After a whirlwind of eating, every plate was wiped clean—except Maxim's. Full and satisfied, the crew started feeling sleepy. Luckily, Maxim brought up the Full Moon Party just in time, and this time, Ronan managed to stay focused.
From last night's quick chat, Sam, the owner of "Noon" bar, seemed like a guy who loved talent and genuinely appreciated a good show. He'd taken a shine to Ronan too. Compared to Cliff and Maxim, who'd clashed with words and fists last night, Ronan was clearly the best pick to handle this. So, it was settled—Ronan would ask Sam if he'd recommend One Day Kings for the Full Moon Party stage.
And Sam? He said yes!
"Roar! Roar! Roar!" Ronan cheered.
"So, what songs should we play? This is the Full Moon Party—we've gotta pull out all the stops and blow everyone away!"
"Ronan, I think we should rent a practice room tomorrow for some extra rehearsal. We cannot mess this up!" Maxim said.
"Practice room? Maxim, are you nuts? We're broke! Don't forget we've still got five bar gigs coming up. If we rent a room, we won't even have gas money!" Cliff shot back.
"Cliff, I just think we need to take this seriously…"
"Ronan, what do you think? How about we each make a song list, swap ideas, and pick the best ones together?" Ollie chimed in.
Blah blah blah, chatter chatter chatter—it never stopped!
Leaving "Noon" bar with Sam's yes, the four One Day Kings members couldn't shut up the whole way back. They talked over each other, sometimes to themselves, but somehow, this chaotic mess of a conversation kept rolling smoothly. Weirdly, it worked!
Cliff eased the car into the motel parking lot. It was only 10 p.m., but the place was buzzing like peak party hours. The motel glowed bright as day, and even the parking lot was alive with young folks enjoying the vibe.
Boom boom boom!
A guy with dreadlocks swaggered in from the highway, hauling a massive '80s boombox on his shoulder. Deafening rap blasted out as he swayed across the motel's front lot, his sagging jeans barely hanging on as he passed the car.
Ronan, stepping out of the passenger seat, couldn't help but stare, wide-eyed and curious. There was so much to take in—where do you even start? His eyes sparkled with wonder until his phone buzzed in his pocket. Without looking away from the party, he answered.
"Hey, this is Ronan Cooper."
His gaze lingered on the scene, and then a deep, magnetic chuckle came through the phone—like the rich hum of a cello. "What's this? You taking up office secretary gigs now?"
Huh? What?
Ronan's brain was a giant question mark.
But the voice on the other end had a familiar, teasing vibe. Ronan could almost picture the guy's smirk. He finally tore his eyes off the boombox dude, glanced at his phone screen, and saw: Max.
No last name, no label—just "Max." But Ronan's mind instantly conjured up a face.
Max Cooper—Ronan Cooper's older brother, two years his senior. The same brother Cliff mentioned last night.
"Uh, yeah, I'm worried about unemployment these days, so I'm scoping out options," Ronan said into the phone. It was meant as a playful jab back, but he wasn't used to this kind of banter. It came out stiff and awkward.
In his past life, Ronan was an only child—no siblings. Then, at 17, he lost his sight completely. His family drained themselves trying to treat his illness, but the fights and exhaustion pulled them apart. By 20, his parents couldn't take it anymore and divorced.
Family stuff? Brothers? Ronan had no clue how to handle it. It was tricky, even now.
With friends, Ronan could joke around like a pro. But with his brother on the line, the teasing tone felt off, and he fumbled.
Plus, he still wasn't 100% settled into his new reality. What if Max noticed something weird? Cue the nerves!
His attempt at a joke turned into a whine. Ronan squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing in regret.
But then, a low laugh rumbled through the phone, warm and rolling in Max's throat. "No need to play pitiful with me. Let this be a lesson—keep your eyes sharp next time. You've gotta grow up a little!"
It was a scolding, sure, but Max's gentle tone softened it. Ronan's tension eased a bit, though he still didn't know how to reply.
Should he talk more and risk slipping up? Or stay quiet and play it safe? How did the Cooper brothers usually act anyway?
Max picked up on the silence and chuckled again. He didn't push, though, and switched gears instead.
"About that lawyer letter—I talked to a lawyer friend. You guys don't need to stress about the rest. I'll handle what's left."
Oh, so this was what Cliff asked about? The band had tasked Ronan with checking on the lawyer letter from Tristan.
"But you and the band need to decide if you want to sue him and chase down your tour earnings," Max added.
"You've got the right to appeal, but here's the catch: it'll take time and money—maybe more than what you'd even get back. From a profit standpoint, it's not worth it. But if you want to make a statement, suing's the way to go. It's up to you."
Ronan hadn't said a word, but Max explained it all patiently. Ronan's steps drifted away from the noisy crowd toward a quiet reed marsh across the road. As the air stilled, Max's caring tone stood out more, clear and steady.
"…What do you think?" Ronan finally spoke, hesitant but pushing the question out.
"My take? You should take a stand—send a lawyer letter showing you're serious about appealing. No need to go all-in yet. See how he reacts first. Maybe an out-of-court deal could work," Max said, offering a calm, neutral opinion from his perspective.