Chapter Twenty-Four
Cooper
I’m pretty sure I’m going to hurl.
Not in a cool, rock star, post-gig, I had too many tequila shots and made questionable life choices way. No, this is the full-body, bone-deep nausea that comes from knowing everything I’ve poured my heart into could take off…or crash and burn…in the next ten minutes.
It’s been sitting in my stomach since The Monarch a few weeks ago.
Hell, since my dad and I checked into our West Hollywood hotel room last night.
My pulse is out of control, every inhale tasting faintly metallic, my leg bouncing relentlessly as I stare at the glass doors of Raider Records.
Their logo practically smirks down at me like the smug little alien mascot knows something I don’t.
“Coop,” Dad says, resting a steady hand on my knee. “Stop fidgeting.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one potentially about to detonate his entire future. He just sits there, breaths low and even, like he’s immune to this type of panic.
God, I wish I had that kind of peace.
“I can’t help it,” I mutter as I scrub a hand through my hair, my fingers dropping back to the zipper on my guitar case between my feet, worrying it open and shut without thinking. “I’m all jittery. My heart’s doing backflips, and I think I forgot how to breathe.”
“Definitely got the dramatic diva act down, I see,” he teases, shooting me an amused look. “You’ll be fine.”
“What if I go in there and forget how to play? What if my voice does that thing it did back in high school? What if they look bored when I sing? What—”
“Cooper.” His tone drops into that serious dad tone. “Calm.”
I suck in a deep breath and exhale slowly, but the tight knot in my chest refuses to budge. He leans forward, catching my gaze.
“You’ve got something special. I’ve seen it every Friday and Saturday night at The Lost Compass, and really, your entire life.
” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Me and your mom knew from the moment you sang ‘Dancing in the Dark’ from the top of your lungs in the back of our car that you were destined for this.” He squeezes my knee before letting go.
“This is just the next step. You’ve earned this. ”
He smiles, leaning back in his seat, patient and relaxed. My fingers itch to grab my phone and call Declan, get him to talk me off the ledge I’m currently on. But he has no idea I’m here, what this meeting’s about. Only Mom and Dad know. Saying it out loud felt like tempting fate.
So, I’ll tell him tonight. If there’s anything to tell. If I walk out with good news, I want to hear it in his voice when I say it. And if I don’t, if this ends up being just another almost… For now, it stays where it is. A possibility. Not a disappointment.
“Reign Cooper?”
My head snaps up as a woman in a sleek blazer stands in the lobby doorway, an intimidating vibe pulsing from her.
“Y-Yeah?” I say, voice higher than I intended, so I clear my throat. “I mean, yes, that’s me.”
“Right this way.”
“Go get ‘em, Son,” Dad murmurs, patting my back.
Inhaling, I stand on wobbly legs, lifting my guitar case by the handle, sneakers squeaking way too loud as I follow her.
The hallway walls are lined with platinum records and larger-than-life posters of musicians I grew up trying to imitate.
For a beat, I picture mine up there too, the idea unfurling deep inside me.
You belong here, my brain whispers… No, Declan’s voice whispers. You’re Reign fucking Cooper. Don’t forget it.
We stop outside a door, and she knocks once before opening it. Three execs sit waiting at a long table, laptop open in the middle, my performance at The Monarch paused on the screen.
How is this my life right now? Two weeks ago, I was still dreaming, still hoping that one day this exact thing would be happening, and now? Now, I’m standing right in front of—
“Eric Price,” the man in the center says, standing and shaking my hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I jump forward, clasping his in mine despite my sweaty palms. “Thank you for having me.”
“Take a seat,” the woman beside him says, smiling politely. “I’m Gabriella, and you already know Liam Demont.”
Liam gives a casual flick of his hand. “Good to see you again.”
“We listened to your demo,” Eric starts, getting straight to the point. “And we loved it.”
“Told them you had something they wouldn’t want to pass on,” Liam adds, shooting me a wink, all confidence from across the table.
My pulse spikes so hard I think the chair vibrates as I look at the three of them in turn. They loved it.
Gabriella smiles, leaning forward. “We’d like to hear it live, the original you sang at The Monarch.”
“Absolutely,” I blurt, neck jerking in a nod.
Reaching down, I unzip the case with hands that feel steadier than the rest of me. The familiar weight of my guitar settles across my lap, the worn wood and softened edges, a slight comfort. Rolling my shoulders, I adjust the body and pluck a few quiet strings, tuning on reflex more than sound.
Picture The Lost Compass.
Picture Declan.
The nerves don’t vanish, just reroute, turning into rhythm.
Because this is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for.
For three minutes, the label’s fancy office and the executives vanish.
It’s just me and the music, raw and honest and mine.
When I hit the final note, resonant and low, I open my eyes.
The three gatekeepers of my future are deadly silent, the hair on my neck prickling as they watch unblinking.
“Incredible.”
Whatever air I had left in my lungs whooshes out.
Gabriella beams. “Even better live.”
Eric sets his hands on the table, looking at his colleagues before fixing his gaze on me, eyes bright. “We want to make you an offer.”
There’s this life-altering few seconds when I think I’ve misheard. The words make sense, but my brain isn’t catching up. My pulse stutters, then roars, the room tilting as the air gets sucked out, replaced by something hot and bright.
“Holy shit,” I blurt, slapping a hand over my mouth as they chuckle.
“Is anyone here with you?” Eric asks.
Still stunned, I nod. “My dad.”
Everyone moves around me, the next few minutes a blur with talk of contracts, lawyers, legal jargon that I only half grasp.
Pages slide across the table, pens click, someone talks about rights and percentages, and all I can do is grip my guitar in my lap like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
My knee won’t stop bouncing, my fingers won’t stay still against the frets, my brain screaming this can’t be real even as I read my name at the top of embossed paper.
I snap out of it when Dad enters, scanning the room curiously.
“They want to sign me,” I whisper. The words—words I’ve dreamt of saying for so long—sound unreal, too big for my tongue to wrap around.
Dad’s grin could outshine the sun as he hurries over, and I narrowly manage to move my guitar out of the way before he’s crushing me into a hug. “Told you they would.”
Laughing, he releases me, and I carefully lower the guitar back into its case, hands now trembling that the zipper fights me for a second.
“It’s all very standard,” Liam says smoothly as Dad sits down beside me, pulling the contract closer to read. “We’ve highlighted the key points, and if you’re comfortable, we can get this signed today and get things moving forward.”
“This all looks great, but…” Dad nods slowly, his eyebrows pinching in the way they do when he’s playing a particularly hard Sudoku. Leaning back, he rests a hand on my chair. “Maybe we should take it home. Have a lawyer look over it.”
The room’s silent, and it makes my skin prickle. As the three execs glance at each other, panic flares in my chest. Are they rethinking offering me this contract? Will hesitating make them realize they don’t need me? That there’s another kid with a guitar waiting in line behind me?
“Of course,” Liam says, tone calm, reassuring, offering dad an easy smile. “But we wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t a solid deal. Raider Records doesn’t go into things half-cocked. We manage a lot of artists you’d recognize—big stars, household names—your son would be in great hands here.”
Dad’s fingers brush my shoulders. “You okay, Son?”
My knee bounces hard under the table, adrenaline buzzing through my veins. If I don’t do this now, it might never happen. And I don’t know if I’d survive knowing I had my chance and let it slip through my fingers.
Snatching the pen in front of Liam, I turn to the last page and scribble my name, my shoulders sagging with relief. Waiting until I stand and wiping sweaty hands down my pants, Liam smiles wide, offering me a hand. “Welcome to Raider Records.”
It’s firm, warm, turning the moment from dreamlike to terrifyingly, beautifully real.
Outside, the sky’s bright, the sun warm, the world clearer than it’s been in years.
Everything feels like it’s in high definition now—the air, the colors in the sky, even the sound of traffic.
It’s like the whole world exhales with me, finally turning the saturation up on my life.
I laugh, loud and stunned, my cheeks aching from grinning.
I practically launch into Dad’s arms outside the car, yelling, “They’re signing me! They’re actually signing me!”
My voice cracks on the last word, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not even once. They want me.
“I know,” he says, voice thick as he lifts me off the ground. “I’m so proud of you.”
I bury my face in his shoulder, hiding my stinging eyes until he sets me down.
“Go on,” Dad says, nodding at my phone in my hand. “Call him. I know you want to.”
My finger trembles as I unlock my screen, Declan’s face glowing back at me; smile soft, arm looped around my neck.
He’s going to freak—either excited or annoyed that I kept him in the dark.
That is, if he ever answers the damn phone. Every ring is like an eternity, because it’s not real until I tell him. That’s how it’s always been, every big or small thing, I need him to know first.
“Hey, man,” comes his familiar voice, instantly soothing my frazzled nerves.
“Dec,” I choke out, emotion swelling I think I’ll crack. “Dec—I… I did it.”
“Did what? You okay?”
“Yeah, I…” I swallow the lump in my throat, still unable to wrap my mind around everything. “Dec. The record label signed me. They actually signed me. I’m gonna be a rock star.”