38. Between then and now
BETWEEN THEN AND NOW
A few days passed, but her night with Preston didn’t loosen its grip on her.
Spring lay awake more than she slept, replaying it – not the mechanics or the heat, but the why . The familiarity. The way it felt less like a mistake and more like muscle memory. Like something her body remembered even if her mind tried to file it under complicated .
She kept asking herself the same question in different fonts: why now?
Because grief cracks you open.
Because comfort is dangerous when it doesn’t feel earned.
Because Preston Cole still knew how to look at her like his world quieted when she entered the room.
None of those answers satisfied her.
She rolled onto her side, stared at the ceiling, then finally grabbed her phone.
Rae answered on the second ring, bonnet crooked, eyes already knowing.
“Don’t even say hey, cause I already know,” Rae said. “You had sex with that man.”
Spring closed her eyes. “I hate you.”
Rae grinned. “Bitch, no you don’t. You hate that I’m right. Talk to me.”
Spring sat up, pulling the sheet around her. “He had this really amazing moment in the studio, then before I knew it, we were having this really amazing moment in the studio.”
“Girl, you was ass out next to some sub-wolfers? You nasty,” she teased.
“Hoe, shut up. It just… happened. And that’s the part that’s bothering me. It wasn’t impulsive. It wasn’t messy. It felt?—”
“Familiar,” Rae finished. “Safe. Annoyingly good.”
Spring exhaled. “Exactly.”
They sat in that truth for a moment.
“Well, I guess the real question is,” Rae prompted. “Do you regret it?”
Spring thought about it. “No,” she said finally. “That’s what scares me.”
Rae nodded slowly. “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Then the question isn’t why did it happen ? The question is what do you do now ?”
Spring didn’t answer the question right away. Instead, she said, “So after my one on one with Mack, I did some digging… the contracts are clean.”
Rae blinked. “Wait – what?”
“I went through everything. So did the team. No hidden clauses. No back-end chokeholds. It’s aggressive, but it’s standard. I don’t like him, but on paper? He’s not screwing Preston.”
Rae studied her face. “You sound disappointed.”
“I am,” Spring admitted. “I wanted there to be something obvious. Something easy to point at and say, there . Mystery solved.”
Rae smiled softly. “You don’t actually like easy, babe. You just like answers.”
That landed honestly. Spring nodded in agreement.
“And the documentary?” Rae asked.
Spring hesitated. That was answer enough.
“Go see him,” Rae said gently. “Not as a woman who slept with him. As a filmmaker who believes in the story she’s telling.”
Spring nodded. “Yeah. Alright, girl, let me get my act together. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Love you, boo.”
“You too, babe.”
She hung up the phone renewed. She was going to work, and while this was complicated, honestly, she wanted to see him.
Despite her fears, she got showered and dressed and decided she’d be extra cute.
She sprayed a bit more perfume than she normally would, and overthought her outfit to girl-next-door perfection.
An hour later, she was standing outside the studio. She hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. Just showed up.
When she walked in, the door was cracked open, music spilling out.
Preston was already there.
No entourage, just him, the mic, and that quiet hum he did when he was settling into himself. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she was grateful for the moment to just watch .
He sang like someone who’d lived a little more. The voice was still velvet, still effortless, but there was restraint now. A greater control and depth, like he wasn’t chasing the note anymore. Like he trusted it to come to him.
Spring felt it in her chest. He’s evolved, she thought. And somehow, still the same.
He opened his eyes mid-phrase and saw her.
He didn’t stop singing, just smiled – small, knowing – and finished the run, like he’d meant for her to hear it.
Let’s make love in the morning, the noon, and the night
I’m huggin’ you, you’re kissing me, I’m holding you tight,
I just want you to know that for the rest of your life
You are loved,
This is love.
Let’s make love.
When the room went quiet, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Hey,” he said, voice still warm.
“Hey,” she replied.
She set her bag down, professional instinct sliding into place even as her pulse betrayed her. “You sound…” She searched for the right word. “Centered.”
He chuckled. “I feel clearer. Like the noise finally backed up off me.”
She nodded. “That came through. The way you ended that was amazing.”
“Want to know the inspiration for it?” He gazed at her in a playfully seductive manner.
Spring shook her head. “You think you’re slick,” she quipped. They both chuckled.
Preston hit her with the towel wrapped around his neck and said, “I hope not.”
Spring met his eyes and felt that familiar pull – but this time, she didn’t flinch from it. “Preston,” she said. “I think I finally know how to tell this story.”
And for the first time since everything began unraveling, she meant it.
Preston was about to respond when the door swung open. “Y’all decent?”
Mack walked in first, dressed like the night owed him money – tailored suit, gold watch catching the light, smile already loaded.
Preston’s mother followed right behind him, radiant in a way that startled Spring.
Not polished-happy. Relieved -happy. Like someone who’d been holding her breath for years and finally let it out.
Mack took two more steps in, scanned the room, then smirked. “A’ight, no baby oil. We safe, Talia, you can come in, baby, everybody got they pants on.”
Spring scoffed under her breath. Preston groaned. His mother swatted Mack’s arm without heat. “Mack, if you don’t?—”
Mack laughed and headed straight for the counter. “Relax, Mama Cole. I’m celebratin’. We all celebratin’.”
He pulled out four glasses like he’d rehearsed this moment, movements smooth, ceremonial. He poured ice, then paused, looking at Preston. “You good?”
Preston didn’t hesitate. “Club soda.”
Spring nodded immediately. “Same.”
Mack blinked once, then nodded, respectful. “Say less.” He slid the sodas toward them, poured himself a drink, then lifted his glass halfway. “First things first,” he said. “That B-roll you sent me?” He nodded at Spring. “That wasn’t just good, baby, that was leverage .”
Preston straightened.
Mack’s voice dropped – not dramatic, just serious.
“Sony didn’t blink. Twelve million. Universal tried to counter with fifteen.
They wasn’t going to budge. But this—” he tapped the counter, “—this is what closed it.” He let the beat breathe.
“I took that B-roll footage and went to have lunch with the Universal executive over at Villeary’s.
The lunch lasted an hour, and fifteen million was on the table.
And I looked at him and I said, ‘Do you remember when you threw me out of the office, I told you that you was gonna have to kiss my ass’? He remembered.”
“You did what?” Spring clamored.
Mack raised both hands to calm her down. “I told him I want thirty million for the album and the documentary, he said I was out of my goddamn mind. So, we shook hands and parted ways.”
Mack took a sip of his drink and did a little shimmy.
Spring watched as Preston started to shake his head, somewhat calm about how the story was unfolding. “Mack, that doesn’t sound like progress.”
“Well, it would if you were listening with your ears and not your mouth. I swear, Ralph just ain’t care about manners at all in his house.”
“Tell the damn story, Mack,” Talia chimed in.
Mack rolled his eyes. “So anyway, the Universal exec – Mark something – gets up and leaves, but as he leaves, he sees an executive he knows over at Spotify coming in. No big deal till he saw the next exec from Netflix.”
“What does Netflix have to do with this?” Preston asked.
“Nothing, but see, Mark didn’t know that.
I did my homework, and I knew that Netflix and Spotify are talkin’ merger.
Now, neither one of these guys knew why I called them – in fact, they were somewhat offended I double-booked them, but that wasn't the point. They weren’t there to talk about a deal.
They were there to let me apologize to them for double-booking them, and so we had a night on the town. ”
Spring started to slowly realize Mack’s method to his madness. There was always a method. She took mental note of the story. “So, you were out, parting with two executives that had no idea or interest in Preston as a project, all the while knowing Universal and Sony would be watching.”
“Bingo. I set the bait and made them wait. As of an hour ago, Universal finally came back. Remember when I said they were going to have to kiss my ass? Made them call me back and got to puckerin’.”
“How much are we talking?” Preston asked.
“Thirty-four million.”
The room went still.
“For the album,” Mack continued, “ and the documentary. No death clause. Full creative input. Tour backing. And—” he turned to Preston’s mother, eyes warm, “—option on a comeback album. Yours. Masters intact.”
Silence cracked.
Preston’s mother pressed a hand to her mouth. Tears came fast, no fight in them. She shook her head, laughing through it, then pulled Preston into her arms like she was afraid the moment might disappear if she didn’t anchor it. “My baby,” she whispered. “I knew it. I told them. I told everybody.”
Mack watched them for a second longer than necessary. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You did good, son.”
Preston looked up, eyes glassy. “You really believed this could happen.”
Mack nodded. “I don’t gamble on things I don’t believe in. And I don’t stay when I don’t see a future.” He lifted his glass. “I’m proud of you.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t performative. It was family. A long overdue calm in a storm that had been brewing since Cameron’s passing.