I extend my hand, and he takesit.
Zeke gestures out the window. “These are champion racehorses. Retired now. Some take to it better than others. Some of them you’d swear are replaying the races behind those big eyes oftheirs.”
“Zeke left Wicked a number of years back, but he helped with my first platinum album. He now has a number of interests in LA and NewYork.”
He smiles. “I’ve established more than two dozen major recording artists at threelabels.”
My brows rise because that’simpressive.
“I’m going to be honest. Jax tells me you’re interested in a career in the industry. He’s sent me a few of your demos, but I prefer to see thingsfirsthand.”
We follow him to another room, where he flicks the light switch to reveal instrumentseverywhere.
Zeke passes me a guitar. “Let’s hearit.”
Jax studies me. This is atest.
I can play anything for anyone, but I wasn’t expecting to do ittoday.
Still, it’s as natural to me asbreathing.
The song starts out slow, picks up tempo without losing its mood. It’s thrumming and alive, crisp and precise one second and messy thenext.
But all of it’s onpurpose.
Everything is on purpose, or you lose more than amoment.
You loseyourself.
When I finish, Zeke’s face is unreadable, until he cuts a look at Jax. “Sayit.”
“Toldyou.”
I pass the guitar back, feelingrelief.
“I need someone who’s willing to work hard and who has the natural talent. That spark.” Zeke replaces the guitar before holding out a hand oncemore.
I go to shake it but stop when I see the business card in hisfingers.
I look between him and Jax. “I have another six weeks of school. I’m a senior. I want tograduate.”
Everyone in my family managed it. I’m sure as hell goingto.
Zeke smirks as if school is a trivial thing. Jax doesn’treact.
“You know what makes opportunities exciting? They don’t last. Don’t wait too long,kid.”
They make small talk for a few more minutes before we head back out to thecar.
The property recedes into the distance as Jax’s Bentley cruises down theroad.
“Today was about me,” I say after a fewmiles.
“I said I’d help you. This was the plan all along—polish your skills and get you out into theindustry.”
“Why me?” I ask the question that’s been hanging over me for a year, the one I know the answer to but he won’tadmit.
“You remind me of me. Music was more than my pressure release. It saved my life. It’ll save yours,too.”