Wright that Got Away (Wright)

“So, what are you going to do?” Viv snapped. “Leave? Quit? Are you a quitter, Michael?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. “Fuck, Viv. That’s how it’s going to be?”

“There’s a compromise here,” I interjected. Because Viv had my temper, too, but it was not the Hulk; it was Black Widow—slower to rise but inevitably swift and merciless.

“If he wants to go, then let him go,” Viv shot back. “We have been here for you for years. We’re your family, too. And you’re abandoning us. So, sure, run home to the wife and kid. Leave us behind and in the lurch without you. If that’s what you want but remember that you left your family behind.”

“That’s not what this is,” Michael said.

“Isn’t it?” Yorke asked. It was the first time he’d spoken, and the fact that he was agreeing with Viv was like Thor bringing down his hammer.

Michael flinched at the words. “I want to stay, but I can’t. So, if that means I’m abandoning you, if that’s how you see it, then fine. Say what you want. I wanted to reconcile. I’ll be around. I’ll help with the album even. It’s just…it’s just over for me.”

Then, he stood, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.

We were silent for a few minutes as Bobby followed him.

Then, I slumped back into my seat, all my anger dissipating in an instant. “Fuck.”

Viv nodded. “Yeah.”

“What are we going to do?” Santi asked.

Yorke got to his feet. “We’re going to get into the studio and record the best album of our career. Fuck him.”

Our eyes widened at that. It was the most words I’d ever heard him string together. And it also got us moving.

We trudged out of the conference room and down to the studio. West was in the recording booth, playing the piano for Micky. I recognized it as the melody for “After You,” which was heavy on keys. We waited for him to finish before entering.

“Let’s try it from the top,” I told him.

West arched an eyebrow. “Michael?”

“He’s out.”

West’s face crumpled. “Sorry, man.”

I just shrugged. We’d talked to him. He’d chosen. There was nothing more we could do.

“Let’s just show them what we have.”

32

Campbell

We didn’t leave the studio until after nine that night. I rubbed my eyes as I drove the Ferrari back into the Hills. I’d promised Blaire that I’d pick her up and drive with the top down, but it hadn’t worked out. Studio days were always long days. I just hadn’t anticipated it.

I’d sent a car to drive her back up to my house on one of our breaks and told her about the dinner options. I had nothing in my fridge or pantry, thanks to the tour and then months in Lubbock, but some places delivered at least.

She’d assured me that it was fine. But we’d only been in the city for a few days, and already, I was breaking promises. Was this how Michael felt? Was this the reason he’d left us?

It was too heavy for me to think about. My fingers were cramping for the first time in years. The riffs in “Rooftop Nights” were next level. Even though Yorke had insisted that he could take the bulk of the work, I couldn’t give it all up. Plus, our harmonies sounded better together than anything either of us could do solo.

I used to relish these nights. My brain fuzzy from hours in the studio. My voice scratchy and fingers aching. Crawling into bed and passing out, only to do it day after day. It was all I’d wanted.

Now, that had changed. The other thing I wanted was waiting for me inside.

I parked in the garage and came upstairs, dropping my guitar at the entrance. “Blaire?”

“I’m back here,” she called from the bedroom.

As I trudged through the living room, I covered a yawn with my hand. “Have a nice time shopping?”

“I did.”

Then, I stepped into the bedroom and froze. It was lit with dozens of candles of all different shapes and sizes. The bed was strewn with rose petals. The darkened bachelor pad had turned miraculously into something straight out of a movie. And lying at the center of it all was Blaire Barker in nothing but a forest-green lingerie set that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck.”

She ran a hand down her bare side with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you like what I got at La Perla?”

“Are you going to like it when I rip it off?”

She grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I took three long strides to her side, cupped her face in my hands, and devoured her mouth. She made a soft squeak of acquiescence before our tongues tangled together in a passionate kiss. I drew her bottom lip into my mouth, biting down hard enough for her to gasp.