28. The air settled
THE AIR SETTLED
“ M rs. Greene, hold for the board of Third Eye Collective,” the receptionist said as she connected the Zoom call.
Spring had been reviewing the B-roll footage she’d sent to the board as a sizzle reel to pitch the Preston Cole documentary. The initial pitch was met with excitement that had cooled a few weeks later; the tone of the board had changed.
Spring sat in front of her laptop, listening as the board spoke in that careful, professional cadence that always meant they were nervous again. “Mrs. Greene, thank you for taking our call.”
“The pleasure is mine, Marcia, and members. Did you get a chance to look at the sizzle reel we sent over?”
“We did.”
That wasn’t good.
She nodded nonetheless, “And what were your collective thoughts?”
“We loved it visually, the cinematography is absolutely stunning.”
“But?”
“Not a but, just a reconsideration,” the board member from Universal Studios said. He continued, “We think Preston is an amazing talent, but Cameron’s passing is fresh. Soul Searching is still number one on the Billboard charts, and Preston… well, he hasn’t had the best run in the press lately.”
The words stung – not because they weren’t true, but because they didn’t understand. “If you’re talking about him punching the would-be fan, the guy practically sexually assaulted Preston’s mother in broad daylight.”
“Okay, what about when the cops were called to his house a few months ago?”
“That wasn’t what it seemed. Preston was there to break up a figh… a misunderstanding between Macknificent Townes and his mom.”
“Right. Macknificent Townes, who we just had security escort out of here three days ago for screaming, and I quote ‘this ain’t over until you’re kissing my ass begging to sign him’ and Talia Cole, the R Mack’s unwanted presence. Her frustrations brought tears to her eyes.
Preston walked into the mist of her vulnerability.
“Uh oh… hold on, I got something for this situation,” he said.
He jogged over to a counter and pulled out two share-size bags of Skittles, one blue and the other purple.
Spring burst into laughter. “You think you know somebody, Preston Elijah.”
“All I know is, at some point you were going to get pissed, so it might be good to have some Skittles around.”
He walked over with a bowl and ripped the two bags open. Spring grabbed a handful and began to chew as she rolled her eyes. “These are so good,” she moaned.
“Alright, now that you’re better, what happened?”
“The board… they’re talking about pulling out again.
It’s really Universal behind it,” she told Preston, sitting across from him at the kitchen table as she chewed the Skittles with reckless abandon.
“And before you say it – I know. It was a long shot. But honestly, to me it’s a hell of a story.
I just haven’t discovered it yet. But for them, no discovery means no movement. ”
Preston leaned back, lips firmed into a thin line. “Okay, what can I do? How can I help?”
Knowing what his reaction would be, she hesitated before saying, “We need Brian.”
“No,” he said immediately.
Spring tilted her head. “You know why.”
He didn’t answer.
She pressed gently. “You’re not recording an album right now. There’s nothing new to anchor the story. The board wants proof of life, Preston. Proof you’re creating. Proof you’re still… you. If you’re not going to make an album, or at least a song, I don’t know how we can sell this without Brian.”
He ran a hand over his face. “I can’t even afford studio time, hell even with the in house studio, I gotta be able to pay the band. So, without a deal, we’re stuck.” A brief pause. “And,” he said quietly, “they served a notice of default on the house.”
Spring stilled.
“Four months behind,” he continued. “We’ve been juggling, but – yeah. It’s not looking good.”
The air shifted. Even the room felt like it exhaled.
Before she could respond, the front door opened.
Macknificent Townes walked in like a punctuation mark, Talia right next to him, both beaming with excitement. “Superstar, we are back!”
Preston stood. “What?”
“It took every string I could pull, but I got a few people willing to give us a shot. They want you to record,” Mack said, already moving deeper into the house. “Not a full album yet. They want to see if you still got it. Original music. No covers. No nostalgia bait.”
Spring’s camera was already up.
“Okay, took some of my best work and damn near every dollar I got, but, I’ve got a band ready,” Mack continued. “What I don’t have is a songwriter. Can’t afford one.”
Preston’s eyes flickered to Spring for a second. “I might know somebody,” he said.
The room went quiet.
Spring didn’t smile. She met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.
Talia stood next to her son, hands clasped tight. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered, already crying. “I knew you wouldn’t forget my baby.” She crossed herself, then began praying aloud, soft and grateful.
Mack watched it all, pleased, calculating, unreadable.
Spring kept filming.
She caught the way Preston swallowed hard. The way hope scared him more than failure. The way this wasn’t just a deal – it was a line being crossed.
When Preston looked back at her, there was something fragile there.
And something fierce.
The story had just turned.
The house was still buzzing after Mack and Talia left.
Hope had a sound; it lingered in the kitchen, hummed in the corners, sat heavy on the countertops.
Spring lowered the camera.
For the first time all day, it was just them.
Preston leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. “So,” he said quietly. “That just happened.”
“Yeah,” Spring replied. “It did.”
Neither of them laughed.
She shifted her weight, folding her arms. “I need you to understand something,” she said, professional instinct kicking in even as her voice softened. “If I do this – if I document this – your album and my documentary are tied together. If one of us falls, we both do.”
He nodded. “I know.”
They were both wound too tight. Spring felt it in the way Preston kept pacing, running a hand through his hair, stopping just long enough to sigh before starting again. Thoughts were ricocheting in his head – she could see it.
“Okay,” she said finally. “We’re not doing this.”
He blinked. “Doing what?”
“This,” she said, gesturing at his whole body. “You spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve walked that same line three times.”
He huffed. “I’m just thinking.”
“No,” she said, already grabbing her phone. “You’re stuck.” She connected to Bluetooth before he could protest. The room filled with the opening beat of “Goin’ Again” by Akeem Ali .
Preston stopped cold. “Hold up – what you know about Akeem Ali?”
She smirked. “Preston Cole, you’re not the center of my musical universe.”
He laughed despite himself. “Nah, for real. Since when you listening to this?”
“Since I needed you to stop overthinking,” she said. “Now dance.”
He scoffed. “Absolutely not.”
She folded her arms. “You and I both know this is how you clear your head, so I don’t even know why you playing with me.”
He froze. “Okay,” he said slowly. “First of all – how you know that?”
She shrugged. “Because I know you.”
He tried to brush it off. “That’s not?—”
“Don’t,” she warned. “Ever since SpringFest, you’ve always danced when your brain won’t shut up.”
“You really don’t let things go.” He shook his head, laughing now, defeated.
She stepped closer, nudging him with her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
He started moving reluctantly at first – just a shoulder roll, a small bounce.
She clapped once. “Oh my God. Look at you. Progress.” He did a spin, it was smooth and rhythmic catching her totally off guard. She couldn’t help but smile.
“I learned a few things since high school,” he said, easing into the rhythm now.
She tilted her head, watching. “Yeah, I see you. Where you learn that?”
He shot back, “Spring Green. You’re not the center of my dancing universe.”
She laughed, loud and unguarded.
They moved closer without conscious thought – steps syncing, space shrinking. The air shifted. The music faded into background noise.
She smiled softly. “I remember when you couldn’t dance at all. Only R&B singer I knew with zero rhythm.”
“Yeah, you had to teach me,” he said.
“And I did,” she replied. “Because if I was getting on that stage to sing, I wasn’t about to have my man out there embarrassing himself.”
He paused. “We were just friends then.”
She looked up at him. “No. We were already together. You just didn’t know it yet.”
He exhaled, arm sliding around her shoulders without thinking. “You always were two steps ahead.”
She leaned in slightly. “Please. You talked me into Spring Fest. If I was stepping out there, you were stepping out there, too.”
They were close now. Close enough that the conversation felt unnecessary.
He looked at her like he was remembering something and realizing it all over again at the same time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You always did.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.
The kiss wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed. It was familiar – like muscle memory waking up.
They pulled apart almost immediately, both laughing, startled by how easy it had been.
“Wow,” she said. “Okay.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Okay.”
The door opened suddenly as Mack returned, eyeing them.
They jumped apart, grinning like they’d been caught doing exactly what they were doing.
Spring straightened her jacket. Preston cleared his throat.
Mack watched them both, amused. “Damn, it got real romantic in here all of a sudden. I guess this is what you artists call ‘inspiration’.”
Reality came rushing back. Spring quickly gathered her things and began to head out. She walked, picking up her camera again – not turning it on, just holding it as armor. “Get some rest,” she said. “Tomorrow, we work.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow.”
As she walked out, neither of them said what they were both thinking: That this wasn’t just a comeback story anymore. It was beginning to feel like a collision.
She thought about his lips on the way back to the Airbnb she’d rented since her stay was extended. She got to the home and laid across the bed without bothering to turn on the lights, one leg hanging off the edge, phone warm against her ear.
The kiss wouldn’t leave her alone. And there was only one person she felt safe with. Rae did all the talking as she just thought about the kiss. Not because it was dramatic, but because it wasn’t. It felt… easy. Familiar in a way that annoyed her.
“Okay,” Rae said on the other end, already clocking the silence. “You’ve been quiet for too long. Talk to me.”
“I’m thinking,” Spring replied.
“That’s never good.”
Spring huffed. “We kissed.”
A pause. Then— “‘We’?” Rae said. “As in Preston Cole ‘we’?”
“Yes, Rae. The one with cheekbones and a falsetto.”
“Oh my God,” Rae groaned dramatically. “I leave you alone for one funeral ?—”
“It wasn’t like that,” Spring cut in. “It just… happened.”
“Uh-huh. And work was involved?”
“Yes.”
Rae sighed. “Dangerous combination.”
Spring rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “I saw Julian the other day.”
That stopped Rae. “Wait. Saw saw?”
“Well, I saw him online. He’s dating someone. He looks happy.”
“Oh.” Rae paused. “How do you feel about that?”
Spring thought about it – the lack of fire, the quiet acceptance. “Like… okay. I guess we really are done.”
“That tracks,” Rae said softly. “It’s been, what – six months?”
“Almost.”
“He wanted to move on. And he did.”
“Yeah.” Spring nodded, almost to herself. “Good for him. I mean that.”
Rae hummed. “So why are you spiraling?”
Spring laughed without humor. “Because every time I let myself trust a man, it comes with a footnote.”
“Ah,” Rae said. “Here we go.”
“I don’t trust easily,” Spring continued. “Not with men. Not with motives.”
“Did you have that with Preston?”
Spring hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“Define ‘exactly’.”
“It wasn’t a betrayal,” Spring said. “It was… timing. Immaturity. We were kids with big feelings. No language, all feeling.”
“And now?” Rae pressed.
“We’re adults with history, but the feelings… they still feel the same,” Spring admitted. “Which is worse.”
Rae snorted. “Or better.”
Spring smiled despite herself.
“You know,” Rae added lightly, “it kinda sounds like you never really moved on.”
Spring scoffed. “That’s not true.”
“Mmm,” Rae teased. “From where I’m standing, you’re freshly divorced, working with your fine-ass high school ex, kissed him, and are now philosophizing about trust.”
Spring groaned. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m right.” Silence settled for a second. “What’s stopping you from just… having a conversation?” Rae asked. “Not about the documentary. Not about the past. Just the truth.”
Spring exhaled. “Fear.”
“Of?”
“Of finding out it still matters.”
Spring could hear Rae’s smile on the other end. “Baby… it already does.”
Spring closed her eyes.
“And listen,” Rae added, playful again, “if you don’t figure this out, I will personally fly to Houston and risk it all for Preston Cole myself.”
“Rae—”
“I’m joking,” Rae said. “Mostly.”
Spring laughed, tension easing just a little.
“Get some sleep,” Rae said gently. “Tomorrow you’re going to need your head clear. And your heart… honest.”
Spring nodded even though Rae couldn’t see her. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I think you’re right.”
They said their goodbyes, and Spring lay there a moment longer – no answers yet, just the hum of possibility.
And that, somehow, felt like the scariest part.