Chapter 25 Darian
darian
. . .
My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter as I’m pouring my second cup of coffee.
Laura’s name lights up the screen, and I almost don’t answer.
The fact that Reverend Sister’s publicist still has my number pisses me off.
She has yet to apologize for the shit she did to my sister.
She had the audacity to tell Zara to just get over it for the sake of the band when Z found out Van was fucking anyone who walked past him, including Laura and her assistant.
I answer anyway.
“What do you want, Laura?”
“Good morning to you too, Darian.” Her voice carries that fake sweetness that used to make my skin crawl during band meetings. “I have something that might interest you.”
“Doubt it.”
“Just hear me out. Rex Lawson, that singer-songwriter out of Nashville who just signed with Atlantic? He specifically requested you to be a co-producer on his debut album.”
The coffee mug freezes halfway to my lips. Rex Lawson isn’t just some up-and-comer. He’s already got industry buzz. Co-producing his album would be a nice change from performing. Something like this would allow me to be present in Rye and Lily’s life without having to tour.
I lean against the counter, watching through the window as Rye helps Lily practice cartwheels in the backyard. They’re both barefoot, grass stains already marking the knees of Lily’s jeans. “How does Rex Lawson even know who I am?”
Laura laughs. “Just because you’re finding yourself doesn’t mean you’re not a hot commodity, Darian. Where are you anyway?”
“Nashville,” I mutter.
“Cute. You’re in Nashville. Rex is from Nashville. Are you making music?”
I ignore her.
“I know you are, Darian. It’s in your blood. Anyway, three months with full creative control alongside him, your name prominently featured. This might be exactly what you’re looking for to get back on the scene.”
“Why are you calling me with this?”
“Because despite what you think of me, I recognize talent. And because Rex’s people reached out to me since I still have connections to everyone from Reverend Sister.” She pauses. “Look, I know things ended badly—”
“You told my sister to stay with the man who was cheating on her with you.”
“I was wrong. But this opportunity has nothing to do with Van or the past. This is about your future.”
“You’re not my agent,” I remind her. “You’re a publicist.”
“I’m doing both.”
Double dipping.
“Like I said,” she continues. “Three, maybe four months, depending on how the sessions go. The label’s already approved the budget. They want you.”
Through the window, Lily falls sideways out of her cartwheel attempt, laughing as Rye helps her up. They’re both grinning, and something in my chest tightens.
“I’ll do it as long as it’s here,” I tell her. “I’ve been working in a studio, so securing time won’t be an issue.”
“Darian . . ." She draws my name out. “You know this is where the magic happens. Musicians are a dime a dozen here. If you need someone, you can pick them up off the corner.”
“I take it you’ve never been to Nashville?”
“Can’t say that I have any clients there.”
“Better musicians here than LA,” I tell her.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she says, laughing. “When can you be here?”
“Can I think about it?”
There’s a pause on Laura’s end. “Since when do you need to think about opportunities like this?”
“Since things got complicated.”
“Ah.” Her tone shifts, and I can hear the smirk in it. “Found yourself a girlfriend?”
“Goodbye, Laura.”
“Wait. Look, I get that you hate me, and you have every right to. But don’t let that stop you from taking this. Rex specifically asked for you. He’s heard your work and wants that exact sound. The label’s offering serious money, and the exposure alone . . .”
“I know.” I watch as Lily runs toward the house, probably coming in for water. “When do they need an answer?”
“End of the week. But Darian? Don’t let this slip away because of your issues with me. This has nothing to do with Van or Reverend Sister or any of that mess. This is your shot.”
After she hangs up, I stand there holding my phone. This is the kind of opportunity I left LA for. Now they want me back, and this time it would actually mean something.
The back door slides open and Lily bounds in, cheeks flushed. “Darian! Did you see my cartwheel? I almost got it!”
“You’re getting better every time.”
She beams at me, then tilts her head. “Are we still having our guitar lesson tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Good, because I’ve been practicing that chord progression you showed me and I think I finally got the transition smooth.” She grabs a water bottle from the fridge. “Mom says if I keep improving, maybe she will have a kid evening at The Songbird.”
“That would be awesome,” I tell her.
Rye comes in behind her, grass in her hair and dirt on her knees. “Everything okay? You look serious.”
“Work call,” I say, not ready to explain everything with Lily here.
She nods, understanding immediately. “Lily, go wash up. You’re covered in grass.”
“But Mom—”
“No buts. Go.”
Lily rolls her eyes but heads to the bathroom, leaving us alone in the kitchen. Rye pours herself a glass of water, waiting.
“Someone from my past called with an opportunity,” I tell her.
“Good opportunity or complicated opportunity?”
“Both.”
She leans against the counter across from me. “Want to talk about it?”
“Rex Lawson wants me to co-produce his album. Three to four months. Good money, great exposure.”
“Rex Lawson?” Her eyes widen. “That’s huge, Darian. He’s everywhere right now.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s the complicated part?”
“It’s in LA.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Rye’s face shifts through several emotions before settling on something neutral.
“Three to four months,” she repeats.
“Yeah.”
“That’s an incredible opportunity.” Her smile is fake, forced.
“It is.”
“You should take it,” Her words come out too fast. They’re not the ones I expected to hear from her.
“Rye—”
“No, really. This is exactly what musicians wait for. You can’t pass it up because . . .” She gestures between us.
“Because what?”
“Because of whatever this is.”
“You don’t think this is something?”
She sets down her water glass. “I think we both know that career opportunities like this don’t come around often.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Darian.” She says my name like it exhausts her. “We’ve known each other for what, a few months? You can’t make career decisions based on that.”
“What about Lily?”
Something flickers in her eyes. “What about her?”
“I’m teaching her guitar. She’s counting on me. Her dad already—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp. “Don’t make this about her father. That’s not fair.”
“I’m not. I’m making it about my promises. About being someone she can count on.”
“She’ll understand. Kids are resilient.”
But I hear what she’s not saying. That kids are resilient because they have to be. Because adults make decisions and children adapt.
“I haven’t said yes,” I tell her.
“But you want to.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, you do. You want the album and the career boost and the recognition you deserve. And you should have all of that.”
“What if I want this too? You and Lily and Sunday mornings teaching her guitar?”
Rye looks away, out the window at the indent in the grass from their practice. “People always think they want a simple life until something better comes along.”
“That’s not—”
“My ex left for a job. Said it was temporary. Never came back.”
“I’m not him.”
“No,” she agrees. “But you’re still a musician with dreams bigger than playing in coffee shops in Nashville.”
Before I can respond, Lily comes back into the room, hands clean but hair still wild. “Can we work on the bridge section? I keep messing up the timing.”
I look at her eager face, then at Rye who’s carefully not looking at either of us.
“Sure,” I tell Lily. “Let’s work on it.”
We spend the next hour going over the bridge, Lily’s concentration absolute as she works through the tricky timing. She’s got talent, real talent. When she finally nails the section, her whole face lights up.
“I did it! Mom, did you hear? I got it!”
Rye smiles from where she’s been pretending to read a magazine. “I heard, baby. You sound great.”
“Darian says if I keep practicing, I could play professionally someday.”
“Is that what you want?” Rye asks.
Lily shrugs. “Maybe. Right now I just want to learn.”
After dinner, when Lily's in her room, Rye and I sit on the porch.
“The person who called,” I start. “It was Laura. She was Reverend Sister’s publicist.”
“Was?”
“Remember the publicist that was screwing Van?”
Rye nods.
“Her. I’m sure she’s working with Van and the other guys. I don’t know what they’re doing now because I don’t want to care.” I pause.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. Laura told Zara to just get over it, stay with the band. Said it would blow over.”
“And now she’s calling you with opportunities?”
“Apparently Rex’s people reached out to her because of her connections to the band. She’s playing agent now, trying to make a commission.”
“Do you trust her?”
“Not even a little. But the opportunity’s real. Rex Lawson’s team confirmed it via email.” I show her my phone.
Rye’s quiet for a moment. “It’s in LA though.”
“Yeah. Laura insists it has to be there. Industry connections, session musicians, all that.”
“She’s probably right.”
“Probably.”
We sit in silence, both of us knowing what this means. Three months minimum. Maybe four.
“When do you have to decide?” she asks.
“End of the week.”
“That’s soon.”
“Yeah.”
I want to tell her that I’m leaning toward staying. That teaching Lily guitar matters more than producing an album. That what we’re building here feels more important than career advancement. But I can’t make those words come out because I’m not sure they’re true.
“Darian?” Lily’s voice calls from inside. “Can you help me?”
“Be right there,” I call back, then look at Rye. “We should talk more about this.”
“Should we?” She stands, wrapping her arms around herself. “Seems straightforward to me. You have an incredible opportunity. You should take it.”
“And us?”
“There is no us,” she says quietly. “Not really. Not yet.”
The words sting even though they’re probably true. We’ve been circling each other for months, getting closer but never quite there. Always on the cusp, until she pulls back. Or until I open my mouth to say stupid shit about job opportunities. I should’ve never answered the call.
“I thought we were something.”
Rye smirks.
Later, after Lily’s in bed, I find Rye on the porch again, glass of wine in hand.
“Rye, come on. Talk to me,” I say quietly.
Rye takes a sip of wine before answering. “I’m worried I won’t want you to–.”
“To what?”
Rye takes a deep breath. “Three months is a long time, Darian. Long enough for Lily to get used to you being gone. Long enough for me to remember why I don’t let musicians into our life.”
“So you want me to go?”
“I want you to do what’s best for your career. And I want Lily and me to not be the reason you don’t.”
“What if you’re the reason I want to stay?”
She looks at me then. “Then we’re in trouble. Because staying for someone else never works. You have to stay for yourself, or eventually you’ll resent us.”
“That’s what you really think?”
“That’s what I know.”
I want to argue, but maybe she’s right. Maybe staying would feel noble now but suffocating later.
“I should go,” I say, standing. “Think about things.”
“Darian.” She catches my hand as I pass. “Whatever you decide, we’ll be okay. Lily and me. We were okay before you, we’ll be okay after.”
It’s meant to be reassuring, I think, but it feels like she’s already letting me go.
“What if I don’t want you to be okay without me?”
She squeezes my hand once, then lets go. “Then you need to figure out what you really want. Because wanting us to need, you isn’t the same as wanting to be here.”
I leave with that thought in my head. Back at my apartment, I sit in the dark, nursing a beer, trying to work through everything. The Rex Lawson opportunity is everything I thought I wanted. Recognition, credibility, a real step forward.
But when I think about three months in LA, all I can see is Rye and the life I want to build with her.
My phone buzzes. Laura again.
Rex is really excited about the possibility. This could lead to more production work. You could build a whole new career. Don’t let small-town life make you small-minded.
Small-minded. Is that what staying would be? Or is leaving the small-minded choice, running toward success instead of staying for something harder to define?
Three days to decide. Three days to figure out if I’m the kind of man who takes the sure thing or the one who stays for possibility.