Love and the Runaway Frontman

By Grace Wen

After four bands in eight years, frontman Trent Giles finally hit the charts (barely). But when the record label drops his band, Trent quits and takes an IT job to lick his wounds. He tells himself it's only temporary, but can a beautiful drummer stop him from running away again?

 

Automotive engineer Molly Tsai lives to play music. When her band's singer quits weeks before Battle of the Company Bands, she fears losing the contest for the third year in a row. The new hot IT guy at work could save her band from humiliation, but can she save her heart too?

 

A sweet romance about chasing dreams and discovering love right in front of you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bamboo Press
• Release date: Aug 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201768164

Grace Wen

Grace Wen trained as a engineer, worked as a lawyer, and is recovering from both. She is a proud Michigan native and lives in metro Detroit. When she's not writing, she enjoys practicing classical guitar, cooking vegan food, and watching community theatre performances.

Book preview

1

Trent Giles gripped the microphone and raised his other hand in the air. Thank you and goodnight!

Cheers and applause washed over him like ocean waves. When he inhaled, the smell of beer and cloying perfume mingled with the musty, dusty scent that permeated venues of a certain age, no matter how clean they were, and they often weren’t. Liam and Pete, his No Vacancy bandmates, joined him at the front of the stage and waved to the crowd. A whistle, high and piercing, sliced through the noise. He loved the enthusiasm of this particular group in...what town were they in again? He never could remember after his obligatory opening shout-out

With huge smiles, Trent, Liam and Pete clasped their hands overhead, bowed once more, and waved goodbye. Their smiles disappeared as soon as they turned away.

When they reached the green room, they returned to the spots they'd staked out earlier that afternoon, before their sound check: Trent closest to the door, Liam and Pete sharing opposite ends of a long couch that looked as tired as he felt.

Trent didn’t like sharing the green room with his bandmates, especially since he already spent too much time with them on the tour bus. Many venues they played didn’t even offer a green room. When he did manage to score a dressing room, though, it was usually a dank, poorly lit basement space he had to share with sewer pipes, obscene graffiti, and cockroaches. Even he had to admit that Liam and Pete were better company than that, sort of.

Bruce, their manager, was already there with a Scotch and soda by his elbow and his head bent over his laptop. Trent didn't have to see the screen to know he was going over his trusty spreadsheets, calculating and recalculating the night's take. Bruce's frown worried him.

Liam slipped flask out of his back pocket and unscrewed the top. I'm glad we get some time off. I could use a break. He took a long pull.

Me too, Trent said. Away from all of you.

Trent didn't say the last words aloud, but he didn't have to. He suspected the feeling was mutual. No Vacancy was a marriage of convenience, three people who found each other in the Chicago music scene and discovered they sounded great together. With Bruce's help and connections, they played tons of gigs, signed with a record label, and released their first album.

Finally, some success. It took four different bands to get here, but at least Trent didn't feel like he'd wasted his life up to now. If that meant playing with someone he didn't like, well, most people didn't like their co-workers. Pete was fine the way most drummers he knew were fine: laid-back, happy to be in the background and not cause trouble.

Liam was another issue. This was his band and Trent and Pete were merely players in it. All the songs on their album? Liam wrote them, refusing to include even one of Trent’s songs. The recording and production? Liam had the final say. Business matters? Liam had hired Bruce and they made all the decisions.

Trent couldn't argue with success, though. If it weren't for those two, he'd still be juggling an IT day job with five gigs a week at whatever bars would have him. Tours were grueling, but a necessary step to stardom.

Bad news, guys, Bruce said. The break's permanent. There won't be a second leg.

Ha, good joke, Pete said.

Not a joke. The record label says you're not earning enough from tickets and merch to make a second leg worth it. No more throwing good money after bad.

The air left the room. It was so quiet that they could hear fans outside yelling for them to come out, clamoring for an autograph, a touch, a glimpse, any acknowledgement that they were more than just open wallets.

They weren't to Trent, but the record label apparently disagreed.

So we get to work on the second album, Liam said. No big deal, we can make up for—

There won't be a second album, Bruce said. There won’t be any more albums.

What's that supposed to mean?

The label dropped you.

I thought we signed for four albums.

They changed their mind. Bruce said. The contract lets them do that. I explained that to you, but I guess you forgot.

Liam took another sip from his flask.

Will you put that thing away? Trent asked.

What?

This is your band. I'll feel better if your brain isn't pickled while you decide our future.

Liam shrugged and put the flask away. This sucks, but it's no big deal. I mean, we can always re-record the songs.

No, you can’t, Bruce said. They’re not your songs anymore, either. You signed away the publishing rights, remember?

What about the masters? We could take the masters and—

They own the masters, Bruce said. I know what you're thinking, and it's not going to work. They can still do what they want with the masters, including license the music.

We get paid for that, right?

That wasn't part of the deal.

Now Liam looked worried. What kind of asinine deal is that?

"The deal you signed. You’re lucky they dropped you now instead of expecting to you to pay back the rest of your recoupable debt. I guess they think they can make enough money off the copyrights you assigned so it won't to matter.

English, please?

They own your songs. You don’t.

That contract was thirty pages of legalese, Liam said. Isn't it your job to help us avoid bad deals?

You wouldn't have even gotten in the door without me, Bruce said. When I found you guys, you were unknowns. You should be thankful you got a deal at all.

Man, if I knew you would just roll over, I would've gotten a dog.

Bruce sprang from his chair and rushed toward Liam. He managed one swing that missed Liam’s chin by inches before Pete leapt up, hooked his forearms under Bruce's armpits, and hauled him backward.

Easy, Pete said. His eyes met Trent's and he shook his head. The grim set of Pete's lips said it all. This sucks.

What a mess, Trent said. I'm outta here.

Why, so you can find another band? Liam asked. Or are you launching your solo career already?

Neither. I—

Because the last three times you left a band, you joined a new one.

The corner of Trent’s mouth twitched. What, miss me already?

Not at all, but let's face it, this is the closest any of us has gotten to making it. We don't have to like each other to get what we want.

Liam was right. This was the first band Trent was in that even landed a record deal, let along squeak onto the Billboard Hot 100. For the last three months, crowds bigger than he'd ever seen screamed for them, screamed for him. Journalists and podcasters finally approached them for interviews instead of them having to beg for attention.

It wasn’t superstar levels of attention, not even close, but at least they were finally up-and-comers. It felt something like success, yet a bunch of suits in New York marked them as failures. Not because they didn't sell, but because they didn't sell enough, whatever that meant.

It's only a hiccup, Pete said. We'll make another album and start over. We know more now and we could even release it ourselves.

Start over. Pete made it sound so easy, but the thought made Trent sick. He'd been banging his head against the wall for eight years already. How much longer could he make himself do this?

I don't want to decide now, Trent said.

How long do you need? Liam asked.

I don’t know.

You're lucky frontmen are hard to replace.

I know.

Hard, but not impossible.

Liam’s voice was mild, but the threat came through loud and clear.

So where are you going to go? Pete asked.

Trent shrugged. This town seems all right, so I might stay here. Where are we, anyway?

2

The Woodward Dream Cruise was over two weeks away, but for the employees at Levaro, the annual company picnic kicked off the automotive pageant season. On the back lawn, twenty classic cars, from early 20th century museum-worthy showpieces to 50s muscle cars to sedans the size of boats, gleamed in the sun all lined up like beauty queens. Their hoods were propped open to reveal engines as pristine as capped teeth.

The proud owners of the trophy cars stood nearby, ready to share tall tales of the barn car that got away or argue over how authentic a restoration had to be. If someone were foolish enough to touch the car, they would whip out a chamois and polish away the fingerprint. From certain angles, the reflections from all that chrome and wax were positively blinding.

None of this mattered to Molly Tsai. She and her three bandmates were on the opposite end of the lawn performing their last set of the classic tunes that were the unofficial Dream Cruise soundtrack, from Motown to dad rock, crowd-pleasing songs plucked from the WOMC 104.3 (Detroit's Greatest Hits!) playlist.

Her mouth watered as the summer breeze carried the scent of grilled burgers and brats to her nose. Two more songs and