Chapter 47 - Ciarán
Fourty Seven- Ciarán
Four years later.
I sat slouched in a leather chair, fingers drumming against my knee, eyes fixed on the gold plaques lining the wall. My name was on a lot of them. Platinum-selling artist. Most streamed R the security system had been armed and never disarmed again.
After the first year of calls, she’d stopped. I wasn’t disrupting her life anymore.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning, then leaned back and lifted my chin. “How much to get out of it?”
Tyrell—my manager—spoke before Whitmore could. “Whoa, now. Wait.” His voice was tight with warning. “That’s forty-five million to buy out your contract. Another fifteen for breach. That’s sixty fucking million, C. That’ll make you broke.”
“I don’t care,” I said, and I meant it.
Tyrell slammed his hand on the table. “The fuck you mean, you don’t care?” He turned to Whitmore. “Can I talk to him alone?”
Whitmore let out a laugh. “You better talk some sense into him.” He shot me a final glare before storming out.
The second the door shut, Tyrell let loose. “You lost your damn mind?”
I exhaled, rubbing a hand down my face. “I ain’t singing, Ty. I don’t feel like it. I haven’t felt like it in years.”
He stared at me, a portrait of disappointment. “I get it, man. I do. But you gonna go broke on purpose? What about Jordin?”
I stiffened. “This is about her. I’m saving her from me. From this.”
Tyrell rolled his eyes. “So you don’t want to see her? Work with her again?”
“No,” I lied. But what the fuck was I supposed to do to make up for ignoring her for years? I didn’t want her to see me at my worst—and I’d made worse.
“Then why you be spraying her perfume on your bed? All over your house. You miss her.”
I snapped my head up, glaring. “You watching me now, nigga?”
“I manage you, motherfucker. And you’ve been walking around like a ghost for four years. So yeah, I notice shit.” He exhaled, trying to calm down. “Look. I can make it so you don’t have to see her. She can work with you like she did Ezra Lane.”
I froze. Glaring at him? He had dropped Ezra as a client, which was the only reason I still was one.
Jordan had written for Ezra. They’d never been in the same room. Never interacted. Just files sent back and forth. I still had the recording where I made her cum on beat.
The thought of working with Jordin again, even from a distance, made me feel something for the first time in years.
I ran my tongue over my teeth and sighed. “Fine.”
Tyrell nodded, relieved. “Good. We’ll figure this shit out. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Later That Night
I was halfway through a blunt—medical marijuana—staring out at the city lights from my penthouse in Atlanta when my phone rang.
Avian. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d called.
I smirked. “Birdy,” I answered.
“You finally picked up, you piece of shit,” she said, all attitude. “You better be dying or working on an album.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Neither.”
She clicked her tongue. “Mhm. Figures. All you do is lay around and drown in your own sorrows. Not getting no pussy. Not living.”
I ignored her and changed the subject. We shot the shit for a while, but she kept circling back to my lack of motivation.
“You thought about Jordin lately? You should call,” she said.
“Birdy.” A warning. It was the first time in four years she’d directly brought up Jordin, though I knew they were friends now. I’d seen them together on vacation, on her Instagram before I deleted the app.
“You should call her. You might find the motivation to get back to you after just a conversation.”
I exhaled, my jaw clenching. I wanted to call her.
I’d seen that she’d blown up in the industry right after we split.
Her songs were everywhere for months. Then, she’d disappeared out of nowhere.
No new music. Nothing. I wanted to know what happened.
I’d picked up the phone to call so many times.
But I couldn’t. Too much time had passed.
“You should come out,” Avian said when I got quiet.
“Come out where?”
“My birthday party. You owe me, nigga. You missed the last two.”
I smirked. “I hate parties.”
“You love me, though.”
I sighed, leaning my head back.
“Ciarán,” she said, her tone softening. “I miss you.”
That shit hit me in the chest. Because after losing Jordin, after losing music? I couldn’t afford to lose her too.
I tapped my blunt against the ashtray, my throat tight. “Fine.”
“YES!” she shouted.
I rolled my eyes. “Chill the fuck out, damn.”
“Nah, fuck that. This is major. I’m breaking you out of your recluse stage.” She chuckled. “I’ll text you the info. The party will be in Tampa at some close friends place. Don’t stand me up, dumbass, or we are going to have problems.”
She hung up before I could reply.
I sat there for a long time, staring at my phone, my stomach in knots.
I wondered if Jordin would be there.