Chapter 27
HOUSTON
It’s late, which makes Sagebrush’s lights stand out in the dark.
She’s in the live room with the door half shut, hunched over her laptop. The projectors are off. The room is quiet. She has her hair up, pencil behind her ear. Work mode.
I don’t say her name. I sit on the piano bench across from her and wait until she looks up.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
She sits back, taking a deep breath. “Good. Because I’m not in the mood to be managed.”
“I’m not here to manage you. You do that fine on your own.”
She closes the laptop halfway and rests her forearms on it.
“Your brother is unpredictable,” she says.
“Which is cute until it breaks something. The fight in Seattle wasn’t the end of the world, but the way the internet spun it into me being a Yoko?
I’m the one who gets the death threats. He knows that and still mouths off to a ghost from his old life who he doesn’t even care about. That’s a liability.”
“I hear you.”
“Knox is too bossy,” she continues. “He forgets I’m a hire and a partner, not a junior designer out of college. He barked orders like I was a servant, not a partner of any kind. I know he’s under pressure.” She pauses. “So am I. Pressure is not an excuse to be rude.”
“I hear you,” I say again.
“And you,” she says, looking straight at me.
“You hover like a shield. Which I like. Until it feels like pressure. You text all the time, track my hotel badge to make sure I’m safe…
It’s sweet, and it’s a lot.” She shifts in her seat like those words were hard to say.
“I like aspects of all of it. But each of you takes it to extremes. I’m tired, Houston.
You’re fielding the needs of one partner.
I’m handling the needs of three. Along with a very busy new job. And triple the death threats.”
I sit with that. “You’re right. My protectiveness turned into pressure. I wanted you to feel safe, and ended up making you feel watched. I prefer you feel supported, not handled. What does support look like to you? Spell it out so I don’t screw it up.”
She thinks. “Ask, don’t assume. Pick one point person per decision, so I’m not babysitting three opinions.
No unilateral changes to visuals after midnight.
If I’m the one who has to answer to printers and venue ops, I get veto power on my lane.
And if you’re worried, say ‘I’m worried,’ not ‘where are you.’”
“I can do that.”
She starts again. “And for the record, I don’t want to be hidden to calm a label. If there’s a safety issue, we handle it with security. If there’s a PR issue, Quincy handles it. Hiding me makes the story worse. You can’t hide a person for convenience.”
“Okay.” I hold a hand up. “They need to hear this from you, not from me. Will you say it once, to all of us, with me in the room?”
Her shoulders climb. “I don’t want to see Knox right now.”
“We can keep it short. He knows he screwed up. He wants to fix it. What do you want?”
She stares at me for three beats and then nods. “To fix it. I hate being mad at you guys. It’s exhausting, and I was already exhausted.”
I text the thread: Studio live room now. She’s ready to talk.
They arrive together, since they were waiting in the SUV in the parking lot. Knox stops in the doorway. Salem takes the chair by the wall and bounces his knee once. I sit back on the bench and don’t talk.
Lou doesn’t look away from them. “I’m going to be direct.
Salem, you’re unpredictable. I like your energy when it’s on the song or in the bedroom.
I don’t like it when it drags old habits into rooms I have to walk through later.
I get the fallout. I get the death threats and the Yoko accusations. I’m not built for your old life.”
He nods, face serious. “Fair.”
“Knox, you were too bossy. You talked to me like I work for you, not with you. You used label fear to push me out of frames. You told me to hide. That’s not a partnership, and I won’t settle for less.”
Knox exhales short. “You’re right.”
She turns to me. “Houston, you protect until it pushes. I like being safe. I don’t like being tracked like an package.”
“Never again.”
She exhales. “I like working with you. All of you. I like parts of how each of you shows up. But you take it to extremes. I need it in bounds.”
I look at Knox. He keeps it short. “I was wrong. No excuses. I panicked, and I punched down. I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
Salem leans forward, elbows on knees. “I’m sorry. For the fight and the word that got thrown at you because of it. For the noise I make that lands on you, not me. How can we fix this?”
Lou holds his eyes. “Actions. Two things. One public, one private.”
“Say it,” Knox says.
“For the public, upgrade my credit. Not just a buried line on a website. Update the album site, the press kit, everything. Call me the Creative Director. Put ‘featuring Lou Navarro’ on ‘Locket’ wherever that’s contractually clean.
If you can’t change a field, change the caption.
You’ve said it in rooms. Say it in places that count. ”
Knox nods. “I’ll route through Quincy and the label, and we’ll change what we control now.”
“Good.” She takes a beat. “In private, vow to do better on all accounts. No barking orders. No unilateral decisions that affect my area of responsibility. Ask me, don’t move me.
If I say I’m not good with something, you believe me.
If I say I’m fine with a thing, you believe me.
No second-guessing my artistic opinions. All other opinions are up for debate.”
“You got it.”
She turns to Salem, who jumps the gun. “No bars. No after-parties. In bed by one holds. No ghosts backstage. If someone calls you a name, I let security handle it. If I want to defend you online, I don’t. I’ll write you a text instead. Something with kittens.”
She snorts a laugh. “Maybe fries instead.”
“Done.”
“And me?” I ask.
“Be there for me. Don’t be everywhere for me. I don’t need you to monitor my every move.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She watches us like she’s waiting for the trap. When it doesn’t spring, she asks, “So, what can I do better?”
I blink at her. “Huh?”
Salem utters, “Seconded.”
Knox asks, “What are you talking about?”
“I want to be a partner in this…whatever we are. That means taking criticism. So, how can I improve? How can I be a better partner to you three?”
“No,” Salem says, quick. “You didn’t earn our bad habits by having some of your own. Don’t try to take the blame for our screwups, Lou.”
Knox shakes his head. “You’ve been great. We’re set in our ways. We default to old roles under stress. We clashed with you because you don’t let us get away with it. That’s not a problem to fix. That’s why we asked you in.”
“You can ask us to stop sooner.” I shrug. “Don’t be polite about it. If we slip, say the word, and we stop. But that’s the only thing I can think of.”
“What word?” she asks.
“Pick one,” Salem says. “Red card. Halt. Enough.”
She thinks. “Halt. Short and ugly.”
“Halt it is,” Knox says. “If you say it, we stop. No questions until you’re ready.”
“Thank you, guys. It’s like I said to Houston—I’m trying to adjust to three partners and their needs, and you guys are adjusting to only one.
So, sometimes, things are going to be uneven here, and I’ll need to take a break.
It’s not a breakup. I just need to breathe sometimes.
” She pauses. “I’m not used to being with someone. Let alone three someones.”
I don’t follow. “You were with Troy.”
She scoffs at that. “Could anyone be with Troy? He’s in his own little world most of the time, and you can’t be a partner to someone like that.”
“What about before him?” Knox asks.
She shrugs. “I dated. But…this…what we have, it’s different. It’s real.”
That hits deep in my chest. “Yeah. It is.”
“What about you guys? Anyone you were serious about?”
I smile, but shake my head. “A few girls were interested in more than being a groupie, but they never stuck. Never clicked.
“Same,” Knox says.
“Belinda,” Salem grumbles.
“Tell me about her.”
He drums on the table beside him. “Not much to tell. We clicked. We had fun. I thought… It doesn’t matter what I thought. She was only in it for the good times and the money she could skim and using my name to get out of trouble for things like shoplifting and picking fights in clubs.”
“Oh, damn.”
He nods. “It was a mess. Quincy handled it, thankfully. But before her, after her, no one who stuck around long enough to matter. Not until you.”
She gives a slight smile that looks like hope. “So, none of us are good at this, then?”
I chuckle at that. “Yeah. I’d say so.”
“It’s going to take some practice,” Knox says. “We’re four different personalities and strong opinions. But if we’re all willing, we can make this work.”
“I’m willing,” Salem says.
“Same here.” I look to Lou.
She slowly breathes, thinking. Her finger taps on the desk. She takes a sip of water. Adjusts the pen behind her ear—
“Oh my god, woman, say something,” Salem says.
She laughs. “Yeah, of course I’m willing. Thought that was obvious by all of this yammering.”
He grins at her, and she returns the gesture. The air feels cleared, like it’s just us again. The room settles.
“Now let me get back to work.” She opens the laptop and slides it back toward herself.
“You don’t want to work at the resort?” I ask.
“Not now. I like being here. It’s inspirational sometimes.”
“Understood.” I tell my brothers goodbye and that I’m staying to tweak some things, but really, I want to be with her after that fight. Feels wrong to leave right now. They do, teasing that I’m the Feelings Guy.
I don’t mind the title.
She types for a while. I watch her hands move and not the screen. I want to say a lot. I don’t. I want her to feel me here without making her carry me. That’s the point.
My phone buzzes. Knox: updated site live.
He sends a link and a screenshot—the era page with Creative Director, Lou Navarro, under the title.
Press kit updated too. Live session replay’s opening slate now includes Created by Lou Navarro on the bottom third.
The one-sheet has her credit on page one. It looks right.
“Better,” she says, softer.
“Better.”
Lou closes her laptop. “Walk?”
“Definitely.”
We go around the block in easy circles. She talks through the next week’s deliverables, then stops, then starts again about nothing connected to work. On the way back she stops and looks at me like she’s curious about something. “Old dogs…”
“New tricks.”
“You really think you can?”
“We will. I promise you that.”
We go back inside, and she laces her fingers between mine. Things feel right again, and I’m grateful we were all willing to talk it out. No lingering hurts, no resentment. Just the four of us, being us.
I send Knox and Salem a note: Thank you. They both reply with the same word: Halt. It makes me laugh. It also reminds me of what we promised her.