18. Delaney
DELANEY
Ishould have kissed him. But I know once that line is crossed, once I give in to the unmistakable pull between us, there’s no taking it back. And I’m too damn scared to see what’s on the other side of that invisible barrier.
This in-between place is far from safe, but at least I can pretend my feelings aren’t real. The guise of a PR relationship provides a sliver of protection, and I plan on clinging to that sliver as long as possible.
Curling against the futon on the floor, I try to still my racing heart. It’s the damn sincerity in his eyes, I decide, that has my feelings all twisted up. Connor really could have a thriving acting career. He’s just so good at pretending.
Pretending. That’s all this is. Fake. He’s faking it.
Like a mantra, I repeat the sentiment in my head until sleep finally pulls me under.
I fall all the way into a dream. Bright lights keep my eyes from focusing anywhere for too long, but it’s easy to recognize center stage after all these years.
I open my mouth to sing, but nothing comes out.
My band keeps playing, tempo rising in time with the panic in my chest. The crowd roars in displeasure, and I feel everything I’ve worked so hard for slipping away.
Mocking headlines snake around me, ready to strike at any moment.
I’ve had this dream countless times before. I always wake up in a cold sweat, scrambling for my phone to check gossip sites to prove it was all a figment of my imagination.
But this time, gentle hands pull me from the panic.
“It’s just a dream, Lanie.” Connor soothes, lifting me off the floor. “I’m right here.”
The soft mattress greets me. The futon creaks as he steps away, pulling the comforter up to my chin to tuck me in.
I reach out and grab his wrist. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to tell him that I’m a wreck. I want to tell him he deserves better than getting caught up in a mess like me.
I want to tell him to stay.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the darkness instead.
“Anything for you, Lanie Lou.”
I roll towards the wall as I hear him settle onto the floor. I wrestle with my thoughts, haunted by the familiar feeling of panic brought on by the nightmare. But louder than the fear is Connor’s voice in my head.
Anything for you.
He’s told me that countless times since we were kids, and it always rolled off his tongue like a joke. But now… maybe I’m starting to believe him.
The drive back to Ridgecrest was uneventful for everyone except for poor Simon, who did, indeed, have to pee in a bottle when Mrs. Crane proved herself true and refused to deviate from the schedule.
I made a mental note to talk to my team about donating a coach bus with a working bathroom.
As we pull into the Ridgecrest parking lot, we’re greeted by dozens of parents milling around waiting to collect their kids, and I’m hit with an unexpected pang of longing.
Those first few years, when my career was in its infancy, I flew back and forth from Ridgecrest to L.A.
every so often. Not once did my parents make the drive up to the airport to get me.
At the time, I told myself it wasn’t a big deal.
The independence of traveling alone, the rush of a driver waiting with my name on a sign, at barely sixteen, I felt so mature.
But a small part of me always held out hope that one day my mom or dad would be there instead. And every time, that hope was dashed.
Connor’s warm hand on my thigh brings me back to reality. “You good?”
I nod quickly, still watching the happy reunions as we offload. “So good. This is sweet to see. You’d think we were gone for a month with the amount of hugging and kissing going on.”
Connor chuckles. “Part of why I love teaching high school. The students can act as tough as they want, but they’re really just overgrown little kids.
I never want them to feel rushed to grow up…
” He follows my gaze and lets out a barely audible sigh.
“Life gets so heavy so damn fast. I feel like it’s my responsibility to keep things light for them as long as possible. ”
I don’t miss the exhaustion woven through his words, like he’s been carrying something heavy by himself for far too long, but before I can ask Connor to explain, my phone rings.
My dad’s name flashes on the screen.
“Delaney James.”
The annoyed clip in his voice when I answer on the third ring is a stark contrast to the gushing parents welcoming their kids home all around me.
“What’d I do wrong this time?”
“What an awful way to answer my call.” He scoffs. “Maybe I’m just calling to say hello.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Five seconds on the phone with my dad, and I’m already keyed up. I steady my voice before I speak again. “Sorry. Hi, Dad. Are you in Ridgecrest or out in L.A.?”
“In L.A. We have a problem. All those songs we worked on with Touchstone in the spring? They want to pass them on to Molly Jo.”
My stomach drops.
“Fuck.” As much as I hate to admit it, my dad is right. This is a problem. We usually have writers and producers begging to work with us, so for an industry leader to back out on a recording contract is a big blow. And in light of recent events, passing me over for Molly Jo feels personal.
“I’m flying out to Ridgecrest tomorrow to make a game plan. If we lose this, we can kiss your career goodbye.” Without another word, the line goes dead.
I pop my neck and take a deep breath. Losing our biggest collaborator is unthinkable. It feels like the rug is being pulled out from underneath me, like everything I’ve worked so hard for is slipping through my fingers and I can’t get a grip. Drowning just a little bit more.
A steady hand warms my shoulder. “You okay?”
Turning to face Connor, I fight back the tears pooling in my eyes.
“Yeah… I mean, not really, but yeah.” I take another shaky breath. “It’s gonna be fine. Dad is flying out tomorrow.”
Connor nods. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
I snort out a dry laugh. “It’s a both and situation.
Basically, we’re being passed over for some big songs I thought were a done deal, so he’s coming out to game plan or whatever.
” I kick at a rock on the sidewalk, knowing that if I look at Connor directly, there’s a good chance I won’t be able to keep the tears at bay, and a public meltdown is the last thing I need right now.
Connor hooks a finger under my chin and levels me with his gaze. “Funny thing, I just heard some new stuff the other day written by this up and coming songwriter… maybe you’ve heard of her?”
The twinkle in his eye makes my stomach flip.
“I’m not one to get all woo woo,” he continues, pulling both of our suitcases out from under the bus, “but maybe this is perfect timing. Now’s your chance to do your own thing.
Let Molly Jo have those songs. Hell, make a whole show of it, like it’s a big, kind gesture.
That’ll help your image right? Then record all those songs you’ve been working on. ”
I stay silent, letting Connor lead us to our parked cars. He’s not wrong. Flipping the narrative to make it seem like I passed those songs to Molly Jo willingly would be some expert level puppeteer shit. And recording a song or two that I’ve written would make for a good storyline, too.
But I’m weary, down to my bones. I’m tired of playing the game. I’m tired of the endless loop of being used and using people in return.
Connor is right, the timing is perfect. But perfect for what? Is it the right time to dig my heels in and claw my way back to the top? Or is this the universe telling me it’s finally time to let go?
My dad thundered into town with a rage I haven’t seen in a while. His office in our house is dark and uninviting. When I was a kid, I thought he designed it like that on purpose, a scary cave, to keep me out of his hair.
That theory has been proven true time and time again.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the heavy oak desk, and steeples his hands.
“This is bad, Delaney. Word is spreading that Touchstone would rather work with Molly Jo than you, and I’m afraid other writers are going to start following their lead.
If we don’t play this right, you’re gonna end up blacklisted. ”
I take a deep inhale and resist the urge to snap back at him. Poise and self-control, that’s the only way to deal with my dad.
And a little bit of disassociating.
“Have you talked to Remi about it? Did she have any insight as to why they don’t want me on the songs?”
He glares across the desk. “You’re a liability, Delaney, a loose cannon. All the shit you pulled this last year is catching up to you. Writers want their songs to get airtime. If you’re clouded in controversy, you’re not gonna get played.”
I can’t stop the eye roll. “I’m not clouded in controversy. I showed up late a few times and was a little sloppy on stage. You act like I did something awful.” I sit up straighter, as if perfect posture will prove my point.
Calm, cool, collected. Not controversial.
“I don’t drive drunk, I donate to charities all the time, hell, I feed stray animals. This standard you’re holding me to is all in your head.”
He slams his fists onto the desk. “It’s not, Delaney!
This is the reality of where you are in your career.
You need to be beyond perfect. We are selling a fantasy, Delaney, and sloppy behavior does not fit that dream.
Your fans want escapism and cheesy, catchy pop music.
You think those parents down at the high school were happy when they found out you were coming to volunteer?
You’re lucky that school needed money so damn bad.
You would not believe how much we had to donate to get the board to agree to this arrangement. ”
That stops my righteous fury in its tracks.
Foolishly, I realize I’d let the hope of a future in Ridgecrest take root. A backup plan. A soft place to land if I needed it. But my dad’s words shatter that vision.
I might have won some brownie points with Mrs. Crane while on the choir trip, but that’s far from a job offer. I might be in town to play girl next door for the tabloids, but that’s not fooling anyone here.
There’s no future for me in Ridgecrest.
“And clearly, it’s not even making a difference, because Touchstone doesn’t want you anymore.”
And now there might not be much of a future for me in L.A., either.
“Connor had an idea,” I say, all confidence drained from my voice. “It might… um, it might work.” So much for poise and self control.
My dad gestures with his hand for me to spit it out.
“We make a show of passing the songs over to Molly Jo. Say that I’m giving them to her because I see so much potential in her or some shit, really make a big deal out of it. Maybe I fly out to L.A. and, I don’t know, meet up with her at Touchstone.”
“Paparazzi, of course.”
On a sigh, I say, “Of course.” He can’t pass up another horse and pony show.
“And then maybe,” I say, gnawing at the corner of my lip, “maybe I record some stuff I’ve been writing. Could be good, image wise, you know. Like, I went home and found my roots or whatever. I’m sure there’s a good angle in there somewhere.”
My dad nods slowly. “That could work. I like the first part, at least.” He whips his phone out and starts tapping.
“We gotta spin it fast before word spreads that Touchstone didn’t want you.
Making it seem altruistic is smart.” He cuts his eyes back up to me.
“I always did like that Majors kid. Let’s put a meeting with Matty on the calendar to strategize how we can maximize that whole thing, too. ”
He focuses back on his phone, and I’m effectively dismissed.
Crisis averted, and I know I should feel happy.
Or content, or satisfied, or something remotely positive.
But, as I sprint up to my room, I just feel empty.
Add this fake gesture of kindness towards Molly Jo to the long list of lies holding up my career.
My boyfriend is fake, my volunteer position at the school is fake…
hell, I can hardly recognize what parts of myself are real anymore.
Desperate for a distraction, I pull out my phone and make a call.
“Hey, Connor, wanna go on a hike?”