Page 102 of Sing Your Secrets

“I’m kind of afraid he’s seeing something I’m not.” I swallow audibly. “Maybe I was too sure of myself. If I had what it takes, I probably would’ve been noticed by now.”

Petey takes a deep breath in and blows it out. “You know they tell you to have a thick skin in this industry.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Petey cackles, almost maniacally. “You don’t need thick skin…you need to be fucking bulletproof with blinders on.” Cupping his hands, he places them on either side of his temple, demonstrating his point. “Like those racehorses that only see the finish line.”

“What’s the finish line?”

He points directly at my chest across the bar. “That’s the thing, there is no finish line. You have to pursue music because you love it. Even though you know it won’t love you back. Mac warned me when I first started out that if there was anything else I could find happiness doing—literally anything that could fulfill me—I should do that instead because this path hurts like hell. I’ve been doing this for a decade and it feels like torture more often than not.”

“Sounds like I’m giving up at the right time,” I mumble.

Petey shakes his head. “If this is what you’re meant to do, walking away is worse than going through hell. Even if you don’t amount to what you hope, not trying hurts ten times worse.”

“So, my options are hurt a lot, or hurt a whole lot more?”

He laughs heartily. “Sounds about right.”

Petey’s phone rings from his pocket. He doesn’t check it, just silences it through his pocket. “That’s my ride, man.” When did he call for a ride? What time is it? Okay, how high am I? “Come by Mac’s this week. This time, I’ll be there. Reese will be there. Your DJ friend is helping Mac. You have a lot of people in your corner, Miles. You can do this, and when you can’t—lean on your friends.”

My shoulders rise and fall dramatically as I try to pull more air into my lungs. “He said my songs were shallow. He didn’t connect with them.”

Petey clamps one eye shut. “Mac’s dramatic when he wants to make a point. You shouldn’t—”

“No…it sucks because…I agree.” Still feeling parched, I grab another round of water bottles from beneath the bar. After sliding one to Petey, I untwist a cap and chug. “What makes a good R&B song?”

“Every great R&B artist I know sings about love. Finding it, losing it…making love,” Petey says with a shrug.

“That’s a given, but how do you make people connect?”

His phone buzzes again, but this time he ignores it. “You know why you probably favor Depth?”

“Why?”

“Because I was hella honest. At the time I was broke, hopeless, scared, and in love when I wrote that album. I was vulnerable and I didn’t hold anything back. I told everyone exactly what my life was like. My last few records were smoke and mirrors. Depth was the only album where I was really honest. I wrote about all the bullshit with my dad leaving, then my mom. I felt like my life was over before it started. I wrote about falling in love, and how scared I was to fail. That’s what makes a good album. Brutal honesty. Write about the life you have now, not about the one you wish you did.”

“It’s that simple?”

“It’s that simple, man. Be honest. Just…sing your secrets.”

My head is shaking from side to side, but my words don’t match. “Okay, I’ll try it.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon then.” Petey looks me up and down. “Wait, do you need a ride? You shouldn’t drive like this.”

I nod toward the stage. “I’m going to stay behind. Ride the high… See what happens.”

“All right,” he says, patting my shoulder. “Seriously don’t drive fucked up. Reese is a stickler about that. She’ll kick your ass.”

With that, he’s out the door and it slams heavily behind him. I wiggle my fingertips in front of my face, watching them blur in movement like a hallucinogenic dream.

What secrets do I have? And who would honestly want to hear them?

Taking Petey’s advice, I pull out my phone and call Reese.

“Hi,” I say with a sleepy tone. She immediately notices the difference in my voice.

“Are you? High?” I chuckle like an idiot instead of responding and I hear her growl in irritation. “Fucking Petey,” she grumbles, and I hear her shuffling in the background. “Don’t you dare touch your keys, Miles. It’s the same thing as driving drunk. I’m coming to get you.”

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