Chapter Nineteen
Katie
My emotions are all over the place. One minute, I’m fine, the next, I feel like crying. It’s all utterly and completely Flynn Reed’s fault.
The man has no idea how he makes me feel or what he’s done to my brain chemistry in just a few short months.
In college, I felt strong and independent, but I was also still growing.
With Grant, I felt like I had settled. Settled with him, with my career choice, with my decision to give up playing music whenever I wanted.
With Flynn …
With Flynn, I feel free. Free to make a choice, a mistake, a rash decision.
He takes every change of mind in stride, adapts to the mood, and runs with whatever plans are changed in the moment.
He’s charming and funny, and likes his routine, but he still broke it for me. He continues to break it for me.
Now he’s somehow stumbled upon my secret music channel and has fallen in love with my covers? Well, I suppose if I wasn’t falling in love with him before, I am now.
My heart pounds every time someone new comes through the bar’s doors.
The day after an away game is the worst. I only have a rough idea of when he’ll be back.
They get off the plane, collect their bags, and then head home from the airport.
Since he normally carpools with Scott, he gets dropped off here, and then he’ll stay and distract me until the end of my shift.
I tap my fingernails, back to being painted the bright, fire engine red he liked so much, on the bartop.
Why the fuck am I nervous?
I try to shake myself out of it and move around the bar. Doug stands at the end, his pint almost empty.
“Do you want another, Doug?”
He nods, his eyes on the highlights from yesterday’s game. Ivy and I watched from home, curled up on the couch with hot coffee and popcorn.
“Your man isn’t half bad,” Doug comments as I take the empty glass from in front of him.
I smile, dropping in on the back of the bar and grabbing a fresh glass from the fridge. I twist the pint under the steady stream of beer. “Not my man, but thank you. I guess.”
“They make a good team, he and Harvey. You and Ivy are lucky girls.”
“Are we?” I’m regretting this conversation already.
“Course you are.” He takes the pint and hands me a twenty-dollar bill.
I roll my eyes as I take it. “How’s that? Because they’re million-dollar football players?”
“No, because they’re friends too. Just like you and Ives.” Doug sips his beer, and I place his change in front of him. “You’ll see when you start having kids of your own. When you have friends in the same place as you in life, you feel lucky to get to do all those milestones together.”
“Did you have friends like that?”
“Oh, yeah. We all lived on the same street. Half of us got married in the same year, and then twelve months later, we started popping out kids. Now, most of us have grandkids all the same age. One of my grandsons was in Ivy’s kindergarten class two years ago. Connor. Such a sweet lad.”
I just nod, my eyes flickering back to the door, waiting for Flynn to appear.
Doug goes back to his table, so I go back for the dirty glass that I put aside and take it over to the dishwasher.
Bending down, I place it inside and turn the thing on.
It’s only half full, but what else can I do to waste time?
I glance back at Doug, now back among his friends. I wonder if he’s right—if it’s easier going through all the milestones with friends by your side. I’m sure it is.
But Ivy wants kids. Scott wants Ivy to have his kids. I have no idea what Flynn wants, but, judging by the way he talks about his relationship with his dad, he wants kids, too.
They were never on my radar. Grant never talked about what he might want in the future, and I think after some time, I stopped thinking about it, too. I settled into the life I’d chosen and was content, on the surface, to just live through it.
When I stop now and think about what I want, I’m not so sure anymore.
I thought I wanted to be a teacher, but I don’t.
I thought the bar was a temporary stop, but it isn’t.
I thought I wanted to be with Grant, regardless of whether I ever got the ring or the kids. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
My stomach turns over as I try to imagine what my life would be like with kids. I try to imagine my wedding, see myself in a white dress, walking down an aisle. I try to think about anything beyond the next six months.
Completely and utterly blank.
I think over the last four years. I stopped thinking about what I wanted. Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to define whatever Flynn and I have. It’s certainly not fake.
People in real fake relationships don’t fuck as much as we do. Is it real? Is what we have one of those lasting things like Ivy and Scott? Do Flynn and I have this inevitable thing tying us together, or am I setting myself up to settle once more for whatever is just in front of me?
Surely not. The man stocks his pantry with my favorite food.
He cooks for me. Watches the shows I like with me, and he doesn’t complain.
He respects my boundaries but also isn’t afraid to let me know when I’m not respecting his.
He’s protective but in the ‘I’ll watch you fight it out, but I’m here if you need me to tap in’ sort of way.
That’s not nothing.
“Katie Murphy?” I spin at the sound of my name.
A tall, skinny man in a blue suit stands on the other side of the bar.
If a corporation had a poster boy, this guy would be it.
There isn’t a wrinkle in sight, and his hair is perfectly styled with what looks like half a jar of hair gel.
He carries a soft briefcase by his side, and he smiles at me like I’m his next big paycheck.
I look around, picking up the towel sitting on the side of the bar just to have something to do with my hands. “Who’s asking?”
“Mark Madison. From Legends Entertainment.” He digs a hand into his briefcase, then holds a card out to me. I stare at the block letters. Legends Entertainment? As in the record label? That Legends?
I take the card without saying anything and turn it over in my hands. Sure enough, yep. It’s that Legends. I look up, confusion written all over my face. “How do you know my name?”
“We discovered your YouTube channel. You’re a hard woman to find, Ms. Murphy.”
“You discovered … I’m sorry, what?”
“We at Legends pride ourselves on being up to date with new, up-and-coming talent. We are constantly on social media looking for hidden gems. We found you.” He leans on the bar, gesturing at the card still in my hand. “We want you to come and record a demo for us. Do you do original songs?”
“Yes—I mean, yes, but not since college. I don’t—” I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “I don’t understand. How did you even find me? My channel has been up for years, and not a single person has ever even noticed. My mom doesn’t even know.”
“You’re a true hidden talent, Ms. Murphy. I recognize that.” He nods at himself, a hand planted on his chest. God, this guy is an idiot.
“How the hell did you find me?”
“Oh,” he says, his shoulders falling. “Well, someone sort of, tweeted you.”
“They … what?”
“I logged in last week, and they had DM’d me every single one of your video links on YouTube. Nothing else. Just all your video links and your name, Katie Murphy.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck.
My heart stops beating. Someone knows it’s me. I run through all the possibilities in my head. My mom and dad haven’t paid enough attention, and definitely don’t know how to use Twitter, let alone know how to share all those links. Ivy thinks I gave music up in college.
Flynn?
No. It was only two nights ago that I was curled up in his bed, surrounded by his scent as he told me about the channel. He found it on his own. He would’ve just asked if it were me if he had known. Right?
So, it was someone else. Someone else knows and has taken it upon themselves to send all my videos to a label? What the actual fuck?
“Can I see the messages?” I ask, my hand stretching out and placing the business card on the bartop between us.
“Oh.” Mark Maidson digs in his bag again and pulls out his phone. He swipes on the screen a few times, then turns it around to face me. “Here you go. Some account called fantastyaccountant11.”
Oh my god. My chest feels as though it’s cracking in two. Like my world and all those careful walls I built have been taken to with a wrecking ball. I spent so long building a place where I was safe and myself. I didn’t let anyone in. Except him. I let him in—by accident—in the early days.
He remembered.
He ruined it.
Grant.
***
“I’m quitting teaching,” I say as soon as I walk in, placing my bag on the kitchen counter and my hands on my hips. I take a steadying breath and fortify my emotions. Today has been … well, uneasy. But I chose to leave it behind in the bar, and I will think about it later. When I feel like it.
Now, it’s replaced the memories of Italy in the small box in my mind.
It’s locked up. And, for good measure, I used an extra padlock.
Now is not the time to be confessing to Flynn or my parents about the channel or about the music producer that wants me to record a demo.
Now is the time to finally make a decision.
And I choose the bar.
My mom, who’s cooking what looks like the biggest pot of pasta anyone has ever seen, jolts and turns around. “Hi, to you too.”
“Sorry.” I rush around the island and kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, darling.” She smiles gently at me.
“I-I’ve made my decision. I want to take over the bar. Full-time.” I rehearsed these words over and over in my head as I was driving over from the bar. “Which means that I won’t be teaching anymore. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Oh.” Mom turns the stove off and faces me, wiping a hand down the apron she wears. “Well, we can talk about it.”