Chapter 41 - Tate
TATE
ONE MONTH LATER
I drop my toothbrush back into the glass beside the sink.
Another city. Another show.
Another round of pre-show stage fright hurling.
“You okay in there, love?” Dad calls through the door.
I splash cold water on my face and plaster on a smile. “Fine,” I reply, walking out of the bathroom and into the small dressing room.
My father looks up from the chair he’s sitting in, worried creases lining his brow. “You sure it’s only—?”
“I’m not pregnant, Dad.”
His shoulders fall, but he doesn’t look relieved. If he’s hoping to be a grandad any time soon, then he’ll have a long wait ahead. I’ve had two periods since leaving New York. And I’m still taking my pill, despite the idea of letting a man near me again making me break out in hives.
“I’ll never marry you, Tate. I’ll never want to have children with you.”
It’s been weeks, yet Sullivan’s words still circle around my head like a cruel merry-go-round. He had to put it out there so callously. Make sure I understood.
I meant nothing to him.
“It’s just pre-performance jitters. Completely normal,” I tell my father.
“It’s getting worse, love. You only used to be sick once before a show. Now you’re in the bathroom for an hour each time.”
“It’s the traveling. All the different food’s messing with my stomach,” I lie.
My father nods, looking unconvinced.
I walk over to the vase of flowers and inhale their creamy scent to remove the smell of vomit from my nostrils—white roses, like the paper ones Sullivan gave me that are still at home in my bedroom.
A wave of nausea threatens to rise again, and I step back, grabbing a bottle of water to sip instead.
“This is the one!” a voice yells in the hallway.
The door bursts open and Ashley flies in, red and flustered.
“Jesus, where’s the air conditioning?”
She tosses her purse onto the floor and makes a beeline for me, pulling me into her arms.
“Tate? Oh my God. Girl, I’ve missed you!”
“Ash!” I squeal, wrapping my arms around her and laughing at how tight she’s squeezing me. “What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“We wanted to surprise you.”
I look up, and Huck is hovering inside the doorway wearing jeans and a lumberjack shirt.
“Hey, Tate.” He lifts a hand in greeting first to me, then my father. The other is curled around a steaming travel mug.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, holding her tight. “You’ve no idea how much I needed this.”
“About as much as I did too, I expect,” Ashley replies, letting me go and turning to smile at Huck. “Give it to her, then.”
She pulls my father into a hug almost as enthusiastically as she did me.
Huck steps forward and brandishes the travel mug to me like it’s filled with liquid gold.
“You brought me one from Caffeine Couture because you knew I missed home? No way. You’re amazing!” I grin, taking the mug and inhaling the rich, decadent scent, waiting for the blast of familiarity to envelop me like a warm hug on a cold night.
“Oh? Is it a new blend?” I ask, taking a sip. It’s smooth and creamy, and something about it makes my throat thicken with emotion, even though it isn’t one of our house blends I’ve spent hours drinking with Ashley.
“My first thought was to bring you one of ours in a flask. But then Huck made this,” Ashley says, her eyes moving to him proudly.
He runs a hand around the back of his head sheepishly. “It came out of a new portable machine I’ve designed a prototype for, so people traveling don’t have to miss their favorite cup of coffee in the morning.”
“It’s phenomenal,” I say, taking another sip. “Thank you.”
“He’s a genius.” Ashley beams, patting him on his giant, bear-like chest and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
I bite back my smile. All those times she would complain about never meeting a good guy as she sorted through the business cards from suited businessmen we’d get left.
And now here she is, looking completely besotted with the guy who owns the best coffee company in the country and turns up to work in ripped jeans and steel toe-capped boots.
I’m so happy it’s working out for one of us.
“He’s also really good at packing, aren’t you, Babe? Let’s start with the closet.” Ashley points at the open closet, and my father nods at her in agreement. “Good idea.”
“What are you doing?” I gape as the three of them spring into action like a well-choreographed military unit.
“We’re calling time on this shit for you. Because you’re too nice to do it and will worry that you’re letting people down. But you’re not,” Ashley says.
“What?”
She walks over to where my phone is charging and unplugs it, before tucking it into my purse.
“I called them, love,” Dad says, hesitation creeping into his tone.
“You don’t play like you did in the basement.
You’re getting more sick, not less. I began to suspect you were pretending.
For me. And… for yourself, perhaps. But you don’t have to do that.
I’m proud of you no matter what. Dusty old piano or sold-out arena.
As long as you play because you love to, and not because you think you have to, that’s all I care about. ”
“Dad…”
I look around the dressing room. We’ve only been here for a day. I’ve not even unpacked. Ashley and Huck barely have anything to do. But Dad hasn’t called them because we needed help packing.
He’s called them because he could see I needed support from those I love.
“It’s okay to say enough is enough. You don’t owe anyone anything, Tate,” he says, stopping in front of me.
“Tell me you honestly love this, and that you’re in your element out on that stage, and we’ll all pretend this never happened.
Ashley and Huck will go back to New York.
And you and I will continue with the tour. ”
I stare at them, while they wait for my answer.
Going back to New York means throwing away an opportunity that so many musicians would kill for.
Going back to New York means admitting this isn’t the life I want.
Going back to New York means being back in the same city as Sullivan and Molly.
I push the final thought to the back of my mind because it’s the one with the most power to stop me from doing what I know in my heart is the right thing for me.
“I hate it,” I admit in a rush. “When I’m not throwing up, I’m thinking about throwing up. And when I’m on stage, I wish I was throwing up, because it’s the more enjoyable option to me.”
The entire room audibly exhales in relief at my words. Maybe they thought they’d have to fight me into seeing what’s so obvious. I don’t know how I’ve lasted as long as I have on this tour.
“I want to write songs, not perform them,” I say with newfound determination.
“All right, then,” my father says with a relieved smile.
“Thank God!” Ashley sighs as Huck smiles at me from beside her.
“I need to talk to the tour manager. And we need to look into flights back,” I say, my mind running a million miles per minute.
“It’s all taken care of, Girl,” Ashley says, pulling me into another hug. “All taken care of.”
Two hours later, we’re sitting onboard a private jet, having just taken off from Las Vegas.
“How did you arrange all this?” I whisper to Ashley as Huck shows my father around the interior.
The whole thing is plush carpets and soft, buttery leather in shades of silvery, pale gray. It looks like something out of a movie.
“Huck’s friend is some bigshot and loaned it to us. He met them at some entrepreneur convention or something. I don’t know. But it just shows that coffee brings people together.” She bumps shoulders with me and winks.
“Sure does.” I rest my head on her shoulder, and she puts hers on top of mine, letting out a happy sigh.
“I’m so happy you’re coming home.”
“Me too,” I agree.
“Were you really sick before every show?”
“And after,” I confess quietly. My father doesn’t know about the after as well.
“Damn,” Ashley mumbles.
“Did you…” I lift my head and check my father and Huck are out of earshot. “Did you ask Huck about Liberty Records?”
“I did.” Ashley pulls her lower lip into her mouth, and I can tell from the way her shoulders drop that I’m not going to like what she has to tell me. Huck knows a lot of people in business, so I hoped he’d know someone who could answer some questions for me.
“Was it Brandon? Did he somehow—?”
“No, he had nothing to do with it.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper, handing it to me.
I stare at it, heat flaring across the back of my neck.
Everything about that meeting with Kyle Drayton at Liberty Records felt off. It was too easy to get time with him. He was too quick to admit their mistake. And far too eager to offer me a deal on the spot in order to make it all right.
An offer that was way out of line with what an unknown artist could ever hope to receive as their first offer.
I may be na?ve at times, but I’m not completely stupid. Something didn’t add up. I ignored it at first. But the feeling has only grown.
“A company bought it. The sale finalized the day before we went to the head office together. It was rushed through. They paid well above what it was worth in order to obtain it.”
“A company bought it?” I echo, nausea climbing up my windpipe.
“Yeah.” Ashley nods. “Huck said his friend was able to pull some strings and get hold of a copy of that.” She gestures to the document in my hands.
I unfold the piece of paper and hold my breath as I scan it. It’s the first page of a contract.
One between Liberty Records and their new owner—a company called Slade Investments.
My eyes snag on the name listed alongside the company name.
Miss Molly Beaufort.