Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Rhys
Over the next couple of weeks, Stella and I spend a lot of time together. We plan the barbie, which I insist she cook for and “make edible” for list reasons—but also because that’s the only way she’d agree to let me have just my mates over.
I thought it was a bit of genius on my part, until she turned it around on me.
She’d only agree if I let her post on my socials about a couple of public outings: a “spontaneous” coffee run that includes tipping off reporters (and a big tip for the baristas) and a visit to a local shelter I’d planned to keep private.
The posts get a decent number of likes, but not like I used to get.
Every time Danny brings up my dwindling followers on my socials and listens on Spotify, I feel like he’s charting my downfall.
I can’t help worry if my name’s about to be added to the has-been list right after Katy Perry or worse, Robin Thicke.
The only thing that keeps me from spiraling is my time with Stella, even when we can only act like a couple in private.
I get it, and when it’s just us, I swear she’s as gone for me as I am for her.
But the way she switches back to professional in public—cool, collected, untouchable—has me wondering if I’m the only one falling this hard.
Some days I wish I hadn’t talked her into Italy.
Her mum’s so keen that now she has to go, whatever her feelings about me.
Maybe she’s holding out ’til after the trip to say it’s all business.
But then she’ll thread her fingers through my hair or slip her hand into mine, and I forget every reason to doubt her.
I try to hold on to those moments when negative thoughts sneak in.
I pour my feelings into writing new songs.
I finish the song about Stella’s eyes and come up with a couple of verses for another song.
But neither of them will work for Winter Lights.
They’re too slow. Too moody. They’re what I feel—not what Danny wants.
What he claims the fans want. Problem is, I can’t get Stella’s song out of my head to make room for the type of song I should be writing.
So one day, when Stella’s working with Piper, I put down the tracks in my home studio.
I play the piano, then add guitar and voice.
When I finish, the song isn’t where I want it to be, but I like it.
It’s so different from my usual stuff that people would have to listen closely to recognize it’s me.
My voice is raw, and between the piano and acoustic guitar, it’s nothing like anything I’ve recorded with VibeHouse.
But I’ve got a deeper sense of pride than I’ve ever felt about another song.
It’s a shame no one will hear it, but at least I’ve cleared enough space to finally focus on rehearsing for Winter Lights.
I’ve mucked around too long to write something original for it, so Danny’s already sent on a song for me—some shiny pop thing written by a team of strangers.
Catchy, sure, but it’s not me. Still, I told him I’d sing it.
The festival’s too big to take chances with pride.
If I can pull off his song, maybe he’ll loosen the reins next time.
When Stella comes over for dinner—like she’s been doing nearly every night—and asks me what I did all day, I debate whether to tell her, but just as I decide not to, Mum answers, “Rhys has been hiding away in his studio all day, working on a new song. He even recorded it! Maybe we can convince him to play it for us after he’s finished kitchen duty. ”
I’m shaking my head before she’s finished, and her face goes a shade whiter when she realizes she’s done something wrong.
Stella sits taller and lays down her fork. “Do you have a song for Winter Lights? Can I hear it?”
“Not for Winter Lights. Just messing about with something.” I push away from the table and pick up my empty plate as I reach for hers. “You finished?”
She hands me her plate, then grabs Mum’s and Dad’s before I can. “But you recorded it? Can I listen? Will you play it for me?”
I glance at Mum, who gives me an apologetic shrug while holding back a smile. I shift my gaze to Dad, but he’s no help either.
“Been a while since you’ve played anything new for us,” he prods.
And there’s the nail in the coffin. I can’t tell Dad no. His progress has slowed since we got back from Brisbane, and everything about him looks a bit weaker. A bit older. Every day I expect him to bounce back, but he hasn’t yet.
I take the dishes from Stella and carry them all into the kitchen. With a sigh, I set them in the sink, then go back to face the lions.
“Righto. Quick listen, then dishes and a film,” I say, then grab the handles to Dad’s wheelchair and push him into the studio. “All right, Dad. Just the track, yeah?”
No way am I playing this song live for Stella. I’m not ready for her to know it’s about her. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t realize it, but at least I won’t be stumbling over words or worrying about getting emotional in front of her while I sing.
I queue up the track. Stella sits on the couch next to Mum, and I hit play. I stay at the soundboard, trying not to look at Stella while the first verse plays and she listens to the words I wrote about her eyes.
They’re cinnamon wrapped in silence,
Eyes dark as midnight above snow,
You looked at me and somehow,
Made December feel like home.
No blinking lights, no perfect script,
Just your laughter in the glow,
I never saw December,
Until you let it show
But then the chorus comes, and my eyes keep bumping into hers.
So stay right here in the quiet,
Where the tinsel doesn’t shine,
Where the world forgets to hurry,
And your heartbeat’s keeping time.
I don’t need a crowd or carols,
Just your hand wrapped up in mine,
You’re the only kind of magic
I was ever meant to find.
My face burns each time she catches me looking at her. The second verse starts, and Stella stares ahead, listening intently, but I can’t make out what she’s thinking when she hears me sing:
The city hums with silver bells,
But I only hear your name,
Every corner dressed in glitter,
Feels empty all the same.
But you cut through the noise like sunrise,
Breaking cold with something true,
I never dreamed of Christmas,
’Til the day I dreamed with you.
The chorus starts again. Stella catches my eye and smiles in a way that makes me feel like I could write a thousand more songs about her. But it’s the bridge that really does her in.
No perfect postcard, no staged display,
Just stolen warmth at the end of the day.
If every gift faded, I’d still believe,
Because you’re the wonder that I get to keep.
She wipes at her eyes, and I come close to bursting. Every performer wants his audience to feel something, but it means something special to have Stella reacting the way she is, like she gets what I’m trying to say. She understands what’s in my heart.
The outro I thought of this morning. Lines came into my head perfectly formed. That hasn’t happened to me since I wrote the original version of “Fa-La La-La Land.”
Cinnamon and silence,
Brown eyes in the glow,
You turned December into home,
And I’ll never let it go.
I didn’t add any instruments on the last line. It’s just the words, and the song ends on go. I wanted to create a feeling of truth and certainty. I don’t know whether I accomplished that. Mum claps. Dad slaps his thigh with his good hand.
Stella looks at me, her eyes a bit misty, but otherwise, she’s unreadable. Mum and Dad keep clapping and cheering, but it’s Stella I want to hear applause from.
“Did you like it?” I ask finally.
She pushes herself from the couch and walks slowly to me, takes my hands, wraps them around her waist then winds hers around my neck. The eyes I can’t get out of my head—or my music—stare up at me, glistening with tears like stars in a dark sky.
“I loved every word, Rhys. It’s you.”
I guessed from her face how she felt, but hearing Stella say she loved it does something more to me.
“Yeah?” I sputter and stop myself from saying, It’s not me, it’s you. I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of admission. I reckon she’s not ready at all.
Then Stella surprises me by rising to her toes and kissing me like no one else is around. Not even Mum and Dad know we’re seeing each other. I’m sure they’ve suspected, but I haven’t told them, and they haven’t asked.
They know now. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Mum pushing Dad out of the studio.
They’re long gone by the time Stella lowers to her heels and steps back to look me square in the face, clutching my hands in hers. “What’s it called?”
“Not sure yet,” I shrug. “‘December Dreams,’ maybe?”
“I like it.” She nods, squeezing my hands tighter. “You’ve got your song for Winter Lights.”
I pull back, laugh-cough, and shake my head. “No. Needs the Danny tick, and this one definitely wouldn’t get it.”
Slipping my hands from hers, I turn back to the soundboard to shut it down. I’m not ready to tell her I’m not writing anything for Winter Lights.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Nothing. At least for now.” I don’t look at her. I don’t leave room for argument. This is what I was afraid would happen if she heard the song.
“Why record it, then?” She grabs my arm and spins me around. Her brow creases in accusation.
“Not everything I record needs to be made public.”
“People need to hear that song.”
“People heard it.”
Stella rolls her eyes. “People besides me and your parents.”
I step around her and make my way to the TV room—dishes can wait—where Mum and Dad are waiting to watch a film.
Stella follows close behind. “Come on, Rhys. You’ve got to do something with that song. It’s amazing.”
We walk into the TV room, and she goes straight to Mum. “Millie, back me up here. That’s the perfect song for Winter Lights, right?”
“Don’t bother, Mum. Not arguing about it. The song stays put. Maybe one day I’ll do something with it—but not today.” I park next to Dad on the couch, then meet Stella’s accusing gaze. “Just not now.”
“Rhys,” she pleads.
Mum touches Stella’s elbow. “It’s his song, La-La,” she says gently but firmly.
Stella nods once, but she doesn’t sit. She stays quiet while the rest of us discuss which movie we should watch.
“Opinions, La-La?” I ask, trying to smooth things out between us.
My gaze goes to hers across the room. She feels an ocean away. She blinks once, then shakes her head.
“I’d better go. I’ve got a few things to finish up tonight.” She turns and walks toward the kitchen and the back door that leads to her house.
I’m tempted to let her leave. Give her some space to cool down. I’m a bit hot myself. I don’t like her pressuring me into doing something I don’t want to do.
But one look from Mum sends me jogging after Stella. I catch up as she steps onto the patio.
“C’mon, La-La. Don’t be cranky.” I slide the door shut behind me, so Mum and Dad won’t hear if this turns into a full-fledged fight.
Stella nails me in place with a look. “I’m not mad, Rhys.”
I may not be good about showing my emotions, but I hate it when people aren’t honest about theirs. “You look it, Stella. If you’re cranky, say you’re cranky—you don’t have to be happy all the time. Say you’re cross because I won’t put the song out.”
Her eyes narrow, and her full lips morph into a thin, straight line, but she doesn’t say anything. Silence rolls off her like the converging currents of a riptide.
“I can’t put that song out.” I hate that I sound a bit frantic to explain my reasons.
“I’ve known Danny for ten years. He’s not going to like it…
” I can’t keep sidestepping the truth with Stella.
“And he’s already got a song lined up for Winter Lights, some polished number he reckons’ll ‘save my image.’ I told him I’d do it.
I don’t have the luxury of picking fights over creative differences right now. ”
Stella crosses her arms. “Who are you trying to make happy, Rhys? Yourself or Danny and VibeHouse?”
A groan of frustration escapes, and I scrape my hand through my hair. “I’m trying to keep the fans happy. Ultimately, they’re the ones I answer to.”
I pace the short length of the patio, avoiding her eyes. One look and Stella will see how much I hate saying those words. She doesn’t understand what it takes to succeed in this business.
I reach the wall that separates my property from my neighbor’s. Stella comes behind me and brushes her fingers across my shoulder, gently encouraging me to face her.
“You know what you want, Rhys. I heard it in that song. I’ve been trying for a month now to capture the version of Rhys who wrote those lyrics. That…” She pauses, and I let my eyes meet hers. “That’s the Rhys we need to show your fans. Because that is the real Rhys.”
My heart threatens to crack with the truth of what Stella’s said. I want to believe her, but my whole career is at risk, and I’m not sure she’s right. “This…” I point to myself. “Is the Rhys you called grumpy and boring.”
Stella winces. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. But I’ve shown you what I really think about you. If you give your fans some time, they’ll grow to like you. Same way I have.”
Stella steps closer, but I step back. Her like drives me away.
Maybe it’s opening up in the song that’s done it, but I can’t stop the feelings that come out. Letting a drop of emotion besides happiness into my music has opened the floodgates. Hearing Stella say she likes me doesn’t help. Like isn’t big enough for the way I feel about her.
“I don’t want to be liked—I want to be loved. They love the old Rhys. Your job’s to show I’m still him.”
Her head snaps back. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“It’s not working,” I bark.
Stella goes quiet and levels me with a steely gaze. “Because it’s not authentic. It’s not you. And you need to stop pretending that it is. It’s not about people loving you, Rhys. It’s about loving yourself. It’s about knowing your worth comes from inside, not outside.”
Her jaw tightens, like she’s gearing up for a fight, but I’ve got no answer for her. We stare at each other for what seems like a lifetime before she turns on her heel and hurries back to the pool house.
I watch her, wondering how a girl from backwater Idaho with no experience in the real world can be so sure she knows what she’s talking about. Or why I think she might be right.
Knowing my worth takes more work than affirmations said to myself in the mirror. Wish I knew the next step to get me there.