Love Song [Instrumental] (Hidden Springs #1)

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

“We need to talk.”

Callie choked back a laugh when she heard Brian’s pronouncement crackle through her cell phone. At least the Darth Vader ringtone had put her in the right frame of mind. Starting with Brian’s text message this morning, the whole day had been one crazy roller coaster ride.

“You’re right,” she returned. “We do need to talk.” Ignoring the knot in her stomach, she set her guitar aside and walked to the sun porch windows, hoping to draw strength from the water.

“Your voice sounds fine to me,” he accused “It’s time for you to get back to reality.”

“My voice sounds better because I’ve been resting it,” countered Callie, “something I won’t be able to do back in Nashville. I need to stay here through the end of the month as planned.”

He let out a cynical laugh.

“I know exactly what you’re doing up there, and it’s not resting. Enough playtime.”

“I’ll come back when I’m ready, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Callie held her breath, shocked by her own combativeness, and waited for Brian’s response.

“Now, babe, that’s where you’re wrong. You should have read those contracts more closely while you had them.” He paused for effect. “I own you.”

The sweeping statement knocked the air right out of her, and anger rushed in to fill the void.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’ll do more than threaten you if you don’t get your ass back down here. I gave you this ticket to the big time, and I can just as easily take it away.”

He hung up.

Callie sputtered into the disconnected phone, then threw it back into her bag, disgusted. Even if he was right about the contracts—even if he did own her—he was wrong about one very important thing. He had given her nothing. She had earned her place onstage, and she wouldn’t give it up without a fight.

Rather than picking up her guitar again, she marched into the house, straight to her father’s office. She barged in without knocking and strode over to his desk. He looked up in surprise.

“I want to record the demo,” she said bluntly.

He leaned back in his chair and gestured toward the recliner in the corner. She shook her head and started pacing instead.

“What prompted the change of heart?” he asked.

“Brian,” she spat, as if his name were a curse. “For now let’s call it ‘creative differences.’ I need to have all my ducks in a row before I go back to Nashville.”

Her father raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Instead he picked up the phone, called his friend Gib over at the radio station, and within minutes had reserved the studio for Thursday. She took several calming breaths while he finished on the phone, but it didn’t work. Instead of feeling calm, by the time he hung up she felt like she was going to be sick.

“You okay, sugar?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed, sinking into the recliner and burying her face in her hands. “I just don’t know anymore.”

She scrubbed her face, determined not to cry because of Brian. Adam’s question from the morning floated through her mind again. Have you ever thought about getting out of the business? Yes, damn it. She thought about it all the time, and the thought of walking away hurt almost as much as the thought of sticking it out.

She looked up suddenly.

“Dad, why did you get out?”

He understood the cryptic question instantly, and considered for a moment before answering.

“I wanted something more.”

“How does leaving your career behind and moving to the sticks get you more?” She needed a real answer, not a platitude.

He sighed. “I’m not like you. I don’t light up when I get on a stage. It was fun, and I was good at it, but there were other things I wanted so much more.”

“Like what?”

“Like a life. A family. Times were different then, and things were…complicated. Besides, you can’t raise a family if you’re on the road for months at a time. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“But lots of musicians have families.” She couldn’t quite suppress the flutter of panic in her voice.

“Sure they do, and sometimes it all works out. But in those days—not so long ago, mind you—the music scene scared me. So many friends destroyed by drugs, and then AIDS.” He sighed. “I had to walk away. I wasn’t strong enough to stay.”

It was more information than he had ever offered before, and for that Callie was grateful. But she looked down at her callused fingertips, knowing that he couldn’t answer the questions that consumed her. Why couldn’t she be like everyone else? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with a normal life? Why couldn’t she walk away?

Sometimes she thought of music, and her connection with the audience, as an addiction. No matter how high the cost, she couldn’t seem to give it up.

“Are you thinking about leaving?” her father asked gently.

She shook her head, still looking down at her hands. “There’s nothing else for me. If I stop performing, I stop breathing. If I walk away, I cut out my heart and leave it behind.”

“Maybe there’s another way.”

She looked at him then, so earnest in his concern for her happiness, and sighed. She couldn’t follow his lead on this one.

“Not for me, Dad. Songwriting alone isn’t enough.”

“I get that,” he said, “but staying with the band might not be the right move either.”

“It’s the only move I have. Leaving the band will take time and planning. Even with a demo in hand, I can’t just cut and run.”

“I know, I know. But when you’re ready, I can make some calls. Make sure that demo gets a fair hearing.”

Callie smiled. “Dad, that’s sweet, but I don’t think there’s much you can do from here.”

“You’d be surprised,” he replied, completely serious.

She stilled, her family radar picking up something new and unfamiliar.

“Dad, what are you not telling me?”

He laughed at that.

“There’s a lot that I’m not telling you. Parents are people, too, you know. Just because I’m your Dad doesn’t mean you know everything about me.”

Now he was making her nervous. Mom had secrets. Dad had secrets. She had secrets. Next thing she knew, her sisters would be calling her to confess that they had secrets, too. It was all too much.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s nothing scary. I’ve kept in touch with a few friends who stayed in the business, that’s all. When you’re ready to circulate your demo, I can call them.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. He was trying to be helpful.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, standing up and leaning over the desk to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Anytime,” he replied with a wink. “That’s what Dads are for.”

“No fair! You’re using your right hand!”

Danny waved his arms wildly, trying to block Adam. Adam shot the basket, using both hands, then caught the rebound just above Danny’s fingertips and spun the ball on his left index finger.

“You’re right, I did.”

Danny stopped trying to reach the ball and planted his fists on his hips.

“That basket doesn’t count, then.”

“True.” Adam still spun the ball up above Danny’s head.

“And I get a free throw.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” stated Danny definitively.

“Fine.” Adam tossed the ball up into the air, and Danny caught it on the way back down. He ran over to the chalk line on the driveway and prepared to make his shot.

Adam marveled at the change in Danny over the past few weeks. He had progressed from total silence to arguing like a lawyer. Doc Archer said he still wasn’t talking at school, but that it was just a matter of time.

“Move away from the basket,” Danny ordered. When Adam didn’t immediately move out of the way, he repeated his command. “I know your tricks. Your arms will ‘accidentally’ block the shot. Now move it, or I win.”

“Okay, okay, I’m moving.”

Adam grinned as he moved to the side of the ‘court.’ Danny was right, of course. If he was close enough to the basket, he would indeed mess with Danny’s shot. Over the last few days he had stopped tip-toeing around Danny and discovered the power of joking and teasing to bring Danny out of his shell.

Danny celebrated his winning basket with a whoop and a fist pump. Adam challenged him to an extremely high five. Danny leaped to slap his palm, then jumped again to brush his fingers on the underside of the net before racing into the cottage.

Adam slapped the pole as he passed and wondered if Callie would stop by again tomorrow morning. He hoped she would. What a great way to start the day.

Danny had already grabbed a bottle of water. Adam found him on the front porch, kicking back in one of the chairs and staring at the lake. Adam followed suit, resting his feet on the porch railing and chugging his water. He and Danny might not share music, but they could share basketball, and—if they were lucky—this summer they could share the lake. Danny giggled when water ran down his chin and onto his shirt, then laughed even harder when a giant belch caught him by surprise.

Adam looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and Danny managed a belated “’Scuse me” in between all the giggles.

Would Lainey’s parents understand an eight-year-old boy? Or would they be appalled by the burping and farting and the endless bodily-function jokes? Now that Danny was opening up, Adam kept having flashbacks to his own childhood, and his adventures with Evan. No matter what the judge decided for Danny’s future, it would be lonely without siblings, and that made Adam ache for him .

When Danny had calmed down a bit, Adam brought up the custody issue.

“Hey Danny, you know that the hearing is coming up soon, right?”

“I know.”

“The judge is going to ask you what you want.”

“I know.”

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say? Do you know what you want?”

Danny was silent for a long time, so long that Adam feared he had made a mistake in bringing it up.

“I want to go home.”

Danny spoke the words so softly that Adam could barely hear them. When their meaning sank in, he reached over to squeeze Danny’s shoulder.

“I wish that were possible. More than anything.” He sighed, trying to imagine what Evan would have said. “But we can’t go back. We have to play the hand we’re dealt. Over the next week or so, you need to think about what you’d like your future to look like.”

Danny nodded.

“I wish Callie could stay,” he said, his eyes still on the water.

“Me, too, buddy,” he whispered. “Me, too.”