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I take a slow breath as I nod at the pile of shit in front of us.
“Ineedto finish something, Mel,” I growl quietly. “I have ten fucking years of one-liners, sketches, ideas, and a whole lotta bullshit. But I need—Ineed—just one fucking thing. Just one goddamn song.”
She nods slowly, eying me.
“Why?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked myself a million times over the last decade. Why bother? Why not just take the ludicrous amount of money that Cliff is investing for me and go buy a vineyard in the French countryside? Or a chalet in the Alps. Another damn island, but in Vietnam or something.
Why not accept that I had ten years ofmassivesuccess—the kind where they’ll be playing my songs for the next hundred years—and just let that be it?
Because I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll never know.
I turn to look at her. “To prove to myself it wasn’t a dream. To prove to myself I still have it, oreverhad it. To prove to myself I still havesomethingin the tank.”
My eyes drop as I draw in a breath.
“I did most of the writing for Velvet. But it was Iggy who always took us home. He’s the one that always brought me over that finish line, or who took my madness and shaped it into something glorious. I mean I know he’s on the writing credits to a lot of the songs, but I don’t think a lot of people know that.”
“I didn’t,” she says quietly.
I smile sadly. “Yeah, he was always an asshole about not wanting his name on things.”
You’re the writer, mate. I just hit things.
I grin as I hear his voice in my head. Then I glance at Melody again.
“I came here ten years ago to write. And a decade later, I’ve got….” I wave at the collection of random words and lines and chords in front of us. “This. I need you to help me put the pieces together.”
She blinks, staring at the lyrics.
“I…Jackson, I’m not a lyricist—”
“Bullshit. Yeah, you are.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Not a legendary, world famous one.”
“Yeah, and neither was I at twenty.”
“Jackson, come on—”
“I’mnotfucking with you. And I’m not drunk…”
I frown.
“Okay, I’ve had a couple drinks.”
She grins, rolling her eyes.
“But I’m serious, sweetheart. I want you to help me with this. I need you to help me.”
Her lips twist as she looks down.
“Say yes.”
She grins to herself.
