Chapter Twenty-Eight
· Brooks ·
Finding the Patrons of Music studio wasn’t hard.
It was all over the internet. Kiki Nguyen had made her money in the tech sector and was now funneling it into her passion, running a country label with a completely women-led team at its head, focusing solely on female and queer musicians.
She’d given interviews to the biggest newspapers and on national TV.
Whoever was running her PR was doing one hell of a job.
Addie’s car sat on the curb outside the studio, but when I walked up to the building, the doors were locked, and only still darkness lay behind the floor-to-ceiling windows. I tried the doorbell, but nothing stirred.
Maybe it would have been a dick move to show up to this recording session anyway. This was Adriana’s time to shine. I would have gladly waited outside, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t even inside.
I turned on my heel and narrowed my eyes at her car. Empty, too.
A large wooden sign across the street caught my attention, and some of the tension seeped from my muscles. The Silver Spur Saloon. What were the chances that the Patrons of Music building was just a few steps away from a Wild West bar?
I pushed through the swinging door and blinked until the dim and dusty interior came into focus.
This place had nothing on the Rattlesnake Saloon.
A few months ago, I might have been impressed by the wood paneling, the vintage paintings, and the barrels and wagon wheels decorating the place.
Now I could only see all the things wrong with this place.
Power outlets at every table. Route 66 signs on one wall.
The TV above the bar playing country music videos.
Addie looked just as out of place, her hair in a high ponytail, her skin hidden by a buttoned-up blouse and a gray blazer. She scratched the label off the beer bottle in front of her, staring at nothing at all. Little paper shreds had gathered around the bottle.
“Hi,” I whispered and took the seat next to her.
“Hi.” She didn’t look up. “I tried calling back, but it went to voicemail. It was already shut by the time I got here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine.” She sighed and put on a fake smile. I hated that smile.
“It’s okay that you’re not.”
“I made the decision to come to court and I stand by that.”
“Addie, about what you said—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, “please, I can’t. Just tell me what the judge decided.”
“She didn’t.” I pushed the bottle out of her grasp and offered my hand instead. For once, she started kneading it, just to touch something. “I offered the Greens shared custody.”
“You did what?”
“It clicked for me when Lewis said that the world wasn’t kind to different. He wants what’s best for Skye, too. He’s just misguided. And Theresa actually sang your praises after you left. She’s coming around fast. So we just spent the last two hours discussing what’s actually best for Skye.”
“You agreed?”
“They’re welcome in Bravetown whenever they want.
Skye will stay with them one week a month, attend her online school, and for the first couple of months, I’ll make sure to stay nearby, in Nashville or Wild Fields, while she’s with them.
Just in case there’s any issues. Skye decides where she wants to spend Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, with the condition that we all spend it together.
Birthdays and Halloween are completely up to her.
And we all spend a few weeks in North Carolina together every summer. ”
“Wow…shared custody.” Her fingertips traced the lines of my palm. “Are you okay with that?”
“Very.”
“Did the judge say anything about me?” She didn’t look up. She wrapped one arm around her middle, but instead of closing herself off completely, she kept finger-painting the inside of my hand.
“She said Skye would be lucky to have you as one of her caregivers, and that you and I would have to discuss in what capacity that happens.”
“Well”—she swallowed—“judge’s orders.”
“Technically, not an order. You’re not on the custody agreement.”
“Okay, but…about what I said? I did mean it. But I’m hurt. You hurt me. And still, against all rationale, I do love you.”
Hearing her say it out loud twisted my gut.
I had caused her pain. Guilt burned like bile in the back of my throat.
“Addie, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
I get really wrapped up in my own head sometimes.
I had the custody case on my mind, and everything else fell by the wayside.
When I get like that, it also becomes really hard for me to see other people’s viewpoints.
I’m sorry that I couldn’t—hold on.” I had to free my hand from her ministrations to pull the slim envelope from the inside pocket of my suit jacket.
“I should have given this to you a long time ago. I should have talked to you about it.”
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the two pages from the envelope. One for each album. Her thumb brushed over her own name. Realization sank in slowly, her brows arching higher and higher.
“You bought them in my name?”
“They’ve been yours for months.”
Her eyes flew up to the top corner of the notarized letters, where the date was printed black on white. Two days after she texted me. Long before I’d ever stepped foot in Bravetown.
“You’re such a dick,” she croaked.
“Excuse me?”
“You could have just told me that.” Each word fought against the knot in her throat.
“You were still right, Addie. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back to make a deal with Doyle.”
She grimaced at the sound of his name. “Yeah. Can’t believe he made money off this.”
“Well…” I weighed my head from side to side.
“What?”
“Technically, I traded him for them.”
“Oh no.” Her face fell. “What did you offer him?”
“Whenever I decide to record it, the next Brooks Monroe Christmas album.”
“Oh, Brooks,” she moaned, “you shouldn’t have.”
“I figure I’ll be taking your last name anyway.” I shrugged and leaned on the bar, tapping my finger against the line on the letter where her full legal name was listed. Specifically, against her middle name.
“What’s wrong with my middle name?”
“I love you too much to turn you into A. Marilyn Monroe.”
“Oh, but Brooks Banks?” she asked with a mocking note.
“Benjamin Brooks Banks, technically.”
“Benny B. Banks?”
“Four B Studios,” I said. “Benjamin Brooks Banks’s Backyard Studios.”
“I’m not calling you Benjamin.”
“I’m not calling you Adriana Marilyn.”
We fell silent, and I watched her blink and fold the papers back up carefully.
She pulled her bag from the back of her stool and filed the letter into the slim compartment against the back, rearranging her bucketload of knickknacks so they wouldn’t crease the paper.
“You love me?” she whispered, barely audible over the TV.
“More than music.”
“That’s a lot.” She swallowed and glanced around. There were a handful of people in the bar. I knew some were likely watching us. The bartender himself had made an effort to hover nearby. “You can kiss me if you want,” she said after a moment of contemplation.
I shook my head. “We’re going home, and then I’ll kiss you the way you deserve to be kissed.”
A small laugh burst from her chest, her smile fighting against the tears gathering in her eyes. “We should probably talk about dating before we talk about last names, right?”
“You can talk all you want, but that ring is going to end up on your finger one way or another.”
“Oh, you’re not sure of yourself at all.” She hiccupped, caught between a sob and a laugh, and brushed her hands over her cheeks.
“Not at all. I second-guess myself all the time. You, however? I’m sure about you.
I’m sure that I want you. I’m sure that you’re one of the most talented musicians of our generation.
I’m sure that you give your love so freely, it takes my breath away.
” I stepped off my stool and turned hers a little, so I could stand between her knees.
She gazed up at me, eyes big and glassy, freckles almost covered up by the thick layer of courtroom makeup.
I brushed my thumb over her lower lip, taking off the layer of peachy gloss that covered my favorite freckle.
“I’m sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
If you tell me how to make that happen, I’ll do it.
New ring? You got it. Want me to propose properly?
I’ll do it right now. Need me to keep that ring safe and wait three months before putting it back on your finger?
Fine. It’s you for me, Addie love. That’s a sure thing. ”
Her inhale stuttered down her throat. Her lip trembled under my touch. Then she snorted the cutest ugly laugh. “You’re so corny.”
“Yeah, you’re marrying a corny man.”
She dropped her head against my chest. “Take me home already, Mr. Banks.”
“You got it.”
We actually had to take our separate cars back to Wild Fields.
The drive itself turned into a strange kind of tease.
We alternated between tailing each other, then drove side by side on empty country roads.
All the while, her voice filled my car from my phone speaker.
We talked about the podcast roundtable she’d been featured on and the conversations it had sparked the last few days.
I apologized for the way I reacted to how she handled the paparazzo.
She sang me the song she would have recorded with the new label today.
It wasn’t until we crossed into Wild Fields that the line grew quiet.
We parked outside her house, and I waited for her to make the first move. Instead, she stared through the windshield, over at her mother’s house, where the windows were illuminated and a pumpkin flickered on the porch steps.
“Is Skye with her?” she asked. Even if the last two weeks had been rocky for us, Maureen had agreed to babysit on court day way before our fight.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I want us all to have breakfast together.”
“Sure, sounds good.”