Chapter 26 Pretty Words #2
“And the first thing I did was accuse you of using me.”
“Yeah.” The hurt in his voice is evident now, no longer hidden behind anger. “Seeing you look at me like I was trying to scam you… it confirmed every fear I had about reaching out.”
“That’s on me,” I say. “Not you.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “The thing is, I thought Hollow Reign could be it, you know? The band that finally breaks through. I could quit my job and just play music.” He looks around the bar as if it’s his prison.
“They still can be,” I say. “They need you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know if I can walk in there like nothing happened. Because I’m not sure I can face them after walking out.”
“So you’re going to stay here bussing tables instead of living your dream because I was too stubborn to see the truth?” I challenge.
Liam looks down at his hands, then up at me. “What if it’s too late? What if they’ve already replaced me? What if Morgan’s moved on?”
“They haven’t,” I say with certainty. “Morgan told me herself they’re not the same without you. The showcase is coming up, and they need you.”
Something flickers in his expression—not quite resolve, but possibility. It’s as if he wants to take it but something is holding him back.
“Can I ask you something?” I say after a moment. “About… her?”
He knows immediately who I mean.
“What do you want to know?”
“Does she know you reached out to me?”
He nods. “She’s not expecting anything.”
I try to picture this woman—my biological mother—but I can’t see her clearly. “What’s she like?”
“Tough. Stubborn. Works too hard.” A small smile softens his face. “Got her nursing degree when I was in high school, working double shifts to pay for it.”
“And your dad?” I ask, feeling like I’m stepping onto uncertain ground.
Liam’s expression lightens. “He’s great. High school chemistry teacher. They’re happy—they’ve been together since before I was born.”
The information settles over me—this family I’ve never known. Complete in ways I hadn’t imagined. For a moment, I wonder what my life might have been like if she’d kept me, if I’d grown up with Liam. But I wouldn’t trade my fathers for anything.
“Why drums?” I ask, changing the subject. “Why did you start playing?”
The question seems to surprise him. “It was the one thing that always made sense to me. Something about the rhythm, about creating something you can feel in your bones.”
“I play too,” I find myself saying. “Drums, I mean.”
His eyebrows lift. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Started when I was a kid. Wade used to be in a band before he and Adam opened Stonewall. He taught me.”
“That’s…” Liam shakes his head, a small, incredulous smile playing at his lips. “I don’t even know what to call it.”
“Maybe it’s in our DNA,” I suggest, the words feeling strange but right.
“Maybe.”
For a moment, there’s a different quality to the silence between us—less tense, more contemplative. We settle into something surprisingly comfortable, like we’ve known each other longer than this brief encounter.
Our conversation lulls, and in that moment, a voice cuts through the bar noise—clear, rich, and hauntingly beautiful.
I turn toward the small stage I hadn’t noticed before, where a young woman stands at the microphone, eyes closed as she sings.
No introduction, no fanfare—just raw talent filling the room.
The crowd quiets immediately, conversations pausing mid-sentence. Her voice is unlike anything I’ve heard in years—textured, emotional, with an ache that cuts straight to the bone.
“Who is that?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away.
“Collins Wilder,” Liam says, a note of affection in his voice. “McCoy’s sister.”
“She’s incredible,” I say, genuinely stunned.
Liam nods. “She lives here in Bitter Creek. Performs occasionally, but not much these days.”
“Why not?” I ask. “With a voice like that…”
“Don’t know the details,” Liam says, his voice lowering. “She came back from Memphis a couple years ago pretty broken up. Never talks about it.”
I turn to the stage, watching as Collins loses herself in the song, the bar utterly silent except for her voice. “This is what I meant,” I murmur. “The night at the club—you didn’t just keep the rhythm, you bled. That kind of truth sticks with people.”
We sit in silence for the rest of the song, both captivated. When Collins finishes, the bar erupts in applause.
Liam glances at his watch. “I should probably get back to work. McCoy’s cool, but he doesn’t pay me to sit around.”
“Can we talk more after your shift?” I ask, not ready for this fragile connection to end.
He hesitates, then nods. “I’m off at eleven. If you want to grab a beer after? Talk more about this whole”—he gestures between us—“brother thing.”
“I’d like that,” I say, meaning it.
He stands, smoothing down his apron. “Look,” he says after a beat. “I appreciate you coming all this way. But I can’t pretend nothing happened.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I say. “I’m asking you not to let my mistake cost you something you’ve worked your whole life for.”
He falls silent, the hesitation stretching until it feels like the air itself is holding its breath. “I’ll think about it,” he says finally. “That’s all I can promise right now.”
“One step at a time,” I say, relieved he’s at least considering it.
As he heads back to work, I remain at the table, my attention drawn to Collins as she begins another song, even more haunting than the first.
By the time she finishes her set, I know I need to talk to her. She’s exactly what Stonewall has been missing—an artist with substance, with soul.
As she steps off the stage to enthusiastic applause, I approach McCoy at the bar.
“Your sister is incredible,” I say.
He softens slightly, pride evident in his eyes. “That’s Collins for you. Been singing since she could talk.”
“Is she signed? Working with anyone?”
His guard immediately returns. “She doesn’t do the industry thing anymore. Got burned bad a few years back.”
I glance over to where Collins is gathering her guitar, laughing with a few locals. “All I’m asking for is five minutes.”
McCoy studies me, his expression unreadable. “She’s got a kid. Single mom. Music’s something she does for fun now.”
I hold my hands up. “Just want to talk.”
He sighs, nodding reluctantly. “Five minutes. But fair warning—she’s tougher than she looks.”
He leads me over to Collins, who’s sliding her guitar into its case.
“Col, this is Dylan Kernish-Grant. He’s a record executive.” He pauses, adding, “And apparently Liam’s brother.”
Collins looks up, her gaze sharp and assessing. “Fancy title for someone in a place like this.”
“Your voice is extraordinary.”
She snorts softly. “Thanks, but I’m not interested. I’ve done the whole music industry dance before.”
“I’m not asking you to dance. Just to listen.”
She closes her guitar case, straightening. “I’ve got a son waiting at home. Babysitter charges by the hour.”
“Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
She studies me, then glances at her brother. Something unspoken passes between them.
“Okay,” she agrees reluctantly.
We settle at a corner table, away from the crowd. I get straight to the point.
“Whatever happened before, whatever experience turned you off the industry—I get it. This business can be brutal.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she says.
“I know talent when I hear it. And I know what it’s like to feel as if you don’t fit in your own life.”
That catches her attention, but she quickly narrows her eyes. “Why me? What makes me so special? There are plenty of great singers out there. Probably dozens in Nashville alone who are more polished than I am.”
“Polished isn’t what I’m looking for,” I say. “I’m looking for real. Authentic. Someone who makes people feel something when they sing.”
She shakes her head. “Record executives all say the same thing until they get you in the studio. Suddenly it’s all about what will sell, what fits the current trend.”
“Stonewall isn’t like other labels,” I continue. “We work with artists, not on them. Build careers, not just hits.”
“Pretty words.”
“Let me prove it. We can structure a deal that works for you and your son. Limited touring, recording close to home. Whatever you need.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. But it’s possible.” I lean forward slightly. “Look, we’re hosting a showcase in L.A. in a couple weeks. I’ve got a spot to fill. Come out, perform one song—no strings attached. See what it’s like, meet some of our artists. Then you can decide if it’s something you want.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You want me to fly to L.A. on the promise of a maybe?”
“I’ll cover all the expenses—flights, hotel, childcare. If you hate it, you walk away, no questions asked. But if you don’t try…” I let the sentence hang between us.
She’s quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her water glass.
“Why should I trust you?” she finally asks.
I consider my answer carefully. “My parents started this label because they cared about the music, about the artists, and that’s exactly what I’m trying to continue.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching. “I’ll think about it,” she says finally. “That’s all I can promise. I need to talk to my fiancé about it first.”
There’s something in her expression—a flicker of longing quickly suppressed.
I can see it in the way her fingers hesitate on the table, the slight change in her breathing.
She wants this—wants to sing, to create, to share her music.
But something holds her back. Fear, or old wounds that haven’t fully healed.
“I understand,” I say, “but I need to know soon. The showcase is in two weeks, and I have to lock in the lineup and make all the arrangements. Can you let me know by Monday?”
She nods. “I can do that.”
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. I slide my card across the table.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
As she tucks the card into her pocket, Liam appears at her side.
“You’re done?” he asks her.
She nods, sliding out of the chair. “Just heading out. Lincoln’s waiting.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
They turn to go, but Liam pauses, looking at me. “We still on for that beer?”
I nod. “I’ll be here.”
As they leave, something shifts inside me—like a door opening to a room I didn’t know existed. Family. Legacy. The pull of blood and the cost of choices made long before I had any say in them.
With Collins and with Liam, I’m seeing things differently now. Not potential acquisitions or strategic moves, but people with dreams and struggles as real as my own. People whose talent deserves to be nurtured, not just marketed.
It’s all messier than I expected, more complicated. But for the first time, I’m not running from it.
I’m running toward it.