Page 180 of Love Felt Like This

My smile twitches at the corner.

I want to be the man she believes in. I want to play the songs that make her dance and press the keys that make her smile.

Jimmy reaches over the engineer and presses his thumb on the intercom button.

“Guitar guy, Griffin. Let’s stick with the script.”

But just before he removes his thumb, I hear the tail of Ava’s “E!”

The E song.

It’s not something practical.

Neither is the piano.

But Ava never seems to care much, as long as I’m playing for her.

“I’m whoever I want to be, Jimmy,” I say, reaching out to plunk notes again. “Whoever she needs me to be. Maybe it’s the guitar guy. Maybe it’s the piano guy. And you know what? If it’s good, people will like it, regardless of what damn instrument I play. Jimmy, I love you like a brother, but back off a second and just let me work.”

So I do. I press the keys, and Dom hands me the notebook, and one by one, my bandmates come back into the studio and find accompanying rhythms. The song transforms into something different but something far better than I imagined. Definitely better than what we were playing before the break.

This is who I am.

You’re not special, Harv, Robin said once. You just work hard. But that’s better, I think.

I’m the man working hard to make the music I want. I always pour everything I have into my life. I’m being a good role model for my daughter, even if that isn’t living the quiet life. Because that isn’t us. And I’m not perfect. I’m just the man I am.

I’m the man Ava can depend on. A dad who tries. Who pivots when things get tough. Who loves her while we endure. And as the notes fall from my fingers, as the lyrics permeate my brain, I know that ultimately, I’m Beverly’s man too.

Beverly is the most driven person I know. She’s the type of woman to build an impossible pitch in under two months. To endure, regardless of anxiety and lack of sleep. She has dreams that are so much bigger than both of us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because that’s what makes Beverly not just good at what she does but the best.

Rock Star Griffin Harvey is the piano guy. The guitar guy. The guy who writes children’s songs. And whoever else I want to be. He’s the type of man to support his woman’s dreams, even if it means he’s not always in the picture.

I freeze my fingers over the keys.

“Hey, Jimmy?” I ask.

The fuzzy dead air of the intercom comes to life, and after a moment, Jimmy asks, “Yes, Satan?”

“Get Finch’s number for me.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Special Connection

Beverly

I stand outside the Connection conference room with Bernie Bird slung over my arm. He has no clue what’s going on. The lucky guy. He’s perfectly still and focused, gawking up at the ceiling.

Just another day on the blond girl’s arm! Whee!

That’s what he’s thinking, I bet.

The stakes are higher than that, buddy. Get your head in the game.

I pace the lobby. Nobody else is out here, save for me and Finch. Even the receptionist, Patricia, is in the conference room—probably to escape my nervous babbles—so I let myself walk from one piece of carpet to the next, making sure to step over the squiggly patterns. I don’t know, maybe they’re bad luck or something.

“We got this, Bev,” Finch says.