Chapter 21
EVERETT
“You’re doing me a big favor, you know.” Julia grunts, offloading a gaping box in the back end of Summer’s SUV. I give it a shove, wedging it in the tight space before trapping the pile of belongings behind the liftgate.
“Why’s that?”
“Do you know how much coffee creamer that woman goes through in a week?” Julia scrubs her palms on her jeans. “The Rhett Dawson franchise might need to take out stock in Dairy Farmers of America.”
I chuckle. It takes the edge off the nerves that have been ricocheting around my abdomen for the better part of a week. Apprehension that has nothing to do with Summer moving in and everything to do with the tracks I sent Todd a couple of hours ago.
What will the label think of them?
Will they ask what they’re about?
Do I care if they do?
I’m trying not to let those unanswered questions consume my every thought.
Instead, I focus on Julia’s comment and the note it reminds me of in my phone.
The one I titled Summer’s Favorite Things.
I’m not sure why I made it when I know I won’t forget them, even if I wanted to.
Hazelnut creamer is at the top followed by pink peonies and candied pecans.
“Anything else I should know?”
“Well, now that you ask…” Julia opens her hand, palm facing up, and keeps tally on her fingers.
“She sleeps barefoot, loves music, thinks toxic TV dramas make great Friday night entertainment, has a hundred dreams swirling around her head at any given moment, and she’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
Break her heart, and I’ll send a fleet of reporters to your doorstep.
” She nods her head with a closed-mouth smile and folded arms.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say, even if that’s the least threatening thing anyone has ever thrown my way.
A part of me feels guilty for taking Summer away from her best friend. But not as much as I am relieved that she said yes to this in the first place. I’ve not had another breakdown in my studio, but it’s bringing me so much peace knowing she’ll be there for Quinn if I ever do.
“What are you two whispering about out here?” A hot-pink suitcase topples over on the uneven cobblestone walkway behind Summer. She rights it with the kick of her foot, hauling it toward us.
I shove my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Julia was just warning me about how you sing my songs in your sleep.”
Summer’s head snaps in Julia’s direction. “You’re dead to me. I think I’ll save my goodbye for Henry.” She jerks her luggage in a clunky one-hundred-and eighty-degree turn back toward the front door.
“Does he know about the shirt though? I might need to add that to the list,” Julia teases.
“Dead to me!” Summer hollers over her shoulder.
Henry hands her a pillow—the last item left in the entryway. “Are you going to marry Rhett Dawson?”
“Wh-what?” Summer chokes out a cough.
“Mom says people move in together when they get married. That’s why my dad doesn’t live here.”
“Uh—” Julia hustles over to him and shoos Summer toward her car. “Yeah, that’s not… I think they need to get going, buddy. Let’s tell them goodbye, okay?”
“Bye,” he says, and walks back inside without his answer.
Dammit. I was really wanting to see what Summer would come up with.
“Bye.” I wave back, moving closer to my new roommate. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. No!” The handle of Summer’s suitcase clanks to the ground as she abandons it and shoves against the door they almost shut on her face.
Okay? Confused, I collect the luggage to stow it in her passenger seat. With the minute alone, my thoughts drift back to the studio.
I never asked Summer if she told Emma about that night. I wouldn’t care if she did. But it would explain why I found a new desk chair, coffee table, and vinyl records on the wall the next day. It was like it never happened. A nightmare stripped away with open eyes.
Until the evidence stitched itself into lyrics. Inspired three songs in five days. I did it. Whether or not that accomplishment is something to be celebrated remains a mystery.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. I whip it out of my pocket, expecting it to be Todd.
WILL: I see you took my advice
I think it’s about time you get laid was his counsel the last time I saw him.
EVERETT: You’re next.
I stuff my phone away. When I open the car door, Summer is sailing out of the house again, Millie wrangled in a death grip under her bicep. The cat is clawing at Summer’s pillow, wriggling toward her shoulder, and fueling her panic.
I step out of her way as she dashes toward me. Within a couple of feet of the car, she flings the cat in her vehicle and slams the door shut. A cloud of orange fur rains over top of us.
“And I thought it was just men she didn’t like.”
Summer expels the kind of breath that follows a four-hundred-meter dash. “It is. She could sense you a mile away.”
“And my holeless shirt, no doubt,” I add.
That gets her to laugh.
“Do you have this under control?” Backward steps carry me toward my own car. She doesn’t notice with her focus stuck on mapping her cat’s escape route.
I think she responds by the time I’m in my front seat. Wouldn’t know when I turn on my vehicle and all sound is drowned out by a phone call connecting to my car speakers.
I jerk the door shut and swallow. My vision narrows to my side mirror. The second there’s a gap between two cars I navigate into it, pulling away from Julia’s house. Then I answer.
“Dude! I just listened to the demos.”
I knew this call was coming. Prepared myself for it the moment I hit send. But I have to fight like hell to keep my voice even as I respond. “And?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know how you did it, but these songs are your best work.”
I didn’t expect that. What I sent him were rough takes. They’re not well rehearsed or anywhere near refined. There is no vocal track layering or instrumental arrangement additions yet. They’re raw cuts from the only time I haven’t cried singing them since I wrote them.
“Seriously, Rhett. I’m blown away over here, man,” he adds in my silence. “I can’t wait for the label to hear these.”
Todd’s always been honest with me. I know he wouldn’t be saying this if he didn’t mean it. After being stuck on melodies for weeks, hope blooms in my chest.
“Thanks. That… really means a lot.”
“You’re going to get back out on that stage, Rhett. You were born to do this. There’s no doubt about it.”
His belief in me should be the source of that hope in my chest, not the means of relief that is spreading through my body.
I’m grateful he didn’t ask about the inspiration behind the lyrics; I don’t intend to keep my disability from Todd forever, but I’d like it to be in person when I finally tell him.
“Thanks, man.”
“Hey, about that Celeb article…”
I still, my hands on ten and two. “What about it?” I have no idea if it dredged up good or bad publicity. If it was the latter, I think I would have heard from him sooner.
“It’s no big deal, I just wondered if that was the woman from the concert?”
The way he scrutinized her that night, I’m not surprised he recognized her from a grainy photo snapped at dusk.
“I didn’t know she was from my hometown until I moved back and ran into her. She’s been helping out with Quinn.” Also, she’s the reason why I wrote the songs I sent you. And she’s moving into my house.
“She seems good for you,” he says.
“It’s not like that.” Yet.
“Whatever you say, Daddy Dawson. We’ll talk soon.”
“Let me know what the—” label says, I finish, after he’s already hung up.
Guess I’ll spend the next however many agonizing days waiting for another response. Thankfully, Summer takes my mind off it when her name pops up on the touch display. I spin the volume dial down four notches when aggressive meowing assaults my speakers.
“Millie, quit!” I hear her whisper-scold.
The Bronco jostles with a hop on the curb.
“Worried about how you’ll get that cat out of your car?” I pull forward on the driveway, leaving ample room for a straight shot to the front door. I hope she knows I’m joking. That I don’t expect her to handle this herself. It’s why I’m waiting in the driveway until she gets here.
“It’s all I’ve been thinking about the entire drive over, but that’s not why I called.” The sentence rushes out of her in a string of words. No pause. No spaces. Tethered together by one breath.
“You mean you weren’t going to ask if I had a straitjacket you could borrow?”
“Now that you said something…” She pretends to be thinking about it when in reality, there is a foot-long feline to blame for hijacking her attention.
I draw her back to the conversation with, “If it wasn’t why you called, then…”
“Are you worried what Quinn will think of this?”
I’m not. I told Quinn about it earlier today. We were on our drive over to her Sunday date with Coco. I did my best to explain the situation, and all she asked was if Summer could read her a book before bed. I don’t think she understands.
“How so?”
“Just… her getting attached,” Summer clarifies. There’s real fear behind her tone. I don’t want to read into what that means when we have three weeks. All I’m leaning into is the fact that this feels like the best decision for everyone involved.
“Well, you’ll definitely have to part with Millie when you move out, so better get on board with that now.”
“Do you ever take anything seriously?” she mocks, throwing my words from the first night we texted back in my face.
I know that’s not what she meant. I also know it’s too late to protect any of us.
“She’s already attached, Summer,” I answer quietly.