Page 65 of Home Coming

Besides, the pouring of lyrics out of her brain and onto the page not only kept her busy and helped the hours pass, it was cathartic. But sharing her pain with the world through an album? That concept was scary. And she had a feeling this phone call from Xander had something to do with that exactly.

“And why are you asking?” she asked. “What’s up?”

“What would you say if I told you I can get you on a concert tour?”

“A what? Are you kidding? I have one song recorded and like five more of questionable quality written.”

“Five songs? Bailey, that’s great! Five plus the first one gives us six. I’m told we should aim for ten tracks for an album. That’s only four more. You can do it. I have faith in you. What’s your time estimate to complete those last four?”

He still wasn’t getting it. The guy was an entertainment lawyer at heart who’d never understand that writing legal contracts was nothing like creating a love—or even an anti-love—song.

But he was right. Things were moving along fast in the writing arena and she could have those songs done quickly. That wasn’t her only problem with his plan.

“Xander, I’m not a singer.” Yeah, she could play almost any instrument passably, but that didn’t make her a vocalist.

“You are,” he argued.

“That’s not what you said six months ago,” she reminded him.

“I was wrong.”

“Excuse me?” She raised her brows. Never in all the time she’d known him had he ever admitted to being wrong about anything. “Who is this and what have you done with Xander?”

“Ha, ha. I don’t admit that often so take it and be grateful. I was wrong. You are a singer. An amazing one. And more important than that, the internet loves you. Strike—”

“While the iron is hot,” she finished his sentence for him. “I know. You say that all the time.”

“Because it’s true.”

She hated to admit it but he was probably right.

“Where would I go on this concert tour? And who would I be with? I wouldn’t be alone, of course. I’d be like the warm-up act for somebody bigger, right?” Or possibly the warm-up for the warm-up.

“This is the best part. You’re not going to believe it but you are going to die when you hear this.”

“All right. I’m waiting.”

“It’s a tour with all the young female greats. Olivia, Lana, Billie and you.”

“As in Rodrigo, Del Rey, and Eilish?” she choked out.

“And you,” he confirmed. “They’re calling it the Broken Hearts or Heartbreak Tour or something like that and they want you on it.”

“The Heartbreak Tour? Xander, I don’t think—”

“It starts at the Staples Center in Los Angeles,” Xander continued, ignoring her attempted protest. “Then San Francisco, Detroit, Nashville, then back east to Philadelphia. It ends at the Garden.”

The Garden. As in Madison Square Garden? Wow.

He was right. She didn’t believe it. And when she started to wrap her head around it, she did almost die. Of stage fright and she wasn’t even on a stage.

“So, I’ll tell them you’re on board and you just work on finishing those songs.”

She opened her mouth and drew in a breath.

Imposter syndrome had her trying to figure out how to tell Xander no. She was definitely not on board. That she didn’t even know if she had four more songs in her and there was a good chance the five she’d already written might suck.

Although between the list of titles and the snippets of ideas for lines and lyrics, she suspected the next four songs were going to flow just like the first ones had. And if they sucked, it would be up to Xander to get her out of the tour. Not her problem.

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