Epic by Ginger Voight

as I could throw him, but he remained a minor, manageable problem for the time being.
    I finally left Las Vegas nearly three weeks after I got there. By the time I got back to the house I shared with Jace, it didn’t even really feel like home anymore. It looked the very same as when I left it. There were photos of Jace and I scattered in pretty fames along the walls and bookshelves. There was a nice blend of his sensibilities and mine throughout the décor. His was stark and masculine, mine soft and feminine. It was my last known sanctuary where I could totally be myself and be accepted for it.
    But now that I looked at it, I saw instead that wretched little hovel Maya used to call home. Five of those boxy little shithouses would have filled this house tucked high on a hill overlooking Los Angeles, which now seemed excessive for two people. I thought about her new apartment, which was certainly a step up from what she had known before, but still shades more modest than the house that Fierce built.
    I couldn’t even imagine her sitting there on that long, white sofa. She would have been overwhelmed by the opulence, much like I was as I stood at the threshold, staring at the other reality of my life.
    I felt torn completely in two. I went on this journey to find myself, but I had no clue who I was anymore.
    I shut the door behind me and headed to the studio. I needed music more than ever.
    If I thought I was going to get a warm welcome, I was sorely mistaken. The engineers were busy working on another project – of someone who “wanted” to work. That someone was Griffin Slade, who tore through his session like a pro, which seemed to impress his eye candy of the day who watched him from the booth.
    He caught sight of me as I turned to leave, which made him bring his own session to a halt as he chased after me down the hall.
    “Nice of you to finally show up,” he commented as he caught up with me. “Next time remind me to get our calendars in sync.”
    “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I got delayed in Vegas.”
    His eyes were hard. “I don’t need your excuses, love. I need your focus. You’re bloody talented but your work ethic sucks.”
    My mouth dropped open. “Look, I know I missed a recording session…”
    “It’s not about one session. You’ve blown all our sessions like I have nothing better to do than play backup for you until you finally decide you want to show up. In case you haven’t noticed, Jordi, your star has fallen out of the sky. Your sales are tanking. Your reputation is shit. You coast on this diva crap, but it’s killing your career even before it starts. You need to grow up, love. And fast.”
    Tears beat against my eyes but I refused to let them fall. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through.”
    “Suck it up,” he stated plainly. “You think you’re the only one with problems? This is rock and roll, sweetheart. Not some hand-holding daycare. You get tough or you get eaten.”
    “What do you care?” I spat. “You don’t even want to be here.”
    “Yeah?” he questioned. “Then why am I here? Why am I putting up with this bloody bullshit?”
    “You tell me,” I retorted.
    “Because I think you’re amazing,” he finally said. “When you show up,” he added before he spun on his heel and stalked down the hall.
    My eyes hardened as I watched him disappear back into the studio. He wanted me to show up? Fine. I stomped my way back down the hall. His eyes widened when I joined him in the booth. I didn’t say a word as I put on my headphones.
    He turned to one of the producers and signaled we’d be doing my song. Griffin and I glared at each other as the control booth scrambled to get everything set up. The minute I heard the first note, I owned that fucking song. He wanted to question my work ethic? I’d show him the very same passion, drive and balls-to-the-wall ambition that got me to the Fierce finale; the same hunger and determination that drove me from