Becky and Pete have been friends all their lives, almost as long as they’ve been a pop-punk duo. They moved out from their small hometown in hopes to ‘make it’—yet almost a decade on, they’ve got little to show for their efforts.
Enter The Hacks—a pop band that has been around for nearly fifteen years. Brothers Todd, Tyler, and Tristan were barely out of the diapers when their first album became a worldwide sensation. Their chart-topping success is long gone, but they’ve managed to stay relevant.
In an unexpected turn of events, Becky and Pete are hired to be the opening act in The Hacks’ UK tour. Although they don’t belong in the same genre, the duo sees it as an opportunity. Maybe this is the chance they’ve been waiting for.
But expectations might not meet the reality of the music business, especially when the lines between personal and professional life start to blur.
Are Becky and Pete up for the challenge?
I run regular Kindle promotions, so the book is constantly featured in the top 100 at the Kindle store. It also has a very high rating both on Amazon and Goodreads.
I’m sitting at my window sill, watching the rain run down the glass. The morning light passing through the gray clouds sucks the color out of everything. For a few minutes, time stands still. I like this time of the day—too early for anyone to be out and about, too late to fall asleep. I feel like I could be the only person alive in the world. To be honest, I feel like the only person in the world most of the time, but it’s only in this moment between night and day that I can be at peace with it.
I couldn’t sleep after last night’s concert. Not even after draining an entire bottle of wine. I’ve been too worried about the progressive worsening of our gigs. Progressively smaller places, progressively fewer dates. I’m progressively losing my mind. Pete insists it’s just a phase, that we had it worse before. As much as I know he’s right, there’s something different at the pit of my stomach this time. Maybe it’s time to go home. Again. Maybe we should have never left home that second time. Or even that first time.
I force my brain to think of something else. I know that following these thoughts will lead me down a rabbit hole that will be hard to crawl out of. I have to stay away from them. But it’s exhausting, you know? Especially when they keep resurfacing so often as they have been lately.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and take some pictures of the dead city below me. I edit one of them and upload it to my personal Instagram account—which I only use to post what I believe is called ‘conceptual photos’. The caption reads ‘morning after’. I don’t have to wait long for the fans to start liking it and commenting. Ever since I got clean, I’ve been using these short, instant interactions as my serotonin fix. And it does the trick—I’m not thinking about the past anymore. I think about the future.
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Itzel Alvarez
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