Chapter Fifteen MURPHY
Chapter Fifteen
M URPHY
“They signed me!”
It’s the first thing Viv says when I answer her FaceTime. I squeal and start doing a happy dance. I experience a brief pang of envy, though it takes a firm back seat to the excitement I feel for my friend.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I shout.
“No! I’m not fucking kidding!”
“Oh my god, when did this happen? When I didn’t hear from you after your meeting, I figured you were licking your wounds.”
Her smile looks like it hurts her face with how wide she’s grinning, the joy radiating off her.
“They said they loved me at the meeting, and they had me do some studio time this week. They’ve been drafting up paperwork, and I just signed it all today!”
“Holy shit!”
“I know, holy shit!”
We both squeal, and I dance around my room as Vivian does the same.
“I’m so proud of you, V. Seriously. You’ve worked so hard for this.”
“There’s more.”
“How much is your signing bonus?” I ask, not even sure that’s a thing.
She rolls her eyes. “No, stupid. I’m talking about you.”
My smile freezes, not sure what she means.
“I told them that I have an amazing friend who is an incredibly talented songwriter, and after they heard ‘Sweet Shame’ and ‘Lonely Girl,’ they said they wanted to meet you.”
I blink a few times, feeling ... Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling.
“Viv ...,” I start, my voice trailing off.
“Look, I know you always wanted to perform. But maybe this is a way for you to stay connected to your music without having to cross paths with that sicko again, you know?”
Her voice sounds so hopeful and the expression on her face confirms it.
“I’ve always told you that you’re one of the most incredible songwriters I’ve ever known.”
“Like you know so many.”
“I’m serious, M!”
I scratch at my cheek, my body suddenly vibrating with an energy that feels unfamiliar.
“Look, I’m not sure. Can I think about it?”
Vivian sighs, her disappointment clear. “Of course you can, but I don’t know how long Todd is going to wait around on you, so don’t take your sweet time, okay?”
I try to give her an encouraging smile. “I won’t. Promise.”
I keep what happened with Wes tonight to myself, wanting to just focus on my friend and her excitement. She tells me all about her week with Humble Roads and her thoughts about the contract and the plans moving forward.
Eventually she says she needs to call her mom and we say our goodbyes, but not before one more demand that I’ll seriously consider coming back to LA to meet with this Todd guy.
I lay on my bed and stare up at the ceiling again, but this time the presence of the glowing stars irritates me, so I get up and start cleaning my room and sorting laundry. I make my bed even though I’m going to get in and go to sleep soon.
And then, I do something that feels surprisingly natural.
I text Wes.
“You got here fast.”
“I was already here when you texted me,” Wes answers, but the smile on his face begins to fade when he sees me. “Everything okay?”
I shake my head and drop down onto the bench next to him. “No. It’s not.”
He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees and clasping his hands together.
“I’m sorry. You know, I made that whole ordeal about how important this job is to me, and then I’m the one who crosses the line.”
“Wes, I’m not talking about the kiss,” I say.
He sits back up. “You’re not?”
I can’t help but smile, touched by his concern. “No.”
He smiles back at me. “Oh.”
“No, the kiss was ...” My smile grows, and part of me is just a tiny bit embarrassed at how my entire body feels like it’s blushing at the memory. “It was perfect. This is something else.”
Wes turns so one knee comes to rest on the bench.
“My friend Vivian is a singer, and she was signed to an indie label last weekend, which is a huge deal. And before your mind even goes there, I’m not jealous, okay? There’s a part of me that wishes it had happened for me, but I’m thrilled for her. Really.”
I pause, trying to figure out the best way to explain this to him without sounding ungrateful.
“Some of the songs that she’s going to record for the label are songs that I wrote, and when this Todd guy found out, he said he wanted to meet me.”
“Holy shit, that’s amazing!” Wes says, the excitement clear in his voice. “I haven’t heard anything negative yet, so ... what’s the problem?”
I tuck my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I’m sure to Wes it doesn’t sound like a problem. Viv doesn’t think it is either, and I bet there are thousands of people who would love an opportunity like this.
But I’m not sure I want it.
“I don’t know what the problem is,” I answer him, as honestly as I can. “I’m just not sure I want to meet anyone.”
Wes is quiet for a long moment. It makes me wonder if he’s trying to figure out what to say, or if he knows what to say but doesn’t know how to say it.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the opportunity,” I add. “But when I left my apartment in Venice for the last time, I had an eight-hour drive ahead of me. And I spent the entire drive convincing myself that I would never go back.” Letting out a humorless laugh, I tilt my head back and stare up into the night sky. “I realize it sounds dramatic. And with how exhausted I was and overworked and broke, you’d think I might be able to see all the reasons that leaving was the best choice.”
Then I look at Wes.
“But I worked so hard to create a life for myself, so I could pursue my dream. And to have all of it gone in a blink has been a lot to deal with.” I puff out a long, irritated breath. “So the idea of dipping my toe back into the entertainment industry feels like a horrible kind of torture. Like, we’re gonna let you get as close as possible to your dream, but just far enough away that you have to watch everyone else as they step past you across the finish line. Does that make any sense?”
He nods. “It does. It’s not easy watching everyone around you succeed. I haven’t been through exactly what you have, but I get what you mean.”
“So I don’t know what to do. Help me out, therapist.”
Wes laughs, and the sound of it helps loosen up some of the tightness in my chest.
It really is mind-blowing how quickly this man has become not just someone I’m attracted to, but a confidant. A refuge.
I can’t remember ever having that before. And now I wonder how I might ever be able to live without it.
“I can’t tell you what to do, Murphy. You went through a lot, and it doesn’t surprise me that this would make you emotional. I mean, part of me thinks it’s probably highlighting the fact that you still have a lot to process.”
“Don’t say that. It’s nice to pretend that I’m totally healed and everything’s fine.”
He gives me a sad smile.
“But you’re not totally healed, and everything isn’t fine.”
“Ugh, why do you have to be such a good therapist?” I tug my hoodie over my head and yank on the cords so that the opening closes around my face, blocking my view so I can no longer see him and—hopefully—he can no longer see me. “It would be great if you could just tell me that I should turn Vivian down and continue about in my new life.”
I feel Wes shift closer, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulders. Then he begins loosening the scrunched-up hoodie from around my face.
“I think,” he tells me, his voice low, the sound of it sending little tremors running through my body, “that you should sit down and really think about what you want next.”
He pushes the hood back, pinning me with his thoughtful gaze. “I had a rough time in Chicago, and when everything fell apart, I had to make a choice. Was I going to give up on everything I had worked for? Was I going to try to repair the pieces of the life I’d been working toward?”
He reaches his fingers out to tuck some of my flyaway hairs behind my ear.
“ Or , maybe instead, I could find a way to create a new dream out of the scraps of what was left behind.”
He makes a good point. Really, he does.
But with how close he is, and how gentle he’s being, my mind can’t seem to focus any longer on my conversation with Vivian or the idea of going back to LA to meet with the people from Humble Roads.
Instead, all I can think about is how it feels to have his arm around me, and how much better I would feel if we were kissing again.
So I lean in and press my lips to his.
He opens immediately, and the taste of him explodes on my tongue, like a drug I doubt I’ll ever stop craving.
There are so many things to worry about right now. Too many things.
Whatever the future holds for me. What’s going on with the vineyard. The opening of the restaurant. My argument with Dad. Training that starts tomorrow.
But for now, I can ignore it all and just think about this.
When I walk into The Standard and scan the room, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face.
It’s the kind of bar that isn’t supposed to allow anyone under twenty-one but turns a blind eye to locals and regulars. My father used to bring Memphis and me when he wanted to grab a drink with a buddy. The two of us would run off to the pinball machine, playing with the little baggie of quarters that my dad gave us until they inevitably ran out. Then we’d head to the pool table.
There’s something sexy about the game that I can’t pinpoint exactly—maybe somewhere among the sticks and balls and getting it in the pocket.
I glance over to where the pool table still sits. It’s been re-covered, the tarnished old green felt I remember replaced with blue. I wrinkle my nose at it, then continue on to the bar.
It gives me an unexpected thrill to hop up on a stool at the bar itself. My prior visits here only happened when I was too young to drink. Well ... too young to be served anyway, even in a place like this.
“What can I get you?”
The bartender, an older gentleman I’ve never seen before, sets a coaster down in front of me and gives a kind smile.
“Can I see the wine list?”
He nods, dipping a little to grab a menu from under the bar and then passing it to me.
“Take your time, and just give a little wave when you’re ready,” he tells me, smiling again before moving to the other end to continue his conversation with another patron.
My eyes scan the menu but focus on the options from our vineyard.
I may not want to tie my future to the family business, but even I can’t deny that the wines our grapes produce are top shelf. You can’t grow up in wine country without becoming a bit of a wine snob, something my friends in LA always rolled their eyes at when I turned my nose up at their bottles of Two Buck Chuck from the local Trader Joe’s.
I know enough to appreciate that wine doesn’t have to be expensive to taste good. But if refusing to drink something that tastes like vinegar just because it’s cheap makes me a snob, so be it.
I flag down the bartender and order one of our cabernet francs from last year. I haven’t forgotten how much I enjoyed the bottle Micah sent to me. I brought it to a Friendsgiving in West Hollywood, and after one taste, immediately regretted that I couldn’t keep it all for myself.
In LA, I rarely had extra money to spend on things like nice wine, so I always savored the bottles from the family vineyard. Thankfully, just a few miles from my house, I don’t have to pay an arm and a leg to get a glass.
When a generously poured glass is set in front of me, I reach out to take it just as I hear my name.
“Hey, Murphy!”
I spin, grinning at my old friend as she hoists her very pregnant self up onto the stool next to me. She reaches out for a hug, which surprises me at first, but I almost instantly lean into it, reminded of the fact that Quinn was always a hugger.
“I’m so glad we’re finally getting together.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner after I moved back,” I say, feeling a little embarrassed about it. “I’ve been wanting to catch up, but everything’s just been ... so crazy.”
Quinn shakes her head. “Don’t even worry about it. I could have called, too.”
I wave my hand at her massive belly. “It’s not like you don’t have other, far more important things on your mind.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m always looking for something that takes my mind off this pregnancy,” she says, just as the bartender stops in front of us.
“Miss Trager,” he says, grinning at her with almost fatherly affection. “Shirley Temple?”
“With lime, please.”
He nods and gets to work, and Quinn blushes. “I might not be handling the no-drinking part of growing a human very well. So Gabe makes me a Shirley Temple that almost keeps me sane.”
“Can I?” I ask, my hand hovering between us.
“Oh, sure!” she exclaims, her smile growing as she practically shoves her rounding belly into my hand.
“I mean, logically I know it’s been almost a decade but ... I can’t believe you’re having a baby.” I feel a slight movement under my palm and I gasp. “It moved.”
Quinn smiles. “She’s very active. I think she’s going to salsa dance her way out of my vagina.”
I bark out a laugh, then laugh harder when I realize the bartender is standing across from us with Quinn’s drink and an uncomfortable expression.
“Thanks, Gabe.” She grins and takes a big sip. Then she looks back at me. “Mind if we go grab a table? These stools are murder on my back.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
We grab our drinks and find a booth. Quinn slides in and leans against the wall, her legs up on the bench.
“That’s better,” she says, letting out a big sigh. “All right, now tell me everything about LA! I’ve been following you on Instagram and things looked like so much fun.”
I lick my lips, gearing up to give her the watered-down, it was great but wasn’t for me speech that I’d prepared in my head on the way over here as a means of deflecting. The perspective she got from my social media accounts—the ones I’d curated as part of my hopes to catch the eye of a talent manager—definitely communicated that my life in LA was fun and wild and everything most people think of when they imagine pursuing a career in entertainment.
But as I take in Quinn, sitting across from me with that wide-open, caring expression, I know that if I’m going to really take Vivian’s advice and find someone to talk to, someone to truly call a friend, I can’t have the first thing I say be a lie.
“You know, some of it was good. But a lot of it was shit.”
She gasps and rests her chin in her hand. “Tell me everything.”
It reminds me so much of Vivian even though the two of them are completely different people. Vivian is loud and brash and sassy with zero filter. Quinn is one of those relentlessly positive, eternal-optimist types who smiles through everything and always knows how to say just the right thing.
But what they both have in common is they are great listeners.
So I spill the tea. All the dirty bits. About my shitty apartments and horrible roommates and barely scraping by and everything that happened with Paul.
And she listens, gasping at all the right moments and reaffirming me when we get to the hardest parts.
Vivian was right.
I do need someone here to talk to. As incredible as it is to have Wes, there’s something really important about having a girlfriend. And while I’m sure Quinn has plenty of friends around town, I am all too happy to have her take pity on me and lend an ear.
“Jeez Louise, girl. I’m so sorry you had to deal with all that. That Paul guy sounds like a real piece of work.”
Downing the last of my wine, I set my now-empty glass on the table with a clink. “Oh, he was.”
“Well, at least you’re back here now.”
I snort. “Because this is exactly where I want to be.”
The words fall flat as soon as I say them, and I briefly catch a look on Quinn’s face that she’s heard them the same way. Like an insult.
But before I can say anything, her smile is back.
“I’m sure our small town can at least serve as a temporary reprieve from the insanity before you figure out what your next big dream is, right?”
There isn’t anything unkind about her words. In fact, I imagine she’s being incredibly gracious. I can’t help wondering if what I said is boiling beneath her skin.
Because the residual feeling of having said it is still boiling beneath mine.
“Absolutely.” I glance down and see that her drink is empty, too. “Do you want me to grab you another Shirley?”
Quinn shakes her head. “Nah, I think it’s time for me to head out.” She rubs the top of her belly. “This little goober makes me a whole lot more exhausted than I ever plan to be, and the idea of splaying out on the couch to watch TV sounds like exactly what I need tonight.”
I feel bad. We spent the entire time we’ve been here talking about me.
“How about we make a date soon for you to come ride around the vineyard with me? I wanna hear all about the baby and how your life has been.”
I don’t imagine it when I see a tiny wrinkle between Quinn’s brows smooth out.
“I’d love that.”
We crawl out of the booth and embrace, then she gives me a wave and leaves.
I thought I’d have more mixed feelings about spending time with Quinn. When I look back on our friendship, it always seemed like she was friends with everyone and I only had her. But tonight felt good. Like slipping on an old sweater that I used to love and realizing it still fits and still makes me smile.
Maybe I really can mark find a friend off the official task list.
I roll my eyes. Vivian has me brainwashed.
A familiar face catches my eye, and my stomach twists, a giddy feeling beginning to thrum through my veins at the sight of Wes. He strides toward the bar, where he leans up against the counter next to a half-empty beer, a coaster resting on the top.
He must have arrived earlier, while I was talking with Quinn. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him, especially because I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from where he stands, enjoying the view that his long, lean frame and killer ass provides.
Quinn’s departure had me thinking I was ready to leave, but I feel my interest in sticking around rejuvenated.
And with that thought, I head his way.