Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
JACKSON
“But then I felt your grace….” I stop strumming, repeating the line in my head. I retry the chord. “And then I felt the truth…”
I tinker with the lyrics a bit more. The rest of the song is coming together—the third song on my new album, which is loosely titled The Basement Diaries, because that’s where I’ve been spending my creative time this past week. The other working title for this new album is Plants are Growing Better I Hope, because my new amp is directed right at Gran’s indoor garden, and maybe all these chord progressions are giving the seedlings the extra push they need to grow strong this season.
Footsteps from above make me pause my lyrical experimentation. It’s Sunday evening, and the family is set to arrive any moment for dinner. It’s been a long, strange week—completely dedicated to songwriting, and Bella has been weirdly absent for how close she lays her head at night. It’s almost like she’s trying to avoid me. Out first thing in the morning after pancakes and coffee with Gran, then back for dinner or as close to bedtime as she can manage. I don’t even see her long enough to ask her where she goes all day.
Which would be fine, if only I could stop imagining what I’d find under that silky pajama set I saw her in earlier this week.
My phone vibrates, and a quick glance shows that it’s my drummer Ben. He’s been drumming for Single Grain for the past three years, after the first drummer didn’t pan out. He and Ray, my bassist, are the core members of the backup bband.
BEN
Hey, man! Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Not sure I have the space in my schedule to swing something like this. Have you tried Ray?
I frown. I need a band for the Strawberry Jam performance, but I don’t have the most compelling offer. The best I can do is a free place to stay (the other rooms in Gran’s house) and a small sum for the appearance.
While Ray and Ben are freakishly talented musicians, they weren’t friends of mine or connected to me prior to me signing with the label. The label scouted and hired them. And even though we’ve grown close over the years, they have no obligation to me—only their own deals with the label.
Since I can’t exactly offer a compelling payday, I didn’t imagine either of them would want to fly out to New York to rehearse my spur-of-the-moment setlist. I’d still hoped for a miracle, though.
JACKSON
Yeah, I texted him too. He’s in Europe. Not gonna work out.
BEN
Shit, sorry. I’ll be seeing you to record the next album in July though, right?
JACKSON
Sure will. See you then.
I set the phone aside, massaging my face as I contemplate my next steps. Not only am I broke by celebrity standards, I’m a rock star without a band. It doesn’t get much worse than this.
Footsteps thud again upstairs. This time, it sounds like multiple people are walking across the floor. I tense, pausing my strumming so I can try to hear who might have arrived. Last week’s semi-successful dinner was the last time I saw the family, except for Gran. I’m not sure what this week will bring.
Bass undertones float from upstairs. Some general greetings drift through—it sounds like Ethan and Lia have arrived, along with Alex and Molly. I hear Bella’s laugh, which sends something warm shooting through my body. Suddenly, I’m a lot more eager to get upstairs.
“He what?” Ethan says. The surprise in his voice makes me curious. What is the news that I’m missing?
I snap the amplifier off to get rid of the low-level buzz that it has, walking close to where I heard Ethan’s voice.
“…said…the basement…making music.” Gran’s voice doesn’t travel as well, but I instantly know they’re talking about me .
“So he just holes up in your basement playing with his guitar?” Alex’s voice is next.
“What is he, fourteen again?” Ethan says with a laugh.
It’s true. I did escape down here to play music when I was younger. But I wasn’t one of America’s Sexiest Bachelors at the time, so it was a little different then.
Gran says something, but I can’t catch it over the swirl of my deep-seated resentments stirring to life. I’m not sure when my brothers will accept that making music can also be a job, and a worthwhile one. The bitter tang of all my unspoken retorts fills my mouth. I want so badly to march up there and give them a piece of my mind, to make sure that I never hear anything like this from them again.
But then Bella pipes up. “Not fourteen, but a fully grown musical genius.” Her voice is clear, snappy, with an air of don’t fucking question me. “If I were you guys, I’d be pushing him down the stairs and protecting that time in the basement. Half of America is gonna shit their pants when they hear what he comes up with down there.”
The relative silence that thrums through the room above me feels like vindication. I can hear Ethan grumble something, and then the footsteps drift away.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Bella has become a full-blown Jackson Bedd fan.
And honestly, it’s pretty fucking hot.
More footsteps above tell me it’s time to head up there myself. I store my guitar and take the steps two at a time. Upstairs, Colleen is handing off one of the babies to Gran while Diane cradles the other. I make it a point to say my hellos to all the women—the ones who accept me as I am—and nod at my big brothers as I slide into my spot at the table.
“Jackson’s here,” Gran says with a nod. “We’re all accounted for. Time to eat, Bedds and Fellows!”
While everyone gets situated, I notice that just Gran and Bella are bringing out the food dishes and distributing drinks. I stand up to help them, even though Gran shoos me back to my seat.
“You sit down,” she says. “You’ve been working all day.”
“So have you,” I tell her, grabbing a casserole dish full of mashed potatoes and head for the crammed dining room table. “Though I’m glad you consider what I do down in the basement work, and not just dicking around like some fourteen-year-old.”
Bella’s brows shoot up.
Ethan winces as I set the casserole dish in front of him. “I didn’t mean it like that…”
I lift my palms. “Hey. You’re entitled to your opinion. Just let me know if you’d rather I don’t contribute what I can to the festival that you all conceived of and needed music for.”
An awkward silence settles over the table, broken only by a few throats clearing and the dishes hitting the table.
“You’ll never hear him say that,” Lia says, sending Ethan a severe look. “Trust me, Jackson, you are going to be the highlight of this festival.”
“Thanks for that.” I grin at Lia before surveying the rest of the table. My gaze lands on Bella, who’s hiding her mouth behind the rim of her drink. “I hope you all shit your pants once you hear what I come up with down there.”
Bacon snorts. “Let’s cheers to that!”
We clink glasses, and I catch Bella biting her bottom lip, holding in the laughter.
The way she stuck up for me—especially when she didn’t know I was listening—has me ready to make some moves. I’ve always felt like she and I had been one massive, ongoing missed connection.
Maybe this visit to Fork Lick can fix that.
I’m not leaving without trying.