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“Good for you,” he said, because Nancy compromising over anything was substantial personal growth.
Tapping her right foot on the concrete—her only tell when she was feeling vulnerable—she asked, “How’s the kid?”
“Which one? Your daughter or your granddaughter?”
“I am not old enough to be a grandmother,” she grumbled.
“And yet…”
“Either,” she eventually replied. “Both. I haven’t been over there in a while.”
“Ruby’s doing great,” he told her. “Growing like a weed. And Becks mentioned that this morning. You should come by, see Ruby again before she turns eighteen and moves out.”
“Yeah, sure. Maybe.” Her toes tapped faster.
“You should come see Becks too.”
Under the overcast sky, her red hair glowed like a torch. “I wasn’t sure if she wanted me there. She barely talked to me last time I visited. I think she’s pissed at me again, even though I have no idea what I did wrong this time.”
“She’s not pissed at you,” Cole said, settling into his well-worn role of mother/daughter relationship counselor. “She was probably just exhausted. Ruby was teething last month. It was a rough one for her.”And it’s not always all about you, Nancy.
“I’ll try to find some time.” She palmed her pen. “But it’s been rough for me too. I’m busy recording an album, if you hadn’t noticed. Speaking of which, I have something to ask you. You’re not going to like it, but I think you should hear me out before you freak.”
“Why are you about to ask me something that would make me freak? Don’t we have boundaries for a reason?”
“Wow, Cole,” she said with a sardonic edge. “Does it get lonely up there on that high horse? Do you get nosebleeds?”
He looked toward the sky, searching for patience up there between the clouds. “Fine. What did you want to ask me?”
“I’m going on tour next year.”
“Congratulations.”
“I need a drummer.”
“Isn’t Mikey from Gravel laying down drums for the album? Use him.”
“Can’t,” she said. “He’s busy. Therefore, I need a drummer.”
“Well, you know lots of them.”
“I don’t want lots of them, Cole. I want the best. I want you.”
After a beat, he burst into laughter. “Nancy, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I can. Look, I know how badly you want to play some real shit again. In front of real crowds.” Rising to her feet, she said, “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“The answer is—”
“I don’t need an answer today.” She pulled her fur coat up over her shoulders. “But youdoneed to think about it. If it wasn’t me asking, what would you do? You owe it to yourself to be honest about that much.”
“No,” he said firmly. “No way.” When he turned away from her to head toward his car, she called out, “Come on, Cole. You know you’re only happy when you’re drumming. You know you’re dying to hear the fans screaming your name again. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Was she wrong? Was that what was missing? Was that what would make him happy again? Or was Madigan right? Was he surrounded by his past, a past that kept trying to pull him back into it, keeping him from moving forward?
The answer came to him on the breeze. Not car exhaust, not Nancy’s cloying vape clouds, but lemons and sugar.
Nancy was wrong. Because flirting with Mira, taking her to the wedding, dancing with her, kissing her,thathad made him happy. Happier than he’d been in a very long time. Happier than he thought he might ever be again.Thatwas what moving forward felt like. So why the hell hadn’t he texted her yet?
