn’t. The guy had his own lawyers and was constantly up in management’s faces with terms and conditions. No wonder they wanted rid of us all. Only one problem apparently.

Me.

Because The Dieter was and would always be irreplaceable. My voice was distinct. And if they tried to do Blitz without my signature rasp, the hair, the bare chest and leather trousers…

I wasn’t that important. No. I was definitely replaceable.

“I think I’m buying a house. A smaller one. With a veranda.”

“What are you? Thirty-five?” Josh laughed. “Next you’ll have kids and all sorts. What the fuck, Gray?”

“Says the guy who owns a farmhouse in bloody…where? The Cotswolds?”

He grinned.

“We’re all too old for this,” Musa said. “If they make us tour again, I might just fake a heart attack or something.” He shook his head. “Buy the house, Gray. Better than shoving the cash up your nose.”

“Cork is doing okay, actually,” Josh put in. “They’re trying to get him in for a photoshoot. He’s shitting himself, because he’s absolutely not ready for that. He’s really thin, and still looks so unwell. Super skinny, and if anyone tries to drag him into a studio, I will kick off. Big time.”

I agreed. Being here was no good. The constant back and forth. We had no set plan. No end game. No stability, and the mind games? They’d always been there. Subtle threats held against our throats. Threats. Bribes. Goals that would just be pushed further and further away. A few more dates added to our tours with no consultation. This was my life. My whole life. And for what?

“I want out.” I’d said it before.

“I know you do,” Musa said softly. “I’ve got my people working on something. And if needed? We’ll pull the ripcord.”

“What’s that then?” Josh asked, throwing the rest of his lunch in the bin. I followed suit.

“We do something. Something childish and stupid, but we do it.”

I shook my head. “Is that your big plan?”

“Nah.” Musa laughed. “But. You know.” He tapped his nose.

I snorted.

Then I rang Agnes and told her I wanted the house. Texted my solicitor to buy it right away. I wanted it. I wanted something stable. Somewhere I could live and breathe. And be…

Happy.

I even texted Stewart. He reminded me I needed to get surveys done, ran through a bunch of things to ask about. So I could be in control.

I wanted control. I wanted happy. I didn’t just want to sing about it. Write meaningless lyrics about happy endings and love and hysteria. I wanted to live it. For real.