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He turned back to the hall and peeked out. He couldn’t see much more than a slice of her office, and not the part where her desk sat. She didn’t make another noise, and maybe he’d imagined the sniffles.
Just as he thought that, he heard her again. She paced, and he caught her honey-blonde hair whip by as she turned and went back the way she’d come.
He sighed and ducked into his office. Maybe he could just call her name and see if she responded. If she tried to hide her emotion from him, then he’d know not to go barging in there. He could still offer to help in some way, because by the amount of sniffling happening, she wouldn’t be able to dry her eyes and hide the fact that she’d been crying.
He’d just opened his mouth to call her name when he heard footsteps running toward him. He looked out into the hall right as Luke, Becks’s husband, hurried into her office. “Hey,” he said, “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
He didn’t close the door, and Blake felt like a creeper, eavesdropping as he was. Still, he couldn’t get himself to move away from the doorway in either direction.
“It was positive, baby,” Becks said, her voice pinched and tinny and too high. “We’re going to have a baby.” She sniffled again, and Blake grinned from ear to ear. He stepped into the hall then and leaned into Becks’s office to find Luke holding her in a tight embrace, her back to the door.
Their eyes met, and Blake shook his head. He saw the pure relief and joy in Luke’s eyes, and he’d feel the same way once he got told he was going to be a father. He grasped the doorknob and pulled the door closed, slowing it enough to make it almost silent as it caught and held.
Then he went back to his office, ready to face the day and whatever it held.
ChapterFifteen
Kyle fidgeted in his seat, despite it being one of the nicest, most comfortable office chairs he’d ever had the pleasure of sitting in. He’d been in Nashville for almost a week now, and he was anxious to leave. While he wanted to tour the country—heck, the world—he didn’t like cities all that much.
He much preferred a quiet country lane and a busy diner with folks he’d known for years. The halves of himself felt like they hadn’t slept in six days, and frankly, he was exhausted from the back-and-forth. A war existed inside him, even when he was asleep.
“Good news,” Jolene said as she burst through the door. The pages in her hand flapped, and Kyle startled, his adrenaline shooting to the top of this head. He jumped to his feet, trying to contain his pulse. “The legal team removed that last clause you didn’t like.” She slapped the wad of papers—his contract—on the table in front of him. She wore a pair of loose black pants and a black and white blouse along with her huge smile.
He’d felt like she was on his side this week, but both of them had the legal team against them. “A miracle,” he said. He looked down at the wad of papers. Thankfully, he’d gotten his friend to look at the contract and redline anything he didn’t like. He’d brought it with him, but the legal team hadn’t simply deleted the things he didn’t like. They’d struck them out so he could see what had been there and now wasn’t.
He flipped the pages, his pulse picking up speed. Was this real? He’d been taken to dinner every night since he’d arrived. Tonight, the executives who’d welcomed him to the label, shown him the studio, and gushed over his songs had arranged a dinner with Thomas Phantom, who was only the biggest solo artist in country music right now.
Kyle had reached out to his publicist and agent to get him to come play at the ranch, but his three inquiries had gone unanswered. He knew the ranch in the middle of the Texas Hill Country wasn’t a big draw, and while he’d been awed by the big building and the fancy food, he’d determined he would not ever just not answer emails.
He’d play the small venues. The ranches. The water stages in the Hill Country. Anywhere and everywhere. He didn’t want to lose his roots, because he could easily see how this world could do that to him.
He hadn’t seen it before, when he’d toured with That Little Texas Band. He’d been so desperate and so hungry to be where he stood now that he honestly would’ve signed any contract put in front of him.
His eyes glazed over as he flipped pages, his thoughts centered on how grateful he was that God hadn’t given him this opportunity years ago. He felt more ready now. He felt older and wiser.
He came to the part he’d asked to have out, and that was that he’d have to repay any amount he’d already gotten should his sophomore and junior album be canceled. He knew that wouldn’t be on him, and he wasn’t going to pay for it.
“Looks good.” His voice sounded like he hadn’t used it this week when the opposite was true.
Jolene handed him a pen, her smile blinding. He took it, his fingers gripping it like he needed to choke the life out of it before the ink would flow. He cleared his throat and bent over the papers. Just as quickly, he straightened again. “I need to make a phone call.”
He dropped the pen, spun away from Jolene and the contract, and strode from the room. He tugged his phone from his back pocket, his fingers swiping to get to his father’s name. He approached the elevator, and a secretary jumped to her feet.
“Mister Stewart?”
He looked over to her as he lifted his phone to his ear. “I’m okay.”
She glanced down the hall in the direction he’d come. “Where’s Miss Jolene?”
“I just have a phone call.” He moved over to the windows, where two giant plants grew.Come on, Daddy, he thought.
“Kyle,” his dad said.
Life filled Kyle’s lungs. “Daddy,” he said. “They fixed everything I wanted them to.”
“That’s great, son.”
Was it, though? Kyle suddenly wasn’t so sure. “Daddy.” He didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t articulate the feelings running through him, or why most of it was panic. He’d been working for this for years. Hadn’t he? He’d sent off the demo tapes. He’d written the songs, played and practiced them for months before recording. Even that had cost him something, as he’d had to schedule time in a studio, drive over two hours to get to it, pay for it, and then drive back.
