CHAPTER ONE #2
“Is it going to support my stand on this?” I ask.
“Or are you siding with me and reality?” Janelle throws in right after me.
“Neither,” he says, shooting me a look before he glares at Janelle.
I know he hates getting stuck in the middle and yet it seems to happen more often than not.
Either at work with me and Janelle or at home between me and Brice, my brother and his husband.
I get that being my best friend sucks sometimes, but no one forced him to be my producer or marry into my family. Though I’m hardly sorry he did either.
“If you’re not picking sides, I’m not sure I’m interested,” I grumble before I sip my water. All this arguing is giving me a dry throat.
“Yeah, might be better to keep a third perspective to yourself. We’re not doing so great with the two we already have,” Janelle agrees, and I can’t help thinking maybe this is the real reason he bothered to open his mouth, to put us back on the same side for something.
“Tough shit. You’re both going to hear it.”
Maybe not.
Then he goes on before we can offer any more objections. “I say we skip giving the label a preview this time. It’s a courtesy anyway. According to our contract, we’re not required to give them anything until the project is complete.”
“How is that helpful?” Janelle frowns. “So, we wait and deliver an entire album that they’ll hate? What does that accomplish?”
“It buys us time,” he points out calmly. “The album isn’t due for another sixty-five days.”
“We don’t need more time,” I interject even if it does garner me another glare from Grayson. “I’m on a roll. At the rate we’re going, we could knock this thing out in ten days.”
“Which we will,” he says, surprising both me and Janelle.
“But then you have to agree to give us thirty days to try and remind you why you fell in love with love in the first place. If we succeed, you have time to put together another record. God knows, you have enough songs in your backlist to throw something together if you have to. Hell, we could make an entire album out of the tracks you’ve only ever performed on tour but never recorded.
” He stops for a second, giving us a chance to disagree.
We don’t. So far. Then he finishes his proposal, “If we fail and you still choose to be done with love, we move forward with the album we record now.”
His gaze moves back and forth between us, going back and forth repeatedly until one of us finally breaks.
It’s Janelle. “Deal.”
I’m not so ready to commit. “What exactly does reminding me entail?”
“Depends,” Grayson says with a non-committal shrug.
“On what?”
“On how much you’ve forgotten.”
“What if I haven’t forgotten? What if I just know more now than I did before?” I counter.
“Then you get your way. No more love songs.” Grayson turns to Janelle as if to remind me she already agreed to the terms on her end.
“Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll play your stupid game, but only because I know I’ll win.”
Grayson winks. “That’s kind of what I’m hoping.”
And I get the feeling he doesn’t mean that at all the way I want him to.
KIT
“Ari!’ I call her name for the third time.
“Dinner!” I take the last step and reach the landing.
Two more steps down the hall and I’ll be at her door.
“Ari.” I grin at the sight of her. As expected, she’s sitting on her bed, face in a book, both ears covered by her giant headphones, bobbing her head to what I’m assuming is some tune or another from Hamilton, her current go-to playlist.
Whether she actually hears me or just senses me staring at her, I don’t know, but she suddenly lifts her gaze and tugs her headphones off with a start. “Dad! Did you say something?”
I laugh quietly. “Yeah, I said ‘dinner’.”
She perks up at the word. “Oh!” She sets her book down on her pillow, open and face down, always ready and waiting for her return. “What are we having?”
“Some pasta thing I threw together.” I wave for her to get moving. “Come on. It won’t taste right cold.”
She makes a face. “I like that you think temperature makes a difference.”
“Have I mentioned how much funnier you are now that you’re a teenager?” I say dryly, letting her pass me and lead the way down the stairs.
“Pretty sure you said it this morning.” She turns over her shoulder to smirk at me. “But you know I never get tired of hearing it.”
I tug at a strand of her long dirty blond hair and give it a soft yank. “Shut it.”
She giggles the way she always does when she’s mildly amused by me and skips the last three steps, leaping gracefully to the bottom. Seven years of dance classes show themselves regularly around here.
“Did you already put cheese on mine?” she asks when she spots both our plates on the breakfast bar in the kitchen.
“Am I new here?” I shake my head answering my own question. “Of course, I put cheese on yours.”
She bobs her head happily, a sign she’s satisfied with her plate now that she’s close enough to see what’s on it.
“Wanna sit outside?” I point toward the glass doors leading out to the back porch.
She shrugs. “Sure.”
“Lead the way. I’ll bring the drinks.”
She nods and starts for the door. As soon as she heads that way, all three of our dogs get to their feet, giving up their nap spots in the kitchen to head outside with us.
I bring up the rear with my own plate and two bottles of old-school cream soda. I’m not big on sodas and sweets in this house, but it’s a Friday night tradition around here.
Only takes a few seconds before we’re both seated on the swinging bench, one of our favorite spots, even for meals.
I know it’s not the most obvious choice, but it’s been the two of us for so long, we’ve got our own rhythm and neither of us minds that it doesn’t beat to the same drum the rest of the world likes to play.
“Think you can take me over to Emma’s tomorrow?” she asks after a good two or three bites in silence.
“Don’t see why that’d be a problem.” I swirl my fork in my noodles. I thought I included too much zucchini trying to use up what was left before it spoiled, but it worked out alright after all. “What time are you thinking?”
“Maybe around three? She’s gotta ask her parents, but if they say yes, can I sleep over?”
“Fine by me.” I set down my fork to pick up my bottle and have a drink. “But I’ll have to pick you up late on Sunday. I’ve got a gig in the morning.”
“I remember.” She smiles but it’s only half directed at me. Mostly, she’s amused by the face Leela, her fuzzy pit mix, is making trying to con her out of some of her dinner. “Can I pick the game tonight?”
Another Friday night tradition. Game night. I know my time on this one is running short, but for now, Aria seems happy to continue to show up for them. “You picked the game last week,” I remind her.
“I know. But I won.”
“So?”
“So, winner gets to choose.”
I snort. “That’s never been a thing.”
She tilts her head to the left, grinning slyly. “Can we make it a thing?”
“Depends.” I toss a carrot slice at Halle, our three-legged sheepdog and the only one out of the pack who enjoys vegetables. “What game did you have in mind?”
“Chutes and ladders.”
“Then no. Absolutely not.” I hate that game. Always have.
“I’m kidding. I’m not four.” She rolls her eyes. Apparently, I shouldn’t have fallen for that. “Backgammon?”
I nod. “That works.”
“With ice cream.”
“Who said we have ice cream?”
She smirks. And it’s all the answer I need to know she checked the freezer already.