23. Twenty Three
Two Months Later
Nerves rattled around in her stomach as she stood in the car pickup lane of LAX waiting for her ride. After disappearing for almost two months, Kat knew she had some tough conversations ahead of her and no idea how to address them. The first was to the vivacious blonde and spastic redhead who pulled up in the yellow convertible in front of her.
“You rented a convertible? A bit cliché for L.A., don’t you think?” Kat said, laughing as she threw her luggage in the tiny trunk.
“Not at all,” Lydia said. “It’s perfect for our girls’ weekend!”
Kat had missed her friends more than she realized, and was happy to see them, smiling brightly as she jumped in the front seat Lydia had just vacated.
Cher hit the gas, and they took off down the turnpike. The air was warm for December, but it was southern California after all.
“So . . .” Cher started. “Tell us all about Bali!”
“I’d rather talk about you two. How’s the Beckett Moss show going? I can’t believe this is your last weekend of freedom for the next six months!”
Lydia sighed in the backseat. “And you thought West was bad. That man is ridiculously exacting, arrogant, overpowering, and exhausting. We’ve done twelve-hour practices for weeks.”
Kat looked over at Cher. “Is she being dramatic?”
“For once, no. My feet bled so bad after the first week of rehearsals, I’m not sure I’ll ever walk the same again.”
“God, why are you two still doing it?”
Lydia shrugged, the sound of her gum popping in the backseat. “Money at this point. We’re making almost two years salary compared to what we made with West.”
Kat let out a long whistle at that.
“But,” Cher added, “that makes the whole production team feel like they can treat us all like they own us. They work us like horses. I can’t believe they gave us this weekend off.”
“I’m so glad they did!” Kat said, smiling as she pulled her wind whipped hair out of her face.
“It’s going to be six long months,” Cher said as she let out a stream of breath.
“Then what?” Kat asked. “Any plans?”
“I’m going to go back to teaching. The Vegas residency ends just in time for summer. I can start dusting off my resumé. I miss it, and I think I need some stability in my life, and move back to L.A.,” Cher said.
Kat saw the peace that washed over her friend’s face and thought that might be just what she needed. “Good for you, Cher, they need good teachers. What about you, Lyd?” Kat yelled over the wind.
“Audiobooks!” Lydia yelled proudly.
“What about them?”
“She’s been recording them,” Cher supplied.
Kat wrinkled her nose in surprise. “You don’t even read.”
“I do when they’re naughty,” Lydia said in her deep sultry voice before bursting into laughter. Kat couldn’t help it and laughed too.
“Seriously, you’re recording smutty audiobooks?”
“I did one for a friend as a favor, and they loved it. Now I’ve done a few and, apparently, I have the perfect voice for it. After the residency, I’m going to really devote myself to it.”
“Wow,” Kat said, truly happy for her friends. They seemed to be happy and to have found their footing. Even someone as listless as Lydia had found something she enjoyed and that she was good at.
Cher pulled onto Herondo Street and they crawled their way to their hotel on the beach. It wasn’t every day they enjoyed a girls’ weekend, so they had gone all-out with a beachside hotel on Redondo Beach.
“What about you, Kat?”
Kat worried her bottom lip. “Can we talk about me later, like after a few margaritas?”
Lydia leaned forward from her seat in the back, her head popping up between Kat and Cher. “No, girl, we’re doing this conversation now so we can have fun the rest of the weekend.”
Fair point.
“Ugh, fine. There isn’t much to say. What do you want to know?”
“You disappeared for three months and said nothing more than not to worry about you and not to give West your new number. So maybe start, I don’t know . . . with any of that!” Cher said.
“I had to figure some things out,” Kat began.
“And did you?” Lydia asked.
Kat looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, searching her brain for answers that never came.
“Yes and no,” she breathed.
“What does that mean?” Cher asked. “You know we”re just trying to help you, Kat. We want you to be happy,” she added when she saw Kat slump farther down the seat.
Kat tilted her head back, looking out at the ocean ahead of them as it came more into view. “I had this vision when I was with my grandma. I was making music on the beach. I thought that was my calling, so I went to Bali. I thought that was what I was supposed to do.”
“That’s great, Kat!” Lydia said. “So you wrote a bunch of music?”
Kat gave a humorless laugh. “No, I wrote like a song.”
“So, what did you do there for two months?” Cher asked.
Kat shrugged. “I did a lot of meditating, listening to nature, reading. I feel like I’ve reestablished a connection with nature that I haven’t had in a long time.”
Both Lydia and Cher gave her a strange look, as if they weren’t quite sure what to make of her.
“I promise I’m still a city girl, but there is a place for both in my heart,” Kat said. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I always thought it would be to write my own albums and become a recording artist, but then I met a Balinese girl who was way more talented than me. Her voice and sound were amazing. I think she could really break into the industry. I helped her refine a few of her songs.”
“That’s fantastic, Kat! And what if you’re calling is amplifying voices like yours or others left out of the conversation?” Cher asked.
“That would be great. How do I do that?” Kat asked, sighing as she leaned back against the seat.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything. He should be the one to . . .” Cher trailed off.
“Cher!” Lydia said in the backseat.
“Okay, well now I’m intrigued,” Kat said, sitting up straight, looking back and forth between her friends. “Spill!”
“West started his own label to produce his music.”
Kat sucked in a breath; he had actually done it. She couldn’t believe he had listened to her.
“He called me. He needed your number because he wants you to run the label, Kat. You choose the artists, you produce the albums—it’s yours. He did it for you, and, girl, it’s the most romantic gesture I’ve ever heard.”
Kat felt a tear slip from her eye. Already just the mention of West had her turning into a watering pot. She had left out that part of her trip to Bali. She had connected with nature, and then she had cried. She had read, and then she had cried. She had tried to write a song through her grief and then ended up crying. But she couldn’t come back, she had felt like a failure.
She had been convinced her vision was telling her she would write her album on the beach in Bali. But now maybe it had simply meant West was helping put her on her true path. To find exciting new artists who otherwise would have been overlooked by the big labels. Artists like Killo, who she had worked with in Bali.
“But he’s just giving it to me. I’ll still just be West’s arm candy who got his label because he fucks me,” Kat protested, knowing she shouldn’t care, but still worried what others would say about her only having the label because of West.
“Who fucking cares?” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “You know how shallow that world is. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. All that matters is you know you’re doing work you care about. And something tells me you’ll crush it. You always know the best new artists before the radio ever does, and you fixed half of West’s songs for the better. Especially that first album we were on.”
“Thanks, Lyd.” Kat wiped at her eyes.
“What are friends for? I still can’t believe you and West finally got together.” Lydia leaned forward again grinning. “So, what’s he like in bed?”
“Lydia!” both Kat and Cher yelled.
They all giggled as Cher pulled the car into the parking lot of their hotel. “He’d move the world for you, Kat. In fact, he’s already told the entire world he loves you, and the Weston Monroe I knew before we got on that yacht would never have done that. You did that. Your love did that.”
Kat nodded as she got out of the car.
Lydia bounded out of the back. “Okay, enough of this sentimental shit. Let’s have some fun this weekend while we’re all still wild and free, shall we?”
But Kat wasn’t free at all. Her heart belonged to one man for the rest of forever.
It had taken West a couple of weeks after his father’s big revelation to pull himself out of his stupor, but once he finally did, he got to work. He had thought long and hard about his father’s words. What could he do for Kat without actually doing it for her? He still didn’t have a clue, but he knew what he could do for himself: he wanted to find musicians like him or even more outside the box than him. She had inspired him, had planted a seed on the island, and over time, it had grown into an idea he truly saw as his reality.
Over the past two months, he had called together his sound engineers, producers, and musicians, along with a construction crew. They had turned his pool house into a state of the art recording studio where he would not only record his own music but also take on his own indie artists. Artists of color, women, and various backgrounds who weren’t usually seen in their respective genres; he wanted to give them a platform to be seen. Musicians like Kat, with their own unique voices that weren’t made for the mainstream but still had music worth sharing with the world, even if they wouldn’t make him millions of dollars.
By day he and his crew, whom he had stolen from his former label, worked on building the studio, and by night he started working on his first independent album. Songs that were completely written by him, with no label interference. Songs inspired by his love for Kat, and the absolute heartbreak of losing her.
She had been right: the music was in him. It wasn’t his father that had ruined it for him, but the grueling schedules and stipulations the label had put on him. Now he was free to do as he pleased, to make the music he wanted. He felt free. The only thing missing was Kat.
The sound engineers were out in the studio putting the finishing touches on the soundboard when his new administrative assistant came up to the house.
“You have an appointment today, sir. They’re waiting in the studio.”
“Please, just West,” he reminded the kid for the thousandth time. He was the younger brother of Reggie and was just happy to have a job.
The kid opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it. West waited, but the kid said nothing. “And . . . what do they want?” he prompted.
“Oh, they’re here to audition to be one of our first artists. My brother says you’ll really like this one.” The kid’s eyes sparkled with laughter, and West wondered what Reggie was up to.
West strode across his backyard to the recording studio. The reception was empty, which was strange. He’d thought the musician would wait in there. He walked into the master control room to see Reggie and the sound engineers hooking up some speakers.
“Where are they?” West asked.
Reggie angled his head to the live room, and West peered through the glass and saw the figure of a woman. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something about her was familiar.
He saw long, dark hair flowing down her back. She was sitting at the piano, and her fingers graced the keys. The sound was off in the booth and he couldn’t hear her, but he hoped to god it was her.
“Leave,” he barked, as he left the room and rounded the corner, practically breaking down the door to get to her.
Her head snapped up at the noise, their eyes locking as she saw him burst through the door, and his heart sank. It wasn’t Kat, but a different woman whose voice was indeed gorgeous. She stopped playing and stood from the piano.
“Hi, Mr. Monroe. I’m Killo.” She offered her hand and West shook it, still in a daze. His heart was breaking again after having his hopes dashed.
“Ah . . . hi, Killo,” he forced out. He cleared his throat. “You have a great voice. Where are you from?”
“Bali.”
Bali? Something seemed off. His senses told him something was supposed to happen. He just couldn’t figure out what.
“Thanks, Killo. You can meet me in the lobby.” He heard Reggie’s voice through the system, and he watched as Killo gave a nod and walked from the live room.
Such a strange encounter.
She had played beautifully, but he hadn’t heard enough to make any kind of decision. Maybe Reggie had listened to more already.
“What did you think?” he heard over the system. West looked through the glass into the control room and almost fell over because there she was. Kat was standing in his recording studio after months of being apart, and she looked prettier than ever. Her hair was down and flowing all around her, while her jeans hugged her perfect curves.
He had waffled between getting on a flight to Iowa and drinking himself into oblivion every single day. He’d even called Cher to see how Kat was, only to discover she had gone back to Bali. And now the girl playing the piano in his studio made more sense.
He almost ripped off the door as he flew around the corner into the control room, his heart in the pit of his stomach. He stopped dead in his tracks as her nearness assailed him.
“Hi, West,” she said, as she dipped her head, not looking him in the eye. He watched her hand stroke the controls on the panel and wished it was him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, standing tall. “Hi? You disappear for months and that’s all you got?”
She frowned, her long eyelashes casting a shadow over her downcast eyes. “I deserve that.”
He was by her side in two swift steps, the warmth of his breath on her skin. “No, you don’t. I’m just surprised to see you.”
Her head tilted up at him. “Good surprised?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
She backed away, walking around the control room, her arms outstretched. “This is impressive. You did it.”
“You know that movie Field of Dreams . . .?”
She nodded, a slow smile building on her face. “I am from Iowa.”
He gestured to the studio. “I built it for you. You pushed me to see where I fit into this industry. Where I could do something worthwhile. You were right. It’s time I made music for myself again, and bring artists along with me who are going to make authentic music. Artists who are unique and stand for something more.”
She gave a slight chuckle. “‘If you build it, they will come.’ So, I’m the ghost in this situation then?”
West took a step closer to her but not close enough to scare her away. “Kat, this is your dream, and my dream is to make you happy. I realized that. I just want to keep making my music. Sure, I love being able to give a platform to voices who aren’t always given one, but you are passionate about this work. I think you should be running things around here, not me. I made this for both of us, but it’s mostly for you.
Kat looked around the space, her eyes wide. “I don’t know the first thing about running a label.”
Like a flash, he had her in his arms. He couldn’t believe she was here, the feel of her more intoxicating than any drink. “Then you’ll learn.”
West smiled as Kat gave him an annoyed look, apparently not happy to have her own words thrown back at her.
“How many songs did you finish in Bali?” he asked.
“One,” she said, ducking her head. “That’s why I brought Killo. She and I refined many of her songs. West, she’s amazing, and I think you should sign her.”
He rubbed her back, pulling her in. “No. You’re going to sign her. I want to do this, but I want to do it with you. This is your idea, your dream. I’m just here to help you fulfill it. That’s why I asked Cher for your number. I needed to talk to you, to beg you . . . no, to ask you to do this with me. But she wouldn’t give it to me, so I’m glad Field of Dreams was right.”
Kat laughed out loud at that. “You’re so corny.”
“Shit, after what you put me through, I get to be,” West said with a grin.
“We do this together. As partners?”
West held out his hand and she shook it. “Partners,” he agreed.
“The whole acting thing, I don’t care anymore if that’s what you decide to do.”
“I’m not doing it. The IRS is combing through Declan and Luke’s funds, and I’ll get some money back. I’m not an actor, I’m a musician. You were right. I was scared that I had failed and would fail again, but sometimes you have to get back up and try again. You made me see that because, babe, I love you more than words can even say. These past few months I haven’t functioned without you. You own me body and soul, and I can promise you, forever together isn’t long enough for me.”
A tear slipped out of her eye, and he wiped it away with the tip of his finger. “Don’t cry.”
Kat let out a little laugh. “I can’t help it. You inspired me to embrace who I was. You’re giving me a record label to give even more people a voice.” She bit her lip, dipping her head.
“West, I . . . I . . . I don’t deserve you. You bared yourself to me, and to . . . everyone. And I ran away, I’m so sorry.”
West arms grew heavy at his sides as he watched her throat work to swallow. There were still three little words she hadn’t said to him, words he needed to hear.
She twisted the turquoise bracelet on her wrist, the one her mother said was for protection. “When I went back to Bali,” she started, “there was this day it rained, and I watched as the raindrops hit the ocean. It made me think of you and me, as if we always had just been hanging out on the same cloud, and then we were finally released and landed in the ocean as two infinitesimal little drops separated by the waves. But then we somehow found our way to each other before being torn apart again, and yet we would always float back together, forever destined to come back to one another.”
Leave it to Kat to think in terms of the elements. “You’re not making much sense.”
She smiled. “I love you, West. You’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you. It just took us becoming two drops in the ocean for us to figure it out.”
She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and kissed him. The heart that West thought had shriveled up and died beat again. She loved him. She was in his arms, and he wasn’t dreaming.
“I love you, Kat,” he said between kisses as he carried her to the couch in the studio. He laid her down, ripping her shirt over her head. “You are not allowed to leave me again.”
She giggled as he kissed her neck. “I’m not going anywhere, Thomas Weston Monroe. I love you more than words.”
With that, he had her clothes off quicker than a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. They christened the new control room couch, just the first of many pieces of furniture to be used for their lovemaking over the years.