Tasha was holding a little package and she handed it to Sadie. “This is for you—but open it later. We don’t have time for tears and makeup redos.”
“No, no, not so fast.” Sadie went to her dressing table and retrieved Tasha’s gift: it was a locket she had found at a Christmas market on a tour stop in Germany. Inside it, she had put photos of the two cats, Johnny and June, that Tasha left behind when she went touring. “Same to you. Open this later, and then we can do our crying over how much we’re going to miss each other once the lights go out.”
“Hmm,” Tasha said, her expression now thoughtful. “That might just be my next hit song.” She hummed a tune and sang,“I’m gonna do my cryin’ over you, once the lights go out, babe.”
Sadie laughed. “Do I get a writing credit?”
“You get a lot of credit, Sadie Hunter. I don’t want this to be the last I see of you. We need to talk about your next album, and those tracks of yours Cruz has. I want to hear them, the second you’re ready to share. But for now, see you out there.” Tasha waved as she left the room.
When Sadie was alone, she pulled up a flight-booking app on her phone. There was a satisfyingpingas the app confirmedher flight booking for later that night. Destination: Calgary, Alberta. She’d miss the wrap party, and saying a proper goodbye to all the friends she’d made.
But the bottom line was: she had to solve her Max Brody problem.
13
Max
Banff, Canada
December 14
There were only two sounds in the cozy cabin. Max’s quiet strumming on his guitar as he worked through a riff, and Patsy’s shockingly loud snoring.
Max glanced out the window, noting that the snow that had been coming down steadily all night was slowing. He couldn’t believe he’d been away from Nashville long enough that the snow was back for another year. Max had only intended to stay for two weeks, but somehow almost eleven months had passed. Some days he wondered if he’d ever go back.
He strummed for a moment longer, humming the tune as he did, then with a restless sigh set the guitar back down. Things were not going as well as he’d hoped, musically speaking. Actually, things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped,period. Thehint of cabin fever mixed with a touch of guilt, which seemed to ramp up with every month that passed, wasn’t helping.
Max needed a distraction. He turned on the ancient television and flipped through the few channels he could get in this isolated wilderness.News. More news. Weather.Some sort of kitchen appliance infomercial. And a movie that he hadn’t seen but could tell based on fashion alone was at least thirty years old.
“This will have to do,” he muttered, grabbing a beer from the fridge and then sinking down on the couch beside Patsy. She nudged his hand holding the beer.
“Hey, no judgment, okay? I know it’s only...” Max picked up his phone and the screen lit up. “It’s only nine a.m. Shit, how is it only nine?” He tried not to think about Holden, and how beer for breakfast was on-brand for his father when Max was growing up.I’m nothing like him, Max thought. He set the unopened beer on the coffee table.
Glancing again at his phone, he saw the string of missed calls and messages—some having arrived days ago, others weeks ago. A wave of guilt rose up. Then the movie went to commercial break, and Patsy’s head poked up from under her blanket. She let out a short, sharp bark.
Max looked from Patsy to the television, where a mattress commercial was playing.
“What the...?” He sat forward and listened intently. The commercial ran often and the jingle was very familiar. Then he slapped a hand to his forehead and leaned back against the couch. Patsy crawled into his lap and lay her head up against his chest, watching him. Waiting for him to sort out what she already had.
“That’s what I’ve been playing, and humming, isn’t it?” Max covered his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t believe I lifted a Canadian mattress company jingle for my song. Of all the...” He let out a frustrated groan. “Patsy, your dad is officially washed up at twenty-eight.”
His phone pinged again, and this time Max read the text. It was from his manager, Bobbi, and she was not pleased.
You need to come home.
He watched the ghost dots wiggle, and then,
A little reminder via video (also, you signed a contract, remember?)
Another series of ghost dots. Finally,
“All I Want for Christmas,” Max Brody, is you back in the studio. You don’t even have to put a bow on your head for it to count as my present!
Max chuckled at that, then clicked play on the attached video.
It was a clip of Max and Sadie, singing their holiday cover of “All I Want for Christmas.” He struggled to watch it, his hurt feelings still close to the surface.
