Brody’s exhale was slow and tired. “Never going to happen. We’re family, and I hate upsetting you, but it kills me to see you so isolated.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
Brody pulled her to a stand and into his embrace. Slowly, her arms slid around his waist, and her forehead rested on his shoulder.
“I understood your need for privacy at first, but this has gone on too long. You’re going to end up some old lady with only a collection of clutch purses, porcelain plates, and that dog for a bed partner.”
They remained in that embrace for a time, both letting the words sink in. It wasn’t often Mackenzie allowed herself the luxury of leaningon others. She had learned from her mother how easy it was to become dependent. Mackenzie would never do that to herself—or anyone else.
But for a moment, she allowed herself to be held. Let herself imagine what it would be like to not be in this all alone.
“Muttley isn’t so bad,” she said, rubbing her face back and forth across Brody’s shoulder, wiping off the tears she knew had escaped.
“The dog snores worse than I do,” Brody said with a low chuckle. “And if you want to give your songs to someone else, I know Carrie Underwood is interested in ‘To Fly’ and Keith Urban wants ‘Friday Night.’”
She pulled back. “Those aren’t available. I wrote those for Hunter.” Brody was silent for a long moment, and a bead of unease began in her belly. “He doesn’t want them, does he?”
The unease grew with the silence until it was a big ball in the center of her chest, twisting and tightening, suffocating her.
She amended her earlier statement becausethis, right here, was her worst fear. That Hunter would outgrow her songs or get to a point in his career where he wrote all his own stuff. If he didn’t want her music anymore, then he would finally sever the last connection she had to him, the only thing that kept her writing. The constant that had pulled her through the darkest moments.
“He says unless he meets the writers behind the music, and I use the termwriterslightly”—Mackenzie snorted at this—“then he won’t record any more of their songs.”
“But my song was his first number one hit. I’ve had at least three tracks on every one of his albums. All number ones. And these new ones are even better. They’re perfect for this point in his career.”
“I know that, you know that. Hell, he even knows it, but Hunter’s playing hardball.”
Mackenzie stepped back until her heel connected with the foot of the chair, reached for the arms, and eased herself down. “Did he evenlisten to the new tracks? I mean, does he know that some of the industry’s biggest musicians are dying to get their hands on them?”
“He did. He does. And he doesn’t care. He made it clear he won’t record your songs unless he meets the writers who are able to ‘put to sound what his soul sings’ or some flowery artistic bullshit like that,” Brody said. “You know how stubborn he can be.”
Mackenzie knew better than anyone that getting Hunter Kane to change his mind once set was like steering a horse into a burning barn.
“Why change what’s working?”
Writing at home gave her the comfort she needed to write and the privacy she needed to allow herself to be vulnerable. Sitting in a studio for weeks on end with the band staring at her? Asking her what had happened? Dealing with the silent pity?
No thank you. She wasn’t ready for that.
“It’s not working anymore, honey,” Brody said gently. “Not for Hunter. And not for me.”
Her stomach twisted at the idea that she might never get to write another song for Hunter, hear his voice breathe life into her music. Every word she wrote was for him, from her heart.
Only he didn’t want them. Not on her terms anyway.
“Would it be so bad to see him again? To reconnect?” Brody’s voice dropped, as if he wanted to lessen the impact of the conversation.
Brody had always been that way with her. She’d been nineteen with no work experience and desperate for a job to help with her mother’s bills. Desperate for a life that wasn’t defined by appointments, rehab therapy, or limitations.
Brody had been the one to get her a job waiting tables at his dad’s bar. He knew her résumé was BS, even knew she was lying about her age, but he’d hired her anyway.
Given her a shot.
She’d worked every night shift she could, waiting for her mom to adapt to her new life, waiting for her own life to begin. It seemed as ifMackenzie’s entire life had been spent waiting. Until she’d forced her mother to take a big step—a step she wasn’t ready to take.
The guilt was still suffocating and would have taken her under too, if she hadn’t turned to her music. Which was how she’d met Hunter. And he’d filled her world with some of the lightness that she’d been craving.
Now everything was dark—and there was no escape.
