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I clear the final few shingles from this row and then straighten, my stiff back protesting every movement. I’ll be sore tomorrow.
Careful steps bring me back to the edge of the roof. I pause for a minute, surveying the progress I’ve managed to make this morning. Three hours of work, and calling a quarter of the roof cleared would be generous. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to have it done in a week.
I climb down the ladder and round the side of the farmhouse, swiping my shirt from the porch railing and rubbing it across my face. Broad branches from the century oak planted years before I was born provide some welcome shade, lowering the air temperature by a few degrees.
The three stairs groan as I climb them—another repair that needs to be made. Same with the squeaky hinges that protest the screen door opening and closing.
It’s cooler inside, but not by much. The air conditioners are installed in the upstairs bedrooms, some cold air carrying down during the day, but not enough to beat the heat entirely.
My dusty boots get toed off carefully before I head deeper into the living room.
The landline is tucked in the corner, next to the worn armchair that’s probably as ancient as the shingles I’ve spent all morning splitting.
I remove my hat to run a hand through my sweaty hair, grimacing at the stickiness that lingers on my palm.
I pick up the receiver. “Hi, Brayden.”
“Kyle! How are you?”
“Great,” I drone. “Busy.”
“Good, good.”
There’s a pause, and my apprehension grows.
Brayden is typically ano bullshit,rip the Band-Aid offkind of guy. If he’s hesitating, it’s because he’s about to say something he knows I won’t want to hear.
“What is it?” I ask, impatient.
My manager clears his throat. “I tried your cell.”
“It’s dead. I was working outside. What’s going on?”
Brayden sighs. “Empire is sending someone tomorrow morning.”
It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. When it does…
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“You’re a huge loss for them, Kyle. They’ll do whatever they think it will take to change your mind.”
“Nothingis going to change my mind. I told you that.”
“And I passed that right along. But I also toldyouthey’d make this difficult. Take it as a compliment. Most singers are chasing labels, looking for a record deal. You’ve got the biggest label in the country chasing you, begging.”
“They can’t chase mehere. This is private property.”
“If you want to get lawyers involved, we can. But it’ll be a bad look. Empire built your career. And it’ll draw attention. Once other labels find out about the situation…they’ll be hounding you as well.”
“I’ll turn those down too.”
Brayden exhales. “You’re twenty-eight, Kyle. I get your life has beengo,go, gofor over a decade. You’ve earned a break—no one would argue with that. Slow down. Step back. But think it through before you toss a lit match and burn every damn bridge. One day, you might look back and regret it.”
I say nothing.
Another sigh. “All right. I’ll contact your legal team. And I’ll fly down first thing to deal with whoever Empire is sending.”
More commotion. More circus.
