“What’s the plan, Nick? I know you’ve already got one.”
My agent huffs out a laugh. “That’s what you pay me for. You’re gonna ride this wave for all it’s worth.”
I open my mouth to object with ano way in hell, but he keeps going.
“I know you don’t want anyone feeling sorry for you, and you’d rather crack some skulls, but here’s the thing—you’re going to make one statement. A classy, sincere statement wishing Amber well in her new relationship, and then you’re going to step away and go back to doing what you do—pour it all into the music. The press will keep going with the story, and I’m sure Amber won’t be smart enough to shut her mouth, but by the time you finish this next album, people are going to eat it up. They’ll want to see this side of your music, and you’ll have another platinum on your hands.”
I let his words and predictions wash over me and say nothing.
Of course, for Nick, this is all about the money. The fact that my pride is taking a beating doesn’t compute.
Wait, why didn’t I say myheartis taking a beating?That’s a hell of a good question, and one I don’t have the time to answer right this moment.
“What do you say, Boone? We got a plan? I put together a statement, we release it to the press, and then you can stay out of sight behind the gates of your house, shoot some shit, race some dirt bikes, and write the album that’s going to have you set for the rest of your life.”
I turn his suggestion over in my head. Release a statement to the press. That’s not me.
“I want a press conference. I’m gonna have my say.”
“Boone, that’s a bad idea. If you let your temper—”
“Set it up, Nick. You work for me. So set the fucking press conference up.”
With a long sigh, he goes silent for a few moments. “This could backfire and screw up all the plans I worked out.”
“And if you think I’m the kind of guy who’s going to go hide behind a gate and justrelease a goddamned statement, you still don’t know me.”
“Fine. When?”
“Today. This afternoon. Four o’clock.”
“Where?”
“That’s your job.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll get it done. According to the press, Amber’s MIA right now, which actually works out in our favor, I think.”
My only response is to hang up the phone.
I don’t want to hear her name.
I don’t want to say her name.
How the hell did this happen?I was supposed to wake up this morning in bed with the woman who would be my wife and have my kids, but she’s doing that with another man.
I can’t even begin to articulate all the ways that’s straight fucked up. For the first time in a long time, my fingers aren’t itching for a pen to write down lyrics to get this out onto paper.
Instead, there’snothing.
Empty.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, and Frisco takes the phone from my hand.
“You really think a press conference is a good idea?”
“What choice do I have? I gotta put it out there, and I’m not doing it through some pansy-ass statement my people release.”
“You gonna be able to handle the questions?”