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He immediately grabs it and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “How bad is what?” he glances up at me.
“Social media.”
He chuckles. “Well, it’s not what you think. There are very few mentions of what happened in the hallway. The blow up has more to do with you and me dancing.”
“Really?” Relief floods through me. People know I’m standoffish, but no one needs to know why. I’ve worked so hard over the years to try and prevent anything like this from ever leaking to the media. I had just assumed this would be front page news.
He goes to Google, types our names into the search bar, and tons of links pop up, along with quite a few images of us together last night. The pictures look very intimate, certainly not like that was our first time dancing together.
“Yeah, it seems people like the idea of you and I being together.” He looks back up at me and grins.
I return his smile—I like the idea of us being together too.
“What are they saying?” I ask, walking back to my side of the bed.
He follows me, leans against the headboard and stretches out his legs. “Well, they aren’t too far off from the truth. There’s a lot of speculation about my disappearing act after Phoenix and your cancelled shows. What was it I read? Oh yeah, we were off on a secret romantic rendezvous.”
I giggle and boldly move my head to lie on his lap, just like last night, and his fingers immediately start playing with my hair.
“I did hear about you walking out after Phoenix; I think the whole world did. What did they call it, ‘Where’s Waldo . . . No . . . Where’s Will?’”
He snorts.
“Why did you do it?” I roll a little so I can see his face.
“I had to.” He looks down at me and smooths the hair off my forehead. “No one understands. Well, maybe Clay.” He shakes his head and frowns.
“I’ll understand. Tell me.” I run my hand down his arm; his skin is warm.
“It all used to be a dream. At twenty, I knew what I wanted to do, and what I wanted to accomplish over the next ten years of my life. But somewhere along the way, as we started making those things happen, visions for the future became less clear. Now I’m thirty, and when I think about life ten years from now, it feels like it can happen in the blink of an eye. I panicked. Spring turned into summer, summer turned into fall, and every weekend as I stood on stage, my hand would go numb on the mic. The lights felt like they were pressing down on me, I’ve hated the direction our songs have gone, and by Phoenix, I was pretty sure my heart had stopped beating. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I felt suffocated.”
I’m grateful that he’s talking to me, but it’s upsetting him. Taking his hand, I place it on my chest over my heart and let him feel it beating. It’s what he does to me, and he looks down, meeting my eyes.
“That day in the truck, you were right about the music, and I’m glad you said it. I needed to hear it from someone other than me.”
“I thought about that last night and I felt bad.”
His fingers stop moving through my hair. “Don’t.” He shakes his head.
“Why did the music change?”
He takes in a deep breath, his chest expanding, and resumes playing with my hair. “I think it’s probably a combination of us wanting to make the label happy, thinking they knew what was best, and lack of time. We used to have all the time in the world to write great songs, but once the tours started, free time vanished. It was easier to pick a pre-written song than to sit down and create a number one hit from scratch.”
I do understand. Completely. The girls and I have experienced some of this ourselves.
“So, what happens now?”
“Back at the lake when I told you I needed to take care of some work things, that people weren’t happy, this is it. Clay and I have had several meetings with the label about our direction going forward. He’s in agreement with me—we’re not ready to give it up, but things need to change.”
“Did I hear Mona say you are part owner of my label?”
He grins at me. “I did tell you I’ve made some great investments over the years, and Three Little Birds Records is one of them.”
“That kind of makes you my boss.” I scrunch up my nose with apparent distaste.
He throws his head back and laughs. I love that sound.
“So what did Emma say?” My heart rate picks up; it’s my turn to do the talking.
