Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Coy
“Boil it down for me, Meadow,” I say.
She’s danced around whatever she’s trying to say for ten minutes now. She started with niceties that I know she didn’t mean and then went all-in with telling me that she strong-armed Willa into nixing her smear campaign against me.
But that’s not why she called. She’s just warming me up.
Meadow takes a long, deep breath that stirs a sense of dread inside me.
“Coy, the label wants to modify your contract,” she says.
“What? What does that mean?”
I shoot to my feet and clamp a hand over the back of my neck.
The setting sun casts shadows throughout my bedroom. It feels like a projection of my emotions because whatever Meadow is hem-hawing around about isn’t good. For me, anyway.
“Your label, Heater Records, is merging with Arturo Records at the end of next month. I was just informed this morning,” she says. “They also told me that they want you to deliver an entire album by June.”
“That’s impossible.”
“They also want to pull all funding for videos—”
“What? Why?” I ask before she can finish.
She sighs. “Videos are not profitable. They haven’t been for a long time, but they used them as a marketing tool regardless. Bob is stepping down from Heater after the merger, and there will be a lot of changes, I do believe. He was your biggest champion.”
I pace the room and try to convince myself this will be okay.
“I can get over the video stuff, but I can’t deliver by June, Meadow. You know that.”
“There are other things, Coy.”
“Like what?”
“Well, Arturo Records has a lot of the old-school artists in your genre. They’re trying to shift their schedules around to accommodate both company’s contracts. That could bump yours to a second-tier priority because they’re less willing to go all-in on your brand now. Their options just widened.”
I stop pacing. “They realize what my two albums have accomplished, right?”
“Yes. But Arturo may not be as committed to putting a lot of energy behind you like Heater.”
“This is a bunch of horseshit.”
She smacks her lips together. “It’s how the business works. I’ve seen this before, and I’m doing all I can. I’ve sent a copy of their suggestions to your attorney. I’ve forwarded it to your email as well. We’re going to need to be flexible and keep our eyes on the overall prize.”
“That’s good to hear since you’re making a cut from this.”
“I know you’re upset. Please just stay calm and trust the process. I’m doing everything I can do to fight for you.”
Trust the process, my ass.
“I’ll get back with you in a few days,” she says. “As soon as I hear anything, you’ll be my first call.”
“Thanks, Meadow.”
“Talk soon.”
“Goodbye,” I say before ending the call. I toss my phone onto my bed.
My stomach twists as I try to come to terms with what Meadow said.
I hate this. I hate this so fucking much.
Why can’t I just make music and make people happy? Why does it have to be so damn complicated?
My guitar sits in the corner of my room, and I pick it up. It instantly brings a smile to my face.
I strum the chords and remember when music was my lifeline.
It was the one thing I was good at because I was good at it.
It wasn’t like baseball—something I’m also good at, but my talents can be attributed to the thousands of dollars my parents spent sending me to camps since I was a kid.
I wasn’t a bad wrestler, either, but I spent a week every summer at a camp in Ohio to sharpen my skills.
My parents’ connections and money helped me get a step ahead in nearly every arena … except music.
Music was fun. There was no pressure to compete or follow a protocol or do it the right way. I just picked up the guitar or sat down at the piano and did whatever I felt.
It was my true love.
But now? It’s tarnished. Creative control has been compromised to get the music made. My style has been sacrificed, the joy of it singed with the smell of dirty money.
But what can I do? Nothing.
I set the guitar down and almost grab my phone but think better of it. Instead, I head downstairs and into the kitchen.
My mom looks up from the stove. Her face breaks into a wide smile.
“I will never get sick of seeing your face around here.” She motions for me to kiss her cheek, so I do. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. Smells good. What are you making?”
“Garlic butter chicken with egg noodles.”
“Sounds good,” I say, sitting at the table.
I take a deep breath and try to keep my spirits high for my mom’s sake. But, being the mother she is, she side-eyes me from across the room.
“What?” I ask her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just got off the phone with Meadow. My contract is held up.”
She keeps stirring as she watches me. “Everything okay?”
I shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”
She turns back to the stove.
“I mean, it’ll be fine,” I tell her. “We’re talking about an insane amount of money and crazy opportunities either way you cut it. But I hate dealing with the business side of this shit. I don’t know how Holt and Oliver do this all day.”
“And Boone.”
I laugh. “Mom, Boone doesn’t do shit.”
“Boone plays a role in things that you all don’t necessarily see.
” She taps the spatula on the side of the pan.
It makes a ringing sound. “This family has a lot going on at all times. You have Holt and Oliver running a multi-million-dollar company. Wade runs his architecture firm. You have a music career. Boone’s niche in this family is providing support. ”
“He’s like the support puppy. Makes sense.”
She gives me a dirty look. “You know what I mean, Coy.”
I think about what she says. I don’t really see it.
“Boone does work,” she says. “He has the biggest contract in the company’s history.”
“Do you know why?”
“I know what your brothers say,” she says, silencing me. “I’m not getting into all of that. I’m only saying he does work. But he also provides an element of fun to all of your lives. He’s the one every one of you call when you’ve had a bad day. Don’t even lie to me.”
This is true. We do call Boone if we need to laugh or forget our problems.
Or need someone to go on a trip with you.
And if you want a weekend in Vegas, Boone is definitely your guy.
“Life can’t be all work,” Mom says. “And you can’t have everyone in your life about business, either.
It’s good to have someone around you in your inner circle that doesn’t prioritize the business you’re in.
” She flips off the stove. “When I come home from the office, your dad doesn’t care about my shop.
Sure, he wants it to succeed, and he cares that it does, but if I would choose to close and never reopen, he would support that. He doesn’t love me because of it.”
I get what she’s saying, and it makes sense. Still, I can’t help but rib her a little.
“Well, Boone does love us because of our businesses. They pay his bills.”
She laughs as she takes the plates out of the cabinet. “I want you to know that I appreciate your perspective on your contract. People get tied up in the details and forget what a blessing things like that are to begin with.”
“I mean, I want what’s fair.”
“Absolutely.”
“But things could be worse, you know?”
Placing some noodles and chicken on a plate, she carries it across the kitchen and slides it across the table to me.
“You could be battling what Bellamy has going on,” she says before turning around and heading back to the stove.
“How is she? Really?”
“Don’t you know? You were with her today.”
She’s not asking a question. She’s digging. She’s trying to see what happened between Bells and me today, and I don’t know how to answer that.
Mostly because nothing did happen. Sadly.
“We were just talking about Bree,” I say. “We didn’t talk about her dad or anything.”
Mom brings two glasses of wine to the table and sits down across from me.
I take one of the drinks and gulp half of it down. She raises a brow but doesn’t comment. Thankfully.
“Joseph is very sick, Coy. He has stage four colon cancer.” Her voice is somber. “Bellamy spends a large part of her life with her father, making sure he’s taken his medicines, running him to doctor’s visits, just … spending all the time she can get with him before he’s gone.”
I’m not sure if it’s the wine or her words that send a shiver up my spine, but something does.
Before he’s gone.
I can’t imagine how Bellamy would be if she loses her dad. Or when, rather. What will happen to her? Will she lose the light in her eyes? Will she be scared?
Fuck, yes, she’ll be scared.
Then what?
I look up at my mom, and she’s nodding as if she can read my mind.
I think about my mom and dad and all of my brothers. Hell, even Larissa and her parents. My family is big and loud and annoying, but at least I have them.
Bellamy has no one.
I gulp.
“I guess I didn’t realize it was that bad,” I say. “People always come back and get better. I guess I thought maybe that would happen.”
Mom frowns. “He’s not going to get better, Coy. He probably doesn’t have much time left. If you want to see him for any reason, you should probably do that while you’re home.”
I drink the rest of the wine in one swallow. The alcohol burns my throat and settles heavily in my stomach.
“Do you see Bells a lot?” I ask her.
She nods. “She comes over once a week or so. I bake them banana bread or an extra meatloaf a couple of times a week, too. But you know how Bellamy is. She doesn’t want to be doted on or made to feel like she can’t handle it.”
But she can’t.
“I wish I would’ve known all of this before now,” I say. “I mean, you told me, but I didn’t realize it. I guess I didn’t want to realize it. It was easier not to know.”
“While Bellamy doesn’t have that luxury.”
“Yeah.” I lean back in my seat. “I got ahold of her a couple of weeks after my Country Music Honors performance—the night you told me, actually. And she texted me back and said that she had a boyfriend and didn’t think I should message her anymore.”
Mom recoils. “Bellamy having a boyfriend? If that was true, I didn’t know it. And it didn’t last long.”
“Why do you say that?”
She grins. “Because she’s clearly smitten with you.”
So many things lump together in my brain and demand attention. Meadow, the contract, getting back to Nashville. Bellamy, her father, and why she’s acting so hot and cold with me.
Since I can’t do anything about the first set of problems right now, I should focus on the second.
“I think I might head over and see Joseph. You think that’s okay?” I ask my mom. “Should I call first or something?”
Her grin splits her cheeks, and she gets to her feet. “I think you should go on over. And take this with you.” She heads to the counter and picks up a bakery box. “I got these at Hillary’s House today. Blueberry muffins. Joseph loves them. Bellamy too.”
I take the box from her. “You’re the best. Do you know that?”
“That’s what they say.” She winks. “Now, get over there before it gets dark.”
I laugh as I head for the side door. “Yes, Mommy.”
“Good boy. I’ll save your plate for later.”
I chuckle all the way to the gate.