19. Petals under pressure
PETALS UNDER PRESSURE
S pring had been staring at Preston’s name for longer than she wanted to admit, not seeing the contact details, but the potential of it. The way his voice had sounded in the car. The way he’d looked at her like the past wasn’t something that had ended, but was still alive between them.
She flipped her phone face down.
Cameron signing with Macknificent Townes wouldn’t leave her mind.
It didn’t fit.
Cameron was careful. He didn’t trust charm. He trusted patterns, loyalty – the long game. He especially didn’t trust men who smiled too much. And that was Mack, seven days a week.
Spring opened her laptop. Typed Macknificent Townes into the search bar.
Articles appeared: producer credits, industry features, glossy interviews full of words like visionary and disruptor . She skimmed, then slowed, eyes narrowing as she opened a link that hadn’t been sponsored.
Lawsuit rumors. Artists who disappeared quietly. Contracts described him as “aggressive”. She’d began bookmarking articles for later when her phone rang.
“Hey,” Rae said. “Checking in. How you holding up?”
“Fine,” Spring said automatically, already opening another link. “You?”
“Better now that you answered. What are you doing?”
Spring hesitated. “Hypothetically?”
Rae laughed. “Dangerous word. Go ahead.”
“Why would someone like Cameron sign with a producer who’s known for screwing artists?”
There was silence for a second. “Okay. You want to tell me what’s really going on?”
“What do you mean?” Spring asked distractedly, still perusing an article.
“I just… figured you'd be on your way back to Atlanta by now.”
Spring sighed and leaned back. “Cameron signed with Mack before he died, and I can’t make it make sense.”
Rae exhaled slowly. “Spring… shouldn’t you be more worried about pitching a new idea to the board?”
“They already made up their mind.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Rae said immediately.
Spring froze. “What do you mean?”
“I heard they didn’t hate you,” Rae continued. “They hated that version of the idea... hell, so did you. There’s a difference between that and cutting the project altogether.”
Spring closed one tab, opening another. “I know. I just?—”
“You’re spiraling, honey,” Rae said gently. “Again.”
Spring didn’t deny it.
She clicked an older article.
CAMERON ELLISON SIGNS WITH MACKNIFICENT TOWNES — A NEW ERA.
The photo loaded. Cameron stood center frame, Mack beside him, a lawyer on the other side. Everyone was smiling except Cameron.
Spring leaned closer to the screen, examining his expression. “That should’ve been one of the happiest day of his life,” she said quietly. “Why is he the only one not smiling?”
Rae didn’t hang up. She stayed quiet on the line, the way she always did when she was deciding whether to protect Spring’s feelings or sharpen her thinking. “So,” Rae finally said, “talk me through it, like I’m not already biased.”
Spring leaned back on the couch, laptop open on her knees. “Cameron didn’t trust flashy people. Ever. He trusted consistency. Macknificent Townes is the complete opposite of that.”
“Okay,” Rae said. “But trust doesn’t pay rent. Cameron was also about his money.”
“That’s kind of my point?—”
“Let me finish,” Rae cut in gently. “Cameron was talented, but talent isn’t everything. If Mack came in with money, access, and timing, Cameron might’ve taken the deal because he thought it was the only door open.”
Spring frowned. “Except it wasn’t. He had other offers.”
“Did he?” Rae pressed. “Or did he tell you he did?”
Spring paused, thinking hard about the question. She hadn’t found any other offers in her preliminary search online. After a spell she said, “Settle down, devil’s advocate. Cameo told me everything.”
“Did you talk about contracts?”
“No, but?—”
“Then that’s not the same thing, sis,” Rae continued. “People protect their pride. Especially men who feel like they’re running out of runway.”
Spring stared at the screen again – the article, the date, the quote that felt rehearsed.
“So, you think this is just business?” she asked.
“I think it could be,” Rae said. “From what I know, from the outside looking in, Macknificent’s reputation is ugly, yeah, but ugly doesn’t mean illegal. And Cameron signing doesn’t automatically mean he was trapped.”
Spring tapped her pen against the notebook. “Then why does it feel wrong?”
Rae exhaled. “Because you loved him. And because grief turns questions into accusations.”
“That’s not fair,” Spring said quietly.
Rae softened. “I know. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying you might be reaching.”
Spring nodded slowly. “I keep thinking about the timing. He signs. He pulls back from me, his family. He goes quiet, and then?—”
“And then he dies,” Rae finished quietly. “Careful, Spring.”
Spring closed her eyes. “I’m not saying Mack killed him.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Rae replied. “But you are looking for causation. And right now, what you have is correlation.”
Spring was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You know what I’m doing, right?”
Rae didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. You’re building a case.”
Spring opened her eyes. “I’m building a question.”
“And that’s dangerous,” Rae said. “Because questions demand answers.”
Spring looked back at Cameron’s photo – everyone smiling except him. He always smiled. Always.
“I don’t want to expose anyone,” Spring said. “I just want to understand why the smartest person I knew made a decision that seems so out of character.”
Rae paused. Then, softer: “Just promise me something.”
“What?”
“If this turns into more than grief – if it starts to cost you your work, your peace – you’ll stop.”
Spring didn’t answer right away. Finally, she said, “I don’t know how to stop noticing things.”
Rae sighed. “I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do.” Rae took a pause then continued. “And that’s why you’re scaring me a little right now.”
Spring smiled faintly. “Me too.”
Rae didn’t joke this time. “You might be onto something. But that’s going to require proof.”
Spring nodded, fingers already moving, jotting notes on a legal pad.
Contract date. Tour gap. Timing of the hiatus.
“I’m gonna call you back,” Spring said. “I need to think.”
“Bye, girl.”
Spring didn’t move right away after she hung up with Rae. She just sat there, laptop humming softly, the room dim except for the glow of the screen.
She scrolled again, slower this time. Not for headlines or features, but footnotes. Dates.
Press release language reused across outlets.
The same quote from Mack appeared verbatim in three different articles, attributed to “a source close to the artist”.
Her eyes narrowed. She clicked open one more tab – an archived industry blog Rae would’ve called messy but thorough . Buried halfway down the page was a screenshot of a contract excerpt leaked months ago. Redacted names. Familiar structure.
Spring leaned closer.
The clause wasn’t unusual on its face – creative control language, sunset provisions, distribution timelines – but the dates were wrong. Or rather… tight . Too tight for someone who’d supposedly been encouraged to “take a hiatus”.
She flipped open her notebook and started writing fast. If Cameron signed in April…
Why was the rollout scheduled for June? Why was there a penalty for inactivity if Mack was “in his corner”?
Her stomach tightened. “This doesn’t track,” she murmured.
Her first instinct wasn’t to post on social media, or call a lawyer. It was to call Preston. He would know if Cameron had complained, or hinted at something being wrong. Or joked the way people do when they don’t want to admit they’re stuck.
She grabbed her keys. Better to ask in person, she told herself.
Just then her phone rang. Julian .
She groaned softly and answered. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied. “Just checking on you. How you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” she replied, distracted, already digging through her bag. “What’s up?”
“Well, I know this is a bad time but…the papers,” he said. “Have you signed them?”
Her hand stilled. She went to her laptop bag to the pocket she thought she put them in. She checked another pocket. Then another. “Shit. I know I was supposed to sign them. I’ve been?—”
“Busy. Yes.”
“I just buried my cousin, Julian.”
A pause. The familiar one. The one that simmered before an argument would break out.
“This is how it always goes, Spring,” Julian said, voice tightening. “You disappear when it’s inconvenient.”
“That’s not fair. Julian, I’ve had a lot going on?—”
“You always have a lot going on,” he shot back. “I’ve been patient. But if I don’t hear something soon, I’m going to have to take action.”
Her chest tightened. “So now you’re threatening me?”
“I’m setting a boundary,” he replied. “Something you’ve never been good at respecting.”
She closed her eyes. “I’ll find them,” she said. “I promise.”
“I’ve heard that before.” The call ended before she could say more.
Spring stood there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing in at once – grief, suspicion, unfinished love, unfinished endings.
She grabbed her jacket.
Some questions couldn’t wait. And some answers only came face to face.