Page 22 of Until the End

Gia gives me a look that says I’m being purposefully obtuse. She might have a point. I didn’t want to analyze Carson’s behavior in case I was wrong. It’s not like my judgment has a great track record at this point. But if I’m honest with myself, he’s obviously being more than a friend.

“How long has he had feelings for me?”

Lottie folds her lips between her teeth. “I think that’s a conversation you should have with him yourself.”

I scrunch my nose. “That sounds awful. How about you two just tell me?”

Gia rolls her eyes. “No. You can put your big girl panties on and do it yourself.”

I pout. “You’re mean. Give me another marg. I don’t wanna do mature things tonight.”

Gia laughs as she grabs the pitcher. “That’s a plan I can get behind.”

Chapter 13

Goose—

Tell me what that douche canoe said to you.

And don’t tell me to forget about it. He made you cry.

Actually, you don’t have to tell me what he said. I’ll punch him in the face anyway. He deserves it regardless of whatever he did. Just because he’s on the football team doesn’t give him the right to hurt your feelings.

Nobody gets to make you cry. Period.

Find me after school. We’ll go get ice cream at Jones’s.

—Duck

Chapter 14

Ginny

Piano notes float through my studio, a haunting melody of low tones with a whisper of hope woven into the background. Emotion bleeds out of me as I play. It’s cathartic as much as it’s healing. I barely acknowledge my music producer on the other end of our video call.

When I realized I had enough songs written to have the makings of an album, I called Henry to share them. He worked on the last album with me and was instrumental in making it go platinum. It was a collaborative effort, unlike my first album. I wrote the songs but had no say in which ones actually went on the album or how they sounded. It was a learning experience, to say the least.

I refused to record again unless I had the creative freedom to make my albums what I wanted. The label reluctantly agreed, but they had to eat their words when the whole album hit instead of only a couple of the songs they’d chosen.

As the music trails off, all I’m met with is silence. “Henry?” I crack my eyes open, hesitant to see his face. If there’s anything less than awe, I might cry. My whole soul went into writing that song.

His megawatt smile tells me everything I need to know. “Jesus, Ginny. What’s in the water out there?”

I snort. “I think it’s more the distance from everything else that’s doing the trick.”

Henry tilts his head in acknowledgment. The thing I love most about my shaggy-blond-haired surfer-boy producer is how little he cares about my celebrity status. He’s worked with people both more and less famous than me. There’s never been a moment when he hasn’t been professional. He’s become a friend and someone I feel like I can trust with my creative process.

“Well, whatever it is, this might be your best album yet. I can’t wait to start working on it.”

“I’ve got a couple of other songs percolating right now, but they’re not ready yet.”

“This is a good start. Can I tell the higher-ups you’re finally working on something?” He smirks.

“Yeah, go ahead. I gotta find a new manager before I sign anything, though.”

“Understood. I’ll let them know.”

We talk for a while longer, working through any kinks I’m having with my songs. Sometimes, having him on the other side of a call is all I need to figure out a melody or a lyric. Singing to someone changes how I hear the song, which allows me to rethink the arrangement. Henry is talented enough to know when I need help and when I can work it out on my own.

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