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“Did you find anything in there that will help me?” I ask eagerly.
He frowns. “I didn’t find anything other than a debilitating injury or death clause that will release you from your contract, so I’m afraid unless you want to fight a huge company like Mopar Records, you’ll have to fulfill your contract—completing three full albums with them and the tours that have been scheduled.”
My shoulders slump. This was exactly what I feared. “That’s not good news.”
“However, I did find a loophole that may satisfy your biggest complaint with the record label.”
My hope rises again. “What is it?”
“I remembered how you said you were unhappy with your contract because you weren’t able to have creative control over your brand and the song choices . . . well, there’s a part in the contract that says you are able to exercise artistic rights to help enhance your brand, meaning if you feel something portrays you in a light that you don’t want to be in, you can refuse.”
“Like song choices for the new album?” I grab Iris’s hand and squeeze excitedly.
He nods slowly. “Yes, but you’ll still be required to do shows, and ultimately you’ll still have to perform the songs that you hate right now until you produce more new material. But remember, just because you refuse to go along with their ideas, it doesn’t mean that they have to accept your new vision for your brand either.”
“That’s fantastic news!”
Mr. Stern holds up his hand to cut off my excitement. “You’re not out of the woods yet. You said you’ve not shown for how many shows now?”
I frown as I try to recall how many concerts I’ve missed since being here two months. “Counting the one I walked out on . . . seven, I think.”
He grimaces. “They can still sue you over that, and I’m afraid that suit can go into the millions, based on what I imagine a tour like yours to be worth.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “So it’s possible that they can take back everything I’ve earned up until this point.”
“And then some,” he adds.
“So, I still can’t go back—not now. I can’t afford it.”
“Son,” Mr. Stern says, “if you don’t go back, you could make things worse for yourself. We can protest that you had a mental breakdown over the loss of your foster mother and you snapped. Any judge may take that into consideration and . . .”
“No,” I say. “I won’t use my foster mother for an excuse for something I did. I refuse to do that.”
He sighs. “Well, I’m afraid it could be rough on you once they do catch up to you.”
I stand, hearing enough, and stick out my hand. “Thank you for the advice. I appreciate it, but I’ll take that contract back now.”
He hands it to me and Iris stands by my side. “Be careful and don’t do anything rash. If you need me again, you know where to find me.”
I nod curtly before stepping out of his office and paying Melody for the consultation, blocking her incessant chatter out with the thoughts of me and Iris preparing to leave if need be.
Both Iris and I are quiet on the ride back to Willow Acres. I appreciate the time to allow my mind to ponder the best next move.
I have a million different reasons to hop on my bike and ride away into oblivion and only one reason to stay put. That one reason outranks everything else and is sitting right beside me, holding my hand as I drive her home. I can’t bear the thought of being without her. Thinking about it now makes my stomach turn, and I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.
When I park the car outside of her trailer, she sighs longingly as she looks around.
She’s not saying it, but I can sense the looming fear in her about the impending day when I’ll have to abruptly leave. I just pray she sticks with what she promised me and is ready to leave too when that time comes.
I’m tempted to ask her right now if she’s having second thoughts but think better of it, because if she is, I don’t want to know. It will break my heart and I’m not ready to let her go just yet.
She opens her door and pauses to look over at me. “You spending the night?”
I nod. “If you want me to.”
She peers up at me with her green eyes through thick lashes. “I’ll always want you.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand with her smaller one. “Always.”
Later that night, after we’ve made love to the point that we’re both near exhaustion, I grab the book I brought back from my old bedroom and flip it open to my favorite play by Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet. I’ve been reading Iris to sleep nearly every night this week, and she seems to really enjoy it.
I love the gentle little sighs she makes when I read her a particularly romantic line.
I lick my lips and continue to read, “‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.’”
By act 4 Iris is sound asleep and I find myself absently stroking her soft hair as I continue to read on to Hamlet. About an hour into her sleep, she grows restless, tossing her head side to side and whimpering a bit.
I’m tempted to wake her in order to save her from the nightmare she’s obviously having but freeze instantly when she whispers my name.
“Don’t go, Ace. Don’t leave me . . . I love you.” Her words are just a little louder than a faint whisper, but they’re as clear as day.
