Chapter Fourteen #2
He nodded. “Yeah, what do you think I should do? Do you think I should rinse and repeat another album just because it’s what everyone expects of me even though I can’t stand half the music I’ve written in the past?
Or do you think I should go in another direction, a new direction that will definitely be different than my others but might actually be the first album that truly shows my fans who I am? ”
I crossed my arms. “That’s not a serious question, right?
” I paused, but only long enough for him to give me a confused look.
“You’re in a position where you already have a fan base—people already know your music and they love it regardless of the person they may or may not believe you to be.
Why not give them something different? Something that makes you excited and actually means something to you.
Music that not only resonates with them but also gives them a little glimpse into who Stetson Walker really is.
One of the first things you said to me when we met was that I listened to too much of what the media said when it came to you.
So, why don’t you let your fans listen to you instead of all the bullshit? ”
He scooted himself to the edge of the couch, resting his arms on his thighs.
“Maybe we should call Mark back in here, let you have shot at him…” He smiled, pulling the can of sweet tea to his lips. I watched his every move. “You said that a helluva lot better than I ever could’ve.”
The way helluva rolled off his lips scratched my brain.
“I do work with words for a living,” I said, shooting a sarcastic smirk at him. “It seems that Mark, like most people, doesn’t like change. He knows you can make him a lot of money if you keep producing the same songs. It’s the safe bet, but that doesn’t mean it’s the right choice.”
“You make it all sound so easy.”
“Well, isn’t it?” I asked, a little confused because he’d sounded so sure when he was talking to Mark. “You sounded pretty confident in your choice about ten minutes ago.”
“I was. I mean, I am. It’s just that sometimes the easier choice would be to do what Mark and everyone else at the label wants me to do without causing any fuss, but…”
“But what?”
“But I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing from the beginning, and it doesn’t feel right anymore.
” He sighed, his eyes focusing on something across the room.
“When I started writing music, I was young, and the only thing I cared about was drinking and having a good time with my buddies, hence all of my previous songs. Then somewhere along the way, I grew up, I went through some shit, and I changed, and they all stayed the same.”
Subconsciously, I moved toward the couch, taking the cushion next to him. My heart rate tripled, but I was so concerned with him finding his way to the right choice that I ignored the thudding.
“Sounds like it isn’t the choice you’re worried about, but rather how hard it’s going to be.
” Without thinking, I brushed my thigh against his.
Our gazes locked, this time so close I could practically see my reflection in his sapphire shaded eyes, almost losing my train of thought.
“Everyone’s always going to love a party song, that’s just how it is.
But that doesn’t mean people don’t also love songs that make them feel other things.
Songs that break their heart because they too have been in a shitty relationship.
Songs that feel like the artist reached into their brain and said all the things they couldn’t put into words.
Songs that pull them out of the darkness when they can’t see a foot in front of them,” I released.
“All songs have a place in this world, and all artists have the responsibility to write them.”
I expected him to respond, but he didn’t.
Instead, he just stared at me for what felt like forever.
I thought about looking away, but I didn’t want to.
The scent of spearmint escaped his mouth as he breathed in.
This time, I couldn’t ignore the pumping in my chest that was coming at an alarming rate.
In my periphery, I saw his hand shift, moving closer to my face until it grazed my cheek. The warmth of his hand sent shivers down my spine.
Fuck.
I needed to tell him to stop, but I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to feel his fingertips on my skin.
He softly pushed one of my bangs to the side.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice low and rich.
“You know, I don’t know what it is about you…
” He paused, leaning even closer, his features soft, but hungry.
“But every time you’re around, it’s as if the weight of everything else disappears.
I haven’t had this many meaningful conversations with the same person since…
” His demeanor shifted, a hint of sadness crashing through those baby blues.
There it was.
Whatever he was running—or maybe hiding—from. The sadness that he masked from everyone. Something had happened in his life that changed everything. The truth was right there in his eyes.
“Stetson—” I attempted to comfort him or at least show him that I was there for him, but his name was the only thing I managed to get out before I felt his mouth on mine.