Page 61 of One More Song

Tina shakes her head. “No. I’m trying to be a voice of reason.”

I turn to look at her. She is a no-nonsense woman in her early fifties, in a modest suit and blunt bob. She is the best entertainment lawyer money can buy and I trust her.

But that doesn’t mean I want to hear what she has to say.

“Let me guess, you talked with Synn?”

Tina nods. “I did.”

I snort. “What did he say? My cock makes all my decisions? That I’m ruining everything he built?”

“No. He said that this new album is going to be the best thing you guys have ever recorded. That the songs have a deeper, more raw edge and that your fans are going to fall flat on their faces when they hear it. He said that maybe everything really does happen for a reason because all the shit you put everyone through, resulted in twelve songs that are all going to hit the charts.”

“He really said that?”

Tina nods as the town car pulls up to Ember’s house. “Look, you want my advice?”

I nod, needing her clarity, because from where I’m sitting everything is a fog.

“Tell this woman, whoever she is, goodbye. Then go to L.A. and do your job. If it’s meant to be, she’ll be here when the album is done, waiting.”

I swallow. “And what if she doesn’t want me to come back?”

“Then the price you’ve paid for your best music to date, is a broken heart.”

* * *

I step into Ember’s house, but it’s empty. The guys are already at the private airport, waiting on the plane. There isn’t time for a long goodbye.

Part of me doesn’t want to go. Doesn’t want to take Tina’s advice.

But another part of me knows she is absolutely right. Maryll will make my life a living hell if I break my contract. And I may have screwed the guys over before, but dropping them now would mean completely destroying any hope of a friendship. And they are more than friends, they are family.

I can’t do this to them.

But damn, it hurts.

The floorboards of the hundred-year-old house creak, there is a sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies in the air. Our music equipment has already been packed and shipped. The living room where we spent the last month making music feels empty. And my heart tightens, not ready to let go.

Upstairs, I shove my clothes in my duffel, put my journals in my messenger bag. But first I open the journal up and flip to the song that I wrote for her. For us. I rip it out, and fold it up, putting it in my pocket. Then I double check that I’m not leaving anything behind. Each step I take is heavy, and I set my bags in the foyer, wanting Ember and Cadence to walk back in the door before I have to go.

Tina is waiting, the town car is idling. I know I don’t have much time. Heading down the hall, I knock on Ember’s bedroom door. She’s not here, but it pushes open. I step inside, breathing her in. Hating the fact that something I want is still out of reach.

Her.

A dark green fern sits on her desk, a pile of sketches beside it. Wood shavings rest beside a sharpener, a mason jar of colored pencils filled to the brim. My fingers run over the drawings, and I take one, half-finished. Knowing I’m stealing but needing a piece of her with me when I go. I can’t bear to leave without any tangible proof of her.

Blinking away tears, I wonder when I became such a goddamn sap. But then knowing, without a doubt - it was when I fell for her.

I fell hard. And so damn fast.

Outside, I hear a noise, and I slip out of her room. Through the kitchen window, I see her and Cadence laughing. They’re on their knees digging a hole in the grass, a small tree beside them, preparing to plant it.

Part of me wants to go out there, say I’m sorry, pull them close. Never let them go.

The other part of me knows that Dusky, Saint, and Synn are waiting for me.

My family.

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