Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Coy
“It’s no wonder you go to Mom and Dad’s house to eat,” I say, looking at the contents of Boone’s refrigerator.
A jar of pickles, a block of cream cheese that looks suspicious, a half of a Snickers bar, and a jug of lemonade that I would bet the farm that he’s drunk straight from the container.
“I just want to point out that I’m not the one living there,” he says from his perch on the counter.
“I’m not living there either, asshole.”
Boone’s legs swing back and forth like a little kid.
“Wanna go to Vegas next weekend?” He grins. “Might be fun. Would get a suite and—”
I hold out my hand to stop him. “We’re not going to Vegas. I have enough fucking problems.”
“Coy—Vegas solves problems, brother. It doesn’t create them.”
I raise a brow. “Do you not remember what happened the last time we were in Vegas?”
“Hey, now. That wasn’t my fault. She came up to me and grabbed my hand and led me to the elevator. How was I supposed to know that she was married and pissed off at her husband?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sarcasm thick in my tone. “Maybe engage her in conversation. Or notice she was wearing a wedding ring.”
He runs a hand through the air. “Too much work. The burden of ethical actions in that situation falls on her. Not me.”
I hop on the countertop next to the sink. The granite is cold and hard.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “You lived and got to keep all of your teeth.”
“Barely.”
We laugh.
Sunshine pours in the kitchen window. I angle my face to the light and enjoy the warmth from the sun.
I felt lighter when I woke up this morning in Bellamy’s bed. My dad’s jokes were funnier while we played nine holes of golf before breakfast. Wade’s texts about a new tax law that apparently affects me weren’t even as annoying as usual.
I forgot how it felt to live in Savannah. Is it this way all the time or just because I’m visiting? Or is it that, for once, I’m here for more than a day?
My brothers do golf a lot. They take turns with Gramps on Wednesday nights, sitting with him and playing chess or shelling beans in the summer. Mom makes lots of family dinners, and they’ve all been known to fly to Aspen to go skiing at a moment’s notice.
Life in Nashville is fun, too. Just … different.
And there’s no Bellamy there.
Have I ever thought of that before now? Have I ever compared the company I keep with Bells?
That would be a hard no.
Although … no one has ever captivated me or made me think about things extending past a night or a weekend.
Only Bells.
I pick at my cuticles as I wonder what she’s doing. We’ve texted on and off today. Soon, that will be all I get of her when I return home. I considered for half of a second that she might go with me, but I can’t even ask her that. Not with Joe so sick.
I sigh.
“I really thought that you being a hot-shot country music star was really going to make my life better,” Boone says, pulling my attention back to him. “But it hasn’t, and honestly, I’m a little disappointed.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry my life hasn’t been convenient enough for ya, Boone.”
“Me fucking too.” He winks at me. “So, what’s happening on the music front these days?”
I look at my brother like the buzzkill that he is. “Do we have to talk about that?”
He shrugs. “Nope. Of course not. Let’s talk about Bells instead.”
I roll my head on my shoulders and look at the ceiling.
There’s no use in talking about the music front, as he called it. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.
Meadow is in control. It’s all in her hands. I’ve always settled into that idea and appreciated that I didn’t have to worry about shit.
In a strange twist of events, now her being in control is the reason I’m worried.
Fucking hell.
“I heard through the grapevine—the one named Larissa—that you and our other mutual friend, Bellamy, had a little playdate last night. Now, I don’t want the details of that because Bells is like my sister and not some fuck-a-friend like she is to you.
I would appreciate a generalization of how the evening played out so that I know whether to duck when I see her again. I have to look out for myself here.”
He smiles cheekily.
“That’s what we all expect out of you, Boone,” I say with a sigh.
“At least I’m consistent. Now you, on the other hand …”
I ignore his little jab and pick up a bottle of dish soap instead. I twirl it around in my hands as I ponder my response to his inquiry.
There are a couple of things that I’ve been able to discern from this whole getting-on-the-same-page-with-Bellamy thing. One is that I cannot stop thinking about her. It’s a crazy, nearly obsessive thing, and everything that I do or say or think brings me back to her in some way.
Case in point: Mom asked me if I wanted blueberry muffins today.
I immediately wondered if Bellamy found the ones that I left on the loveseat last night.
Then I caught a whiff of a woman’s cologne at the gas station while on my way to the golf course.
It made me think of her, too, and the scent she wears lately.
This is going to be a problem if I don’t figure out how to fix it.
“So, are you going to answer me or what?” Boone asks.
“Why couldn’t I have been really good at something in Savannah?” I ask him instead. “Like, why couldn’t I have been a good fisherman? Or a teacher? Or just a bum like you?”
He looks wounded. “You don’t hate yourself enough to be a teacher. And not just everyone can pull off a bum like me, okay? Check yourself.”
I chuckle. “That’s too bad because it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier than this.”
“What’s happening? Want to talk it out?”
I give him an odd look. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m trying to be a good brother.”
“Well … don’t. It’s weird.”
He shrugs.
I set the soap bottle down and sigh. “Meadow is going to call me this week and, hopefully, she’ll have a contract ready to go.
I’m assuming that I’ll just have a few days to make a decision.
She said the new label wants a super quick turnaround too, so I’m going to have to just jump in and get to work, and I’ve been struggling creatively.
I can’t be creative and pen happy shit when I want to scream. ”
Boone’s legs stop swinging.
“I didn’t realize how fucked up my life was until I came back this time,” I admit.
It’s strange hearing those words topple from my lips. I never would’ve thought that I would be in this position if you’d have asked me three months ago.
But now I know it, and I’m having a hard time forgetting it.
I blow out a long, noisy breath.
“I’ve tried to place the blame on everyone else,” I say.
“Meadow is at fault for the whole Willa debacle. Meadow is at the helm of my contract negotiations, and they seem to want something, or someone, maybe, other than what I’m all about.
Whoever they are now. And then I come back here and this shit with Bellamy …
” I look at my brother. “It’s all my fault, Boone. Every last bit of it.”
He considers this. “I doubt it’s all your fault.”
“No, it is. It’s my fault because I let it all happen. I looked away and let Meadow run wild with my career, and I accepted Bellamy pushing me away because, for all intents and purposes, I was a dick.”
“You are a dick. Always, more or less. But, playing Devil’s Advocate here, Meadow works for you. And Bellamy could’ve … not Bellamy’d this.”
I grin. “I appreciate your support, but I dropped the ball. All of them.”
Boone picks up on that and runs with it.
He stands straight and looks me in the eye. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I know exactly why I drop all the balls in my life. I can tell you why I neglected something, failed something, ignored something else—it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t mean there’s a good reason, either, just that there is one.” He pauses. “Why are you dropping your balls?”
I make a face and shake my head. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Your balls dropping.” He snickers. “No, seriously. I want to know why.”
“I don’t fucking know. Shit happens. Isn’t that good enough?”
“Yeah. Good enough if you’re willing to take a bullshit answer.”
We have a showdown, each of us unwilling to look away first. Finally, he gives up and sighs.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll tell you why you drop them.”
“Oh, please. Tell me,” I say sarcastically. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Me either.”
I flinch. “You mean you don’t already know?”
He shakes his head. “No. I just open my mouth, and the truth comes out. It’s my party trick.”
I laugh and head to the breakfast table. I sit. He watches me from the sink.
“Shoot,” I say.
“I think that you let your balls fall with Meadow because you didn’t want to have to think about your career. You could just party it up and have fun, and it didn’t feel like something permanent to you.”
Not bad.
“You always say you’ll be home to visit, and we both know that’s not true.
But it sounds good, and I think you tell yourself that so you don’t have to acknowledge your life isn’t here anymore.
” He narrows his eyes. “That or you don’t have to think about this being your life, your actual adult career.
If it’s not and you fail—who gives a fuck?
You had a good ride. You’ll just go on about your life in whatever job you were supposed to have all along. ”
My blood runs cold.
I’ve never admitted any of that aloud to a single soul on the face of the planet. But have I thought about those things? Only a million times while lying in a bathtub in a random hotel.
Boone is emboldened by the success he thinks or knows he just scored.
“You also dropped your balls with Bellamy—not last night but the proverbial ones,” he says, grinning, “because you think you would lose her anyway. She’s always fought you and pushed you away.
You figure that it doesn’t matter if you actually stayed in her life or not because it wouldn’t have worked out regardless.
It was just so much easier to make the decision and help the inevitable along. ”
Holy. Shit.
“Damn, I’m good,” he says, impressed with himself.
I’m impressed with him too. But I’m not about to tell him that.
My finger runs along my bottom lip.
I look at Boone like I just met him for the first time. This Boone has never been around. I didn’t know he existed. Hell, I didn’t think he knew the alphabet for sure, let alone be able to conjure up philosophical arguments from someone else’s point of view.
We definitely don’t give him enough credit in this family.
“Am I right?” he asks as he opens the fridge. He takes out the lemonade, opens the lid, and drinks it straight from the container.
I’m less disturbed about his drinking habits than I am bothered by his theories.
I do all the things he said. Down deep, I’m afraid of failure.
Having a bad reputation and flying by the seat of my pants has always been easier than not being good enough.
Am I good enough to succeed in music? I hope.
Am I good enough for Bellamy? Not even a chance.
But keeping them apart from each other—not incorporating Bellamy somehow in my life—is the reason I’m unsatisfied. I know that now.
My web of experiences and emotions aren’t filled with the right things. Or the right people.
Damn.
I run a hand down my face. I have no idea what this means or what to do about it.
I don’t know if there’s anything I can do about it.
Boone looks at his phone and motions for me that he’ll be a second. He takes the call, saying, “Hey, baby,” as he turns the corner and disappears out of earshot.
I sit at the table and think about my life.
I tried to fill the hole created by impersonal relationships by shoving it with razzle-dazzle.
Filled stadiums, screaming fans, plaques on the wall—I hoped that someday all of that would make me feel complete.
That the wonderfulness of the accomplishments would, at some point in the future, make up for all I sacrificed to get here.
But as I think about Bellamy smiling against my skin, the precious moments spent with Joe, my mom’s garlic butter chicken, and Boone’s weird epiphanies, I realize that this life—the one with my family and friends—could be pretty fucking spectacular right now.
That’s a big problem.
Because my life isn’t here.
It’s in Nashville and being negotiated as we speak by a woman who I hope and pray has my best interests at heart. Although, I’m starting to realize that perhaps she doesn’t really give a fuck about my best interests, but those that continue to provide her a decent income.
Perhaps I don’t even know what my best interests are.
I suck in a breath.
“You don’t have to think about this being your life, your actual adult career. If it’s not and you fail—who gives a fuck? You had a good ride.”
Is that all there is? All Meadow believes I’m capable of?
You had a good ride.
Fucking hell.