Home > The Mighty Storm (The Storm #1)(3)

The Mighty Storm (The Storm #1)(3)
Author: Samantha Towle

I sit up a little straighter in my seat. “Y-you got an interview with Jake?”

She nods proudly.

“How?” I breathe out, dumbstruck.

Jake’s well known for not doing interviews. Another of the reasons Vicky was so desperate for me to try and grab one with him. An exclusive.

Jake’s intensely private. He talks about his music when he has to for PR of course. But he never talks about himself outside of that.

Which is funny, considering how he lives his life - very publicly in many ways – the drinking, the drugs … the women.

Vicky shifts uncomfortably in her seat and grimaces slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter how I got it – just that I did and you’re going to do the interview.”

“What?!” I almost reel backwards off my chair.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re my best writer, Tru, and well … you’re my only music writer. And you have this huge connection with Jake, you grew up together for crying out loud! He’ll open up to you more than he would anyone else. You could land us an exclusive here.”

“Oh, no.” I’m shaking my head, rapidly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

I might be a journo, but I do have this thing called morals. I’m not going to spread Jake’s guts all over the magazine in the name of news.

“It’s an excellent idea, and we need this, Tru.” Her normally smooth features furrow. “Sales are rubbish at the moment, and this exclusive with Jake Wethers will give us the boost we’ve been waiting for.”

Ugh. She’s right. It will be good for the magazine, no, scrap that, it will be amazing for the magazine.

All I need to do is get a great interview from Jake and keep my morals at the same time.

Holy f**k! Is this really happening? Am I really going to see Jake again after all this time?

A frisson of nervous energy passes through me.

He probably won’t even remember me. It’s been twelve years.

“Okay. I’m in.”

“That’s my girl.” Vicky smiles, clapping her hands together.

“When and where?”

“Tomorrow, 10am, at The Dorchester.”

“Tomorrow?” I feel another, much larger, shot of nerves rush through my blood.

“He’s only here in the UK for a few days. This is the only window we’ve got.”

“Okay … should I book Jim to go with me?” Jim is our photographer.

She shakes her head. “No pictures. We’re to use old press photos. You’re going in solo, gorgeous.”

Crap. I was hoping for the back-up.

I swallow down the nerves ramming up my throat and nod. “Okay.”

“Don’t look so nervous, you’ll do great, Tru. Oh, and here’s a review copy of the new album–” She picks a CD case up from her desk and peers down at it, reading. “– Creed … ahh,” she murmurs knowingly. “…anyway, have a listen before the interview, and it’s not released yet, so remember–”

“Guard it with my life.” I take the CD from her and start to walk away.

“I bet he’ll be delighted to see you,” she sings from behind me.

I look at her over my shoulder, pulling a face at her, I stick my tongue out.

She laughs. “Well maybe not with a face like that he won’t.”

I grin, and then with my new Mighty Storm CD, and the heavy weight of the interview on my shoulders, I amble out of her office.

I slump down in my chair at my desk and look at the CD in my hand.

Okay, so tomorrow, at 10am, I’m going to see Jake for the first time in twelve years.

Jake Wethers, the man who used to be the boy I loved.

Jake Wethers the biggest rock star, and most wanted man in the world, tomorrow will be sitting before me giving me an interview, and I haven’t got a bloody clue what I’m going to ask to him.

I put Jake’s album into the disc holder in my Mac, plug my headphones in and start to listen as the music flows into my ears.

I pull the insert booklet out and start to read through the track listings. Then I flick to the back page to read the dedications.

There’s one person I know, without doubt, who this album is dedicated too.

The person who co-wrote the album, and who it’s named after – Jonny Creed.

Jonny was Jake’s best-friend, lead guitarist in TMS, and his business partner, and he died in a car accident a little over a year ago.

Jonny’s car crashed through a barrier then rolled down a steep ravine in LA not far from where he lived.

I saw the pictures in the news the next day after it happened. His car was totalled.

He never stood a chance.

There were no other cars involved in the accident, and after the autopsy was done it was revealed that Jonny was way over the legal alcohol limit, and the level of drugs in his system was enough to take down a small horse, or so it had been reported.

The accident happened late at night, and the police said Jonny could have been swerving to avoid an animal in the road, or maybe, because of the alcohol and drugs, he could have fallen asleep at the wheel, though there’s no evidence to prove either to be the case.

The press have speculated that it was a suicide. But the bands spokespeople have vehemently denied it, and there was no evidence to show that Jonny was depressed in anyway at all.

His life was good. He was at the top of his game. He had everything to live for.

The band took his death badly. Jake even more so. And his pain was splashed all over the pages of the press for the world to see.

   
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