CHAPTER 43
TYLER
When Tyler arrived home that night she was in rough shape.
For the first time in a long time she wished she could talk to her mother or sit by her grave.
But since she couldn’t do that she played “Landslide” on repeat.
She closed her eyes and imagined Stevie’s voice was her mother’s and cried like a baby.
A little while later, she went downstairs to get her moving boxes from the storage locker. Over the past decade she’d moved so many times that she’d kept them because looking for boxes was the worst part about changing locations.
To get out of her head she blared Led Zeppelin on shuffle. She liked the surprise of the algorithm, and it played songs that she’d forgotten about.
She stayed up most of the night, taping boxes together and writing labels on the sides, not the top. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. She organized the kitchen into piles of keep, gross, and donate. The kitchen always took longer than planned.
How many mugs does one person need?
Tyler’s phone vibrated before her alarm. It was Kim on FaceTime—calling instead of texting like a normal human being.
“What’s wrong?” she answered, not bothering to get up.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Kim adjusted her earbuds.
“Nothing.” Tyler squinted at the screen. “Why are you calling so early?”
“Cary . . .” Kim’s eyes widened. “He blew out the tour.”
“What?” Tyler sat up. “What do you mean blew out the tour?”
“Three weeks. But he’s paying everyone double for the time and inconvenience.”
“Why?” She rubbed her eyes, unconvinced Cary would do something like that.
“Some family thing,” Kim said, shrugging with a coffee cup in hand. “Vegas wouldn’t say more. He was pretty tight-lipped.”
“Are his parents okay?” Tyler’s tone shifted. “Family issue” was vague, but it had to be serious if he canceled.
“Vegas just said it’s personal. We’re all wondering.”
“I swear I don’t know anything.” Tyler crossed her heart and clutched her chest. “Honest. Is he still in Vancouver?”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Kim said. “Oh, and I booked Yestown on flights home, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She leaned closer to the screen. “So what happened last night? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Tyler glanced out the window at a squirrel climbing a tree, its claws skimming the bark. “I just needed some space. To think.” She looked back at Kim. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“With Cary?” Kim blinked. “Dude. Are you fucking kidding me? He couldn’t wait to see you.” She paused. “What happened?”
“Long story.” Tyler closed her eyes, shaking her head as last night replayed in her mind. Her words. Her anger.
“I’ve got time,” Kim deadpanned. “A lot of it, apparently.”
“I’m sorry about the tour,” Tyler muttered—not that it was her fault. “But get this—I caught fucking Tommy and Lara at Cary’s place yesterday.”
Kim gasped, hand to mouth. “Get. The fuck. Out.”
“Dead serious. They had sex. In Cary’s bed.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I swear on Rory’s life.”
“Does Cary know?”
“Yeah, he’s livid. And rightly so. Fucking Tommy’s married and twice her age. He should know better.”
“What did you do when you saw them?” Kim’s eyes were huge.
“Oh, they didn’t see me. I found a condom wrapper in the trash.”
“She’s such a dimwit.”
“She’s just young.”
“That’s no excuse.”
Kim was right.
“Did Cary fire him?” she asked. “Fucking Tommy?”
“Not yet. I asked him to wait until Friday.”
“What’s Friday?”
“I’m quitting SDM.”
Kim grinned. “Fuck SDM.”
“I’m moving home, Kim.”
Her eyes lit up. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“That’s why I have to leave.”
“What? You lost me.”
Tyler groaned. “God, this is so embarrassing. I didn’t know it was Tommy and Lara in the penthouse. I thought Cary was cheating on me.”
“He’d never!” Kim practically launched herself through the phone. “He doesn’t even look at other women. Dude, I look at girls more than he does—and I’m not even joking.”
“I’m not doing another long-distance thing. And Cary’s not moving to Winnipeg, so—”
“You never know. He might surprise you.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Tyler.” Kim’s voice dropped, serious now. “He’s not Duffel Bag Dave. You need to get over it.”
“Like the Eagles song?”
Kim cracked a smile. “Exactly.” She took another sip. “He’s done nothing to deserve this. Is he gone a lot? Yes. He’s Cary fucking Kingston. Besides, the tour ends in August. He’s not going on the road next year.”
“Really?” She squinted. “I didn’t know that.”
“Vegas told us.”
“Does this mean we can work together?” Tyler asked. “I talked to Allie—she’s in. She just has to figure out how to leave with her bands.”
“What about Yestown?” Kim asked. “Sebastien will die before he lets you take them.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Tyler smiled. “So . . . what do you say?”
Kim grinned. “Fuck yeah.”
Tyler had too much on her mind to go back to sleep so she took a quick shower and drove into work. The first few hours in the office were her most productive. Toronto was three hours ahead, and she was always playing catch-up with people out East.
When she arrived at the office the alarm didn’t sound; someone was up early, probably Bob counting something.
“Tyler!” Sebastien screamed from his office. “Get in here!”
With no sense of urgency, she opened the door to her office and let Rory in before going to see him.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice measured.
“You know fucking what. Cary—his tour?” Sebastien’s face flashed bright red. Maybe he was having a heart attack. Not that she would have called an ambulance.
“I found out this morning from Kim.” She tightened her topknot. “I know nothing about it.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “I think you knew about it.”
She laughed. “Like I give a shit.”
“I’m still your boss, Tyler.” He stood because tall people do that when they can’t win an argument. “I’d fire you in a second if you weren’t fucking our biggest client. You’re lucky I don’t take this loss out of your commissions.”
“What commissions?” She raised her voice. “You haven’t signed Yestown to a deal yet.”
“Future commissions.” He sat back down. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Before coming into the office, she’d phoned Cary, but it had gone straight to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message, not exactly sure what to say after she’d dismissed him without listening to his side of things.
Regret is an awful thing.
“Vegas said there was some sort of family issue,” Sebastien probed.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is.”
“Tyler, I’m warning you . . .”
“Or what?” His threat almost made her day. “Go ahead, fire me. I do the work of three people around here and get paid, barely, for one. Plus you owe me a million weeks’ vacation time. Don’t get me started.”
Rory’s tags clanked in the distance and she turned her head.
“Hello?” Bob called out into the cavernous space.
She pointed in his direction. “Why don’t you ask Bob Shaw how much work I do around here? He’ll tell you.”
“Is everything okay?” Bob asked, walking into Sebastien’s office, carrying the miniature panda.
Sebastien nodded at Bob. “I was just saying we need more bands on our roster. More pucks on the net.”
“No, you weren’t.” She turned her head. “He threatened to fire me because of Cary’s canceled dates. He doesn’t think I do any work around here.”
Bob’s eyes turned icy blue. “She works harder than I do.” He smiled at Tyler, adding, “I ran the numbers on Cary’s tour. We’re still good, even with the canceled dates.”
“Get the fuck out of my office—both of you,” Sebastien huffed. “And that stupid dog, too.”
Rory says, fuck you.
Bob handed the dog to Tyler, and they silently walked down the hall. Sebastien would no doubt be listening, ear pressed against his door with a cup, trying to eavesdrop.
“Do you have a minute, Bob Shaw?” she whispered, following him into his office.
“For you?” He nodded. “Always.”
She closed the door and spilled her guts, telling him everything and then some.
The following two days weren’t much better. In fact, they were almost worse. Cary hadn’t called back and wasn’t posting on Instagram either. Had she just made the biggest mistake of her life? Or would she, years from now, look back and realize it was exactly what was meant to happen?
Having too much time to think wasn’t always good—unless you were a philosopher or something.
Everywhere she turned, there were pregnant women. Some looked too young, others too old, and a few just her age. They were impossible to ignore, like the universe was nudging her toward a truth she wasn’t ready to face—that she’d fucked up.
On Friday, Tyler got to the office early, which she’d been doing for years. But today would be different: it was her last day, and she would make it a good one.
She walked into SDM with a latte from Artigiano—no more shitty office coffee—and waited in Sebastien’s office with the lights off and the door closed.
Sebastien’s voice boomed from the reception desk an hour later before he opened his office door.
“What are you doing here?” he barked, turning on the light.
“Have a seat,” she said calmly, motioning her hand toward his chair.
“I’m busy, Tyler.”
“No, you’re not.”
He grumbled something under his breath and sat in his chair.
She handed him a piece of paper. “My two weeks’ notice,” she told him, sliding back in her seat. “But since you owe me so much vacation time, I’m leaving today.”
“Oh, don’t be such a girl,” he sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “Is this about the other day?”
“It’s about all the days, Sebastien. You treat me like shit and I’m over it.”
“What do you want?” He took out his checkbook and grabbed a pen from the holder. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Not your money.” She waited until their eyes met. “Yestown.”
He snorted a laugh. “You’re not taking that band.”
“Want to bet?” She handed him another piece of paper. “They’re exercising their key person clause. I’m taking them with me.”