50. 50
Istrum and sing and listen to the rhythm through my headphones. The song fades to nothing and I feel in my bones that it’s good. So, so good.
“Nice, Lane.” I hear Ash’s voice through the speaker in my ears. “Come on back,” she tells me.
I leave the live room and slip into the control station. I lift my brows, waiting for Ash and the audio engineer’s reactions.
Ash beams. “That was—”
“Fire,” Hank says, giving me a nod.
“Thanks,” I tell him, but I’m still waiting on Ash.
She gives a little head shake. “Why weren’t we doing this all along?”
I laugh. “I wasn’t there yet. I needed The Judys.”
“And now you need a label.”
“I do. And I like the indie house. They’re good, and I don’t mind starting small.” In truth, I love the idea. They’ll listen to me—more than a huge label would. I’ll have input. The kind I never had with The Judys.
She narrows her eyes, giving me that smile like when she told me we’d hit the top ten. “Even if Sony’s interested?”
“Wha—” I cough out a breath. “Did you say Sony?” Okay, that’s bigger than big. That’s IT.
“They saw your viral video and called me.”
I sputter. Spittle flies outward. It’s a good thing Ash stands two feet away from me. No words come into my brain. I am completely flabbergasted. They called her. She didn’t solicit them. They came to us.
“Think about it—but don’t take too long. You don’t keep Sony waiting.” She chuckles at my wordless response, then tosses my crossover bag to me. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
The walk isn”t far, still I pull out my phone to see three calls and a text from Miles. ”Shoot.” I peer down at the device, my head spinning. Three calls in ten minutes? Something must be wrong.
“What is it?” Ash says, her dark eyes dragging down to my phone.
“Miles. He’s called multiple times.”
“Did he leave a message?”
“Yeah. Let me check.” My hand trembles a little.
“You know, you don’t have to stay married to him, right? Things have picked up faster and more explosive than we anticipated. You don’t have to keep up with the charade. We don’t need it.”
I listen to Miles, sliding a glance and barely registering what she says. No charade? That should make me feel better—shouldn’t it?
It doesn’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure there are a million wasps attacking my gut. But then, Miles told me himself that he didn’t not want to be married to me. We both like this charade.
I listen to voicemail number one, and when it cuts him off, I am thoroughly confused. “Babe? Did he just call me babe?”
Number two—he apologizes for calling me babe… and then, “We need to talk.”
Talk? Okay… maybe Miles doesn’t want to be married to me anymore. Maybe I am alone in my love of this charade. What happened? My pulse quickens and I click on message number three.
“My mother’s?” I bellow, making Ash jump beside me.
“Whoa.” Ash holds up both hands, her long red nails popping next to her dark skin. “What’s happening?”
“Miles—he’s here and he’s headed to my mother’s!” I can’t stop the way the words shriek from my lips.
“Breathe,” Ash tells me, one hand on my back.
“Holy snowballs, he sent that message half an hour ago.”
Ash shakes her head, not following. “Which means?”
“Which means he’s already at my mother’s house!” A shaky breath falls from my chest. “What are the chances she hasn’t already eaten him alive?”