30. Carly
CARLY
The lights went down at Dee's bar, and I stood near the back of the room.
A month ago I'd said yes to Boone. A month ago he'd promised everything. Tonight we'd see if he meant it. My stomach twisted, nerves running under my skin like electricity. I twisted the silver band on my finger. The metal was warm from my hand, familiar now after weeks back where it belonged.
The stage lights came up. Boone stood at the center with his guitar, the same way he'd stood a thousand times before. But the banner behind him was different. I squinted at it through the crowd. My name was there, printed in letters as large as his. Carly Hargrove. Listed first.
God, he'd actually done it.
I touched my throat. My pulse hammered against my palm. The banner wasn't hidden at the bottom in fine print. It wasn't tucked away where nobody would see it. My name came first, and his came second, and the words co-writers sat underneath both of them like a fact nobody could argue with.
Boone adjusted the microphone. His gaze swept the room and found me in the back. He smiled, just a little, and my chest went tight. I nodded once. He turned back to the crowd.
"Thanks for coming tonight." His voice carried across the bar, easy and warm. "This is a relaunch, not a comeback. I've been here the whole time, but I haven't been honest about who's been writing with me."
The room quieted. I pressed my back against the wall.
"These songs aren't just mine." He gestured toward the banner.
"Carly Hargrove wrote them with me. Every single one.
She fixed my words, changed my rhythms, rewrote my melodies before every record I've ever put out.
For ten years she's been my songwriting partner, and tonight that's not a secret anymore. "
My throat burned. Several heads turned toward me. I kept my face still, but heat crawled up my neck. Boone didn't look away from the crowd.
"Her name's on every song we wrote together now. It's on the relaunch materials. It's on the new contract." His hand tightened around the neck of his guitar. "She's not help. She's not behind the scenes. She's my partner, and if you've ever liked something I wrote, you were liking her work too."
Somebody started clapping. Then someone else joined in, and then the whole room was applauding, and I wanted to disappear and stay at the same time.
I caught sight of Dee behind the bar. She raised her glass toward me, grinning like she'd won a bet.
Near the stage, Emily Hargrove stood with her arms crossed, smiling.
Tuck leaned against the soundboard, running the relaunch as Boone's manager, nodding to himself like he'd predicted this exact moment.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
Boone started playing. The first song was one of ours from years ago, back when we still wrote in the kitchen and he still listened when I told him a line didn't work.
The crowd knew the words. I knew them better.
I'd written half of them on a napkin at two in the morning while Boone paced the floor, frustrated because he couldn't get the chorus right.
The door opened behind me, letting in a blast of cold air. I turned. Savannah Merritt stepped inside. She wore a dress that probably cost more than I used to make in a month, and her hair was perfect, and she looked around the room like she owned it.
My stomach dropped.
She didn't know. She couldn't know Boone and I were back together. Nobody had told her because nobody talked to her anymore, not after the deal with his mother fell apart. She was here because she thought she still had a chance.
Savannah's gaze landed on the banner. Her expression froze. She stared at my name for a long moment, then at Boone on stage, then at the ring on my finger. I saw the exact second she understood. Her mouth thinned into a hard line.
She walked toward the stage. People moved out of her way, some of them recognizing her, others just reacting to the way she cut through the crowd like she had somewhere important to be.
Boone finished the song. The applause started up again.
Savannah stopped right at the front, close enough that Boone couldn't miss her.
"Boone," she called out. Her voice carried over the noise. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
He looked down at her. His expression didn't change, but his shoulders went tight.
The room started to quiet, people sensing something off in the air.
I pushed away from the wall, my heart pounding.
Savannah smiled up at him, all sweetness and familiarity, like the past month hadn't happened and she still had a place in his life.
"I just wanted to say congratulations," she said. Her tone dripped with something that wasn't quite sincerity. "I didn't know you'd finally decided to give Carly a little credit. That's generous of you."
My jaw clenched. A little credit. Like my name on the work I'd done for a decade was charity. Several people in the crowd shifted, uncomfortable. Dee set down the glass she'd been holding. Emily took a step toward the stage, but Tuck put a hand on her arm.
"I mean, it makes sense," Savannah continued. She tilted her head, her smile still fixed in place. "You've always been soft-hearted, Boone. You like to take care of people, even when they don't really need it. I'm sure Carly appreciates the gesture."
I started moving through the crowd. My hands were shaking, but my voice was steady. I wasn't going to let her do this. Not here. Not tonight. Not ever again.
Boone set his guitar down on the stand. He stepped up to the edge of the stage, looking down at Savannah, and his voice was cold in a way I'd never heard before.
"It's not a gesture, Savannah. It's the truth.
Carly wrote those songs with me. She's not someone I'm taking care of.
She's someone I've been failing to give credit to for ten years, and I'm done with that. "
Savannah's smile slipped. "Boone, come on. I know you're upset about the contract situation with your family, but you don't have to?—"
"I'm not upset about the contract," he said.
His gaze was steady, flat. "I'm upset that I let my mother use you to manipulate me.
I'm upset that I didn't see what you and she were doing until Carly was already gone.
And I'm upset that you think you can walk in here and talk about my partner like she's a charity case. "
The room went dead silent. Savannah flinched. Her face flushed red, anger sparking in her eyes. She straightened up, and her voice turned sharp. "Your partner? Boone, you can't be serious. She walked out on you. She divorced you. You told me yourself?—"
"I told you that because I was stupid and you were convenient.
" He didn't raise his voice, but every word landed like a blow.
"You were part of a deal my mother made behind my back, and I kept you around because I thought I owed you something.
I don't. I owe Carly everything, and I'm done pretending I don't."
Savannah stared at him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn't find the words. Then her gaze snapped to me, standing a few feet away. Her expression twisted into something ugly.
"You," she said. Her voice shook. "You did this. You turned him against me. Against his own family. You've always been?—"
"Savannah." I said her name quietly, but she stopped talking. I walked forward until I was right in front of her, close enough that nobody else could hear unless they tried. "Come outside with me."
She blinked. "What?"
"Outside." I gestured toward the back door near the bar. "Just you and me. Nobody else."
Savannah glanced at Boone, then at the crowd watching us, then back at me. She lifted her chin. "Fine."
I walked toward the back door. My legs felt strange, too light and too heavy at the same time.
Dee caught my eye as I passed the bar. She nodded once, and I kept going.
Savannah followed me, her heels clicking against the floor.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the alley behind the bar.
The cold air hit my face, sharp and clean.
The noise from inside faded to a low hum.
I turned around. Savannah stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. Her expression was guarded now, defensive. I took a breath. My hands were still shaking, so I shoved them into my pockets.
"You need to leave," I said.
She laughed. It sounded bitter. "That's all you have to say? After everything you just?—"
"I'm not explaining anything to you." My voice stayed level, calm. "I'm not telling you why Boone chose me. I'm not defending myself, and I'm not justifying anything that happened tonight. You came here thinking you still had a place in his life. You don't."
Savannah's jaw tightened. "You can't just?—"
"I can." I met her eyes. "You don't know me, Savannah.
You've never known me. You decided who I was a long time ago, and you've been treating me like that person ever since.
But I'm done with it. Boone's done with it.
You tried to win him back in front of a room full of people, and it didn't work.
So now you're going to leave, and you're not going to come back. "
Her face went white. "You can't tell me?—"
"I just did." I didn't move. "You don't get to show up at his shows anymore. You don't get to call him or text him or drop by the house. You don't get access to his family or his friends or anything that has to do with him. You're done, Savannah. Go home."
She stared at me. For a moment I thought she might actually argue, might push back and make this harder than it needed to be.
But something in my face must have convinced her I wasn't bluffing.
Her expression crumpled, just for a second, before she pulled it back together.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
"Fine," she said. Her voice was tight, clipped. "You can have him. You can have all of it. But don't come crying to me when he gets tired of pretending you're something special."
I didn't answer. I just stood there, my hands in my pockets, waiting. Savannah turned on her heel and walked toward the street. Her heels clicked against the pavement, fast and uneven. I watched until she turned the corner and disappeared.
The door opened behind me. Boone stepped out into the alley. He didn't say anything, just walked over and stood next to me. His shoulder brushed mine. I leaned into him, and his arm came around my waist.
"She's gone," I said.
He nodded. His hand tightened on my hip. "Good."
We stood there in the cold for a minute, not talking. Inside, someone started clapping again, and I heard Tuck's voice over the speakers, announcing the next song. Boone pressed his face into my hair. I felt him breathe in, then out, slow and steady.
"You okay?" he asked.
I nodded. My throat was tight again, but this time it wasn't nerves. "Yeah. I'm okay."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. His hand came up to my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. I leaned into the touch. He smiled, small and tired and real, and kissed my forehead.
"Let's go back inside," he said.
I took his hand. The silver band on my finger caught the light from the streetlamp. Boone squeezed my fingers once, and we walked back through the door together.
Inside, the room was warm and loud and full of people who knew my name now.
Dee waved us over to the bar. Emily grinned and pulled me into a hug before I could stop her.
Tuck clapped Boone on the shoulder and said something about the set list I didn't quite catch.
I looked around at all of it—the lights, the crowd, the banner with my name on it—and felt something settle in my chest.
Savannah was gone. Boone was here. My name was on the songs. And for the first time in ten years, I wasn't standing in the background anymore.