Page 49 of Can’t Say No

Like a mantra, I repeat the sentiment in my head until sleep finally pulls me under.

I fall all the way into a dream. Bright lights keep my eyes from focusing anywhere for too long, but it’s easy to recognize center stage after all these years. I open my mouth to sing, but nothing comes out. My band keeps playing, tempo rising in time with the panic in my chest. The crowd roars in displeasure, and I feel everything I’ve worked so hard for slipping away. Mocking headlines snake around me, ready to strike at any moment.

I’ve had this dream countless times before. I always wake up in a cold sweat, scrambling for my phone to check gossip sites to prove it was all a figment of my imagination.

But this time, gentle hands pull me from the panic.

“It’s just a dream, Lanie.” Connor soothes, lifting me off the floor. “I’m right here.”

The soft mattress greets me. The futon creaks as he steps away, pulling the comforter up to my chin to tuck me in.

I reach out and grab his wrist. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell him that I’m a wreck. I want to tell him he deserves better than getting caught up in a mess like me.

I want to tell him to stay.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the darkness instead.

“Anything for you, Lanie Lou.”

I roll towards the wall as I hear him settle onto the floor. I wrestle with my thoughts, haunted by the familiar feeling of panic brought on by the nightmare. But louder than the fear is Connor’s voice in my head.

Anything for you.

He’s told me that countless times since we were kids, and it always rolled off his tongue like a joke. But now… maybe I’m starting to believe him.

The drive back to Ridgecrest was uneventful for everyone except for poor Simon, who did, indeed, have to pee in a bottle when Mrs. Crane proved herself true and refused to deviate from the schedule.

I made a mental note to talk to my team about donating a coach bus with a working bathroom.

As we pull into the Ridgecrest parking lot, we’re greeted by dozens of parents milling around waiting to collect their kids, and I’m hit with an unexpected pang of longing. Those first few years, when my career was in its infancy, I flew back and forth from Ridgecrest to L.A. every so often. Not once did my parents make the drive up to the airport to get me. At the time, I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. The independence of traveling alone, the rush of a driver waiting with my name on a sign, at barely sixteen, I felt so mature. But a small part of me always held out hope that one day my mom or dad would be there instead. And every time, that hope was dashed.

Connor’s warm hand on my thigh brings me back to reality. “You good?”

I nod quickly, still watching the happy reunions as we offload. “So good. This is sweet to see. You’d think we were gone for a month with the amount of hugging and kissing going on.”

Connor chuckles. “Part of why I love teaching high school. The students can act as tough as they want, but they’re really just overgrown little kids. I never want them to feel rushed to grow up…” He follows my gaze and lets out a barely audible sigh. “Life gets so heavy so damn fast. I feel like it’s my responsibility to keep things light for them as long as possible.”

I don’t miss the exhaustion woven through his words, like he’s been carrying something heavy by himself for far too long, but before I can ask Connor to explain, my phone rings.

My dad’s name flashes on the screen.

“Delaney James.”

The annoyed clip in his voice when I answer on the third ring is a stark contrast to the gushing parents welcoming their kids home all around me.

“What’d I do wrong this time?”

“What an awful way to answer my call.” He scoffs. “Maybe I’m just calling to say hello.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. Five seconds on the phone with my dad, and I’m already keyed up. I steady my voice before I speak again. “Sorry. Hi, Dad. Are you in Ridgecrest or out in L.A.?”

“In L.A. We have a problem. All those songs we worked on with Touchstone in the spring? They want to pass them on to Molly Jo.”

My stomach drops.

“Fuck.” As much as I hate to admit it, my dad is right. This is a problem. We usually have writers and producers begging to work with us, so for an industry leader to back out on a recording contract is a big blow. And in light of recent events, passing me over for Molly Jo feels personal.

“I’m flying out to Ridgecrest tomorrow to make a game plan. If we lose this, we can kiss your career goodbye.” Without another word, the line goes dead.