First Chance : Rock Romance #1

Chapter 2

Steele

"Fucking College!" I scream into my cellphone.

"Ryan, I told you about the contest." Mel says dismissively.

"I am pretty sure you fucking didn't Mel." I reply, losing patience.

"Live Nation sponsored; students put in their votes for the artist they want to perform at their college, and the college who had the highest participation level won a concert by the artist they chose." Mel explains.

"Tell me Mel, why would we want to perform at a fucking college when we have worked our asses off the past eight years to sell out Madison Square Garden?" I scream back again, not letting this shit just slide under the bridge.

"Steele calm down. Think about it, this is like giving back to your fans, young adults are your biggest fan-base, they are the people buying your records, and they put you where you are. So think of it as paying them back. You go there for a week, do a show. Then interview intern candidates and then start your tour. This is just a minor bump in the road." Mel states, pleading his case.

"Mel, I'm hanging up right now. I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest that I interview anyone. This. Is. Not. My. Job. I am going to pretend you didn't just spring this shit on me. You're lucky we have a contract or you would be fucking fired."

I want to slam my cell down. Knowing it would smash it to pieces, I don't. Instead, I put my fist through my bedroom wall. I can't believe he did this to us. For Mel to wake me up at six o'clock in the morning just to tell me that we have to leave tonight to do a show in two days and then visit the damn college for a week is complete bullshit. I do the music; I pay everyone else to do the other shit. I put my heart and soul into my music. I have worked so fucking hard to get here.

All to go back to a fucking college.

I can see gossip papers now. "Steele's Army: Sales must be down, once sold out now touring colleges!"

It will be untrue of course, but what else do papers and magazines print if not anything except a rumor. We just finished an album a couple of weeks ago, our people are predicting it will top the last album we released in sales. Already set to break the charts once again. I put more of myself into these songs than any I have made before.

Knowing there is no way I can go back to sleep now, I decide to go for a run on the public beach just outside of my condominium. Every morning when we aren't on tour, I opt to take a jog on the beach. The day we cashed our first check from our recording company; I bought a condominium in Long Beach, California. It's been the closest thing to a home that I have ever had.

Something about the scent of salt in the air and the wind blowing my hair, also forcing the sand to root in every crevice always helps keep me at peace. Most days it's where I find my songs. It's also where I go to pick through my issues.

I finish my run. Figure I'll call the boys then take a shower. It is easier calling them all at once that way I can hear the "What the fucks" and the "why didn't you tell us sooner" once and then "yeah, yeah were packing. Where and what time."

So much easier.

I call them, and it goes just as I had guessed. When I hang up, I decide I should lay back down and get some rest. With all of the times I have flown, you would think it would be simple for me to just close my eyes and fall asleep. Nope. With the ear popping, and possible turbulence it always leaves my nerves a wreck.

I'm sure the press would love to run with that as a front page article, me an alpha, bad boy rock star afraid of flying. The guys know about it, so they are always trying to distract me by fucking around with fellow passengers or the flight attendants. We have to fly quite a bit, so they are always pushing that bar higher and higher. It's surprising we haven't been kicked off a flight yet.