Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
LOU
“ H ow was the sound?” Patty asks.
I almost choke on my water. But—thank the stars—I manage to keep drinking long enough to make him wait.
“Weird,” I say.
“Huh.”
I chuckle and lean back enough to take in the wary squint of his eyes above his scruff. His five o’clock shadow is hours past curfew. And I kinda like it.
The rest of the room is buzzing with conversation, and Ash and Millie are currently doing karaoke on the big screen, so I can be honest with him. In fact, I need to be honest with him.
It doesn’t make you vulnerable. You aren’t opening up yourself to someone who could hurt you by telling him how to do a job that will help you do your job better, I tell myself.
“I’m sure your mix was good, but I’m not used to earpieces. I’m not used to touring at all. That concert in Sugar Maple months ago was the first time I’d performed in front of a crowd since the Georgia State Fair—before I even had braces.”
Patty’s amber eyes meet mine, and something in them shifts.
“So I’ve heard,” he says.
I hold his gaze, waiting for him to give me more, because these three-word answers aren’t gonna cut it if we’re working together for the next six months. When Patty talks next, it feels like he’s pulling the words from his throat.
“It’s tough getting used to life on tour. I’ll get custom earpieces rushed so we have them within a week.”
“Where do you even get custom earpieces?”
“I know a guy.”
“How?”
He pauses. “College.”
I pause, but that’s all he says.
“Where’d you go?” I ask, even though I know the answer thanks to Ash. He presses his lips together, a flicker of hesitation showing. “Come to think of it, I didn’t do a background check on you. I had Manny run ‘em on everyone else. That would probably be easiest for both of us, considering how painful speaking is for you.”
He flares his nostrils, and his tongue shifts inside his cheek like he’s trying to clean his mouth of something distasteful.
“New England Conservatory of Music.”
He stops, like he actually thinks I’m going to let this end here.
“Cool. I’ll have Manny fill me in on the rest,” I say. I turn and am about to walk away when I feel his hand wrap around my upper arm.
I roll my lips together to hide my smile. I’m still in my concert outfit thanks to Cassie Jo and her camera, so that means my arms are bare, and the heat from Patty’s hand makes me almost shiver.
When he gives a gentle tug, I let the movement spin me around.
“Why does this matter to you?” he asks.
His question lands sharper than I expect, a little hook under my ribs. I don’t know why it bothers me, but it does. I shift my weight, glance away, like breaking eye contact will break the pull between us.
It doesn’t.
“You’re one of the most important people to this tour’s success. We both saw that tonight. I can’t perform without you in my ear. We don’t have to be friends or bare our souls, but if I can’t trust you off the stage, I won’t trust you on it.”
The muscles in his wide jaw tense. “You need my resumé, Princess. Not my story.”
I bite down on my frustration. Of course he’d rather keep me at arm’s length. That’s his whole thing, isn’t it? Walls up. Doors locked. Alarm system blaring.
“We’re back to name calling?” I say, tilting my head like I’m unbothered. Like his deflection doesn’t make my fingers itch to grab hold of something real.
“When you stop actin’ like one, I’ll be sure to call you something more appropriate.”
“In that case,” I say, leaning forward until I’m almost in his face. “You can call me Queen.”
I tell myself not to look at his mouth. But my eyes betray me, flicking there before I can stop them. He smirks.
I snap my gaze back to his eyes, pretending they’ve been there the whole time.
“Fine by me, Queenie.” He leans down a few inches. “I have connections from attending NECM, but I don’t like talking about my time there because it didn’t end the way it should have.” He hesitates for only a second, but continuing seems to pain him. “The school and I came to a … mutual agreement at the end of my junior year that neither of us had anything to offer the other, and I left to go on tour with an up-and-coming band that didn’t work out. And because I chose music over my own family, I wasn’t there for my dad when he was in his accident that left him paralyzed. In fact, I forced Sean—the best brother a guy could ask for—to turn down the NHL to take care of our dad because my dreams mattered more to me than his.”
Shock pours over me like an ice bucket. “Sean was drafted to play in the NHL?”
Patty exhales, slow and steady, but the weight behind it is anything but. “Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “He was. But unlike me, he didn’t hesitate for a moment when he chose our dad.” He rubs his knuckles, his jaw clenched tight enough that I bet his teeth hurt. “And I have to live with the fact that I didn’t choose either of them.”
His words sit heavy in the air, like a bomb has just gone off, and he’s waiting for the dust to settle to assess the damage.
I have no right to ask this, but I do anyway, because something tells me this is my last shot at getting the truth.
“What happened to your mom?”
“She didn’t choose them, either. Left two months after the accident because ‘being a caretaker was too heartbreaking’ for her. And she ‘had to spread her wings and fly.’”
I draw back in a near-flinch, his words striking a blow. “She left your dad? She left all of you?”
His chuckle is like a frigid gust of wind. “She’s nothing like your momma.”
My breath catches, but I force myself to keep my voice even. “And what do you know about my momma?”
“I know she chose her family over her career.”
My grip tightens around my water bottle, the plastic crinkling in protest. “Yeah? And she never should’ve had to make that choice at all. If my father hadn’t been so caught up in the rockstar lifestyle, she could still be performing. Her name should be mentioned along with Dolly and Reba and Loretta, and instead, she’s an afterthought. And all because she fell in love with her lead guitarist, and he fell in love with partying.”
“And you think that makes her some tragic figure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Is she not happy?”
I frown. “She is. Because she’s the type to be happy digging coal. But she could have more.”
“Don’t y’all live on a fifty-acre ranch outside of Augusta?”
“I don’t mean money, although she could have more of that, too. I mean fulfillment . Music was her life—still is. But instead of getting to perform it, she teaches private lessons to spoiled kids who blame her when they get cut in the first round of American Idol.”
Patty backs up a few inches, and that space gives me room to breathe.
Somehow, the world has continued while we’ve argued. My friends are singing or chatting with my band, except for Parker, who’s joined the guys in playing cards around a table in the corner of the room.
“I reckon we see this differently.”
“I reckon we do,” I snap.
Patty’s tongue runs over one of his back teeth, a sign of irritation if I’ve ever seen one.
“Are you satisfied with my credentials?”
I stand up straighter. I’ve held on to this frustration—this resentment over my momma’s situation—for years. Yet I’ve never let myself get this carried away.
“I don’t know.”
He blows air out of his mouth in a huff. “I’m gonna take a break. Find me when you’re ready to talk about the mix tonight.” He turns his back to me, and I’m half relieved, half disappointed, and all in a stew.
I drink the rest of my water, crush the air out of the bottle, and toss it into the recycling bin before joining my friends on the couch.
“That looks like it went well,” Jane says.
I sink into the plush cushion. “That man is more irritating than a swarm of mosquitoes,” I say with a sniff.
“I hate mosquitoes.”
“I think I hate Patty.”
Jane chuckles and leans against me. “I’m glad.”
I snort, watching Ash and Millie singing Hold On by Wilson Phillips. The words flash on the screen, but no one in this room needs them. My band is even singing along from where they’re sitting on the floor.
“Why are you glad I hate Patty?”
“Because if you’re already fighting with him, I know you’ll be yourself with him on tour,” she says.
I might be a few months older than Jane, but she’s an older sister while I’m a younger sister, and let me tell you: big sister energy always wins.
“I thought you’d finally come to accept that you’re not responsible for other people,” I tease. I let my head bump into hers and keep it there while we watch our friends dance.
“I have accepted it. Because I am a fully actualized human being, I no longer feel your happiness depends on me. But that doesn’t make me stop caring.”
“Ah, I appreciate the distinction.”
Jane nudges me with her elbow. “Be careful, Lou.”
“I am. I’m not gonna let anything or anyone derail me.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says.
I pull my head back to look at my friend. Jane wrinkles her nose.
“I’m worried about you keeping your distance from everyone. You’re naturally a … pack animal, not a lone wolf.”
“I know. And the Janes are my pack.”
“It’s okay if you open up, let in a few more.”
“Wolves, Jane? You’re telling me to invite more wolves into my life?”
“Yes. Exactly,” she deadpans. “Was that so hard to understand?”
Then she sniffs, and the sound makes the back of my eyes sting.
“I’m gonna miss you,” she says.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
My band jumps up when Ash grabs them, and a pang of envy fills me, seeing Ash so casually become friends with these four women I’m actively keeping at bay.
All four of them seem great—professional yet easygoing. I’d adore them if I met them in another life. But I’ve kept them at arm’s length while we’ve been prepping for the tour. If I don’t let them in, I won’t have to carry their struggles or demons on my shoulders.
It’s not that I don’t care about anyone else’s pain; it’s that I can’t afford to let it drag me under when I’ve worked so hard to get where I am.
Jane, Millie, Parker, and Ash are the only people outside of my family I’ve ever let fully in, and that’s because we’ve known each other since our freshman year of college, before I was who I am.
They celebrate my fame, but they’ve never coveted it or interfered with it. They’ve never made me feel like their burdens are my responsibility.
When Jane and Parker approached me about starting a marketing firm a few years ago, it was an easy yes. I was working as a corporate lawyer, but I didn’t need the money. I was already making enough with my music to ensure that my success didn’t hinge on anyone else—not even my friends.
Jane might think I need to let more people in, but that’s because she has her big sister hat on, not her CEO hat.
I can’t let anything jeopardize this tour.
I want to show the world I’m not just Winona Williams’ daughter or some YouTuber of the month who lucked into fame through the mystery of my identity.
Stepping out of the shadows has to mean something.
And that’s why, when Patty comes back into the room, I get up from the couch and cross over to where he’s standing by the table.
His fork is sinking into warm pecan pie when I approach him.
“I don’t want you to pipe in the audience,” I say, cutting straight to the chase. “It’s too overwhelming.”
He takes a bite, chewing slowly and looking calmer than when we last spoke.
“Because you’re used to performing in front of a camera, not a crowd?”
“Exactly.”
“All right, Queenie. But you’ll want to get used to it eventually.”
My brows thread together. “Why? Why can’t I go on without the sound of the audience?”
He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “Because judging by tonight and how that crowd lost their minds for you, this is just the beginning of a very long, very successful career.”
The weight of his words feels less like a compliment and more like a warning.
“And?”
“And you need to remember who you’re performing for. The moment you shut your fans out, the moment it all becomes about you, is the moment it all goes wrong. They become objects that feed your ego instead of people who make your job possible. Their adoration will turn your head, and trust me, that feeling is a drug as dangerous as anything I’ve ever seen.”
I almost don’t know how to respond. Some joke—I’m a D.A.R.E. kid?—but he’s not joking.
For someone who’s always serious, this is the gravest I’ve seen him yet.
“It’s hard hearing them,” I admit. “It makes me nervous, like I’m going to screw up and let everyone down.”
“You should feel nervous,” he says, but then his tone softens slightly. “Not so much you can’t perform, but enough that it keeps you connected. Anchored. If you’re trying to protect yourself from feelin’ something about your fans, you’re doing this wrong.”
I stay quiet long enough that he goes back to eating pie, and I can’t help noting the absurdity of him delivering his little speech while scraping his fork across the plate to get the last of the caramelized pecans and ice cream.
“Are there maybe … baby steps to that? To letting the audience in?”
He looks away from me, like he’s thinking.
“Yeah. I have a couple of ideas. We can try ‘em out during sound check Saturday before the show.”
“I can’t leave a decision like this up to a sound check hours before I go on stage again.” A fluttering in my right ear muffles the sound in the room. “I was spiraling out there.”
“You didn’t look like it,” he says, and this time, I both feel and take the compliment.
“Well, I was. And I need to get more used to playing with an IEM and hearing a mix at all.”
Patty sighs and sets down his plate.
“Why don’t I come on your bus tomorrow after we get you fitted for the molds? I’ll bring some of my setup, see if we can’t get you more comfortable.”
I feel my spine relax.
“That would be helpful. Thanks, Patty.”
“I told you, it’s Patrick.”
A smile teases my lips.
It’s a relief to step back from the heightened emotions and vulnerability and return to our norm—staring contests and playing chicken.
“Is it, though?”
He shakes his head. “You’ve been talking to Ash.”
“Have I?”
He chuckles and goes for a second slice of pie while I join my friends.
But when I glance back at him, it’s to catch him looking at me.
I can’t be certain, but I think I won this round.