Page 23 of Catastrophically Yours
"Isn't it?" Chris gestured around the apartment again. "Look at this place, Drew. When's the last time you wrote a song? Really wrote one, from the heart?"
The question hit harder than she expected. It was true that she'd been struggling with new material lately. But that wasn't because of Piper—was it? Life here was comfortable, stable. Maybe too stable for someone whose art had always thrived on emotional intensity and uncertainty.
"She's not holding me back," Drew said, but even as the words left her mouth, she wondered if Chris might have a point.
A sound from across the room made them both turn. Pickle had emerged from wherever he'd been hiding, probably drawn by curiosity about the stranger's voice. But the moment Chris reached toward him with an automatic, dismissive gesture, Pickle's back arched. His fur stood on end, and he released a sharp hiss before retreating under Piper's desk chair.
"Still got that emotional support cat, I see," Chris muttered, wiping his hand on his jeans as if Pickle had actually made contact.
"His name is Pickle," Drew said, surprised by the edge in her own voice. "And he's a good judge of character."
Chris held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. I just never understood the whole therapy pet thing." He paused, studying her face. "Though I guess living here, you're probably picking up all kinds of new... dependencies."
There it was again—that subtle suggestion that being here was changing her in ways that weren't necessarily good. That Piper's influence was somehow diminishing her instead of adding to who she was.
But that wasn't true, was it? Living here hadn't made her less creative—it had given her space to breathe. For the first time in years, she wasn't constantly stressed about rent or utilitiesor whether she'd have enough money for groceries. She'd been sleeping better, eating better, even helping organize a benefit concert that might actually make a difference in people's lives.
"Piper's been nothing but supportive," Drew said. "She's coming to the benefit concert tonight, and she's been helping me plan?—"
"Benefit concert?" Chris's eyebrows rose. "Drew, you're playing charity gigs while major labels are trying to sign you. Do you see the problem here?"
Heat flashed through her. "It's not just a charity gig. We're raising money for her mother's medical bills, and?—"
"Her mother's medical bills." Chris leaned back, his expression shifting to something that looked almost pitying. "Drew, listen to yourself. You're organizing fundraisers for people you barely know instead of focusing on your own career. This is exactly what I'm talking about."
The words stung because they echoed her own occasional doubts. Was she getting too comfortable? Too settled? Had she lost the hunger that used to drive her music?
Chris pulled out his phone, swiping through photos. "Remember this?" He held up the screen, showing pictures Drew recognized from their touring days. Late-night diners with sticky vinyl booths and fluorescent lighting. Tiny stages in dive bars where the audience consisted of three drunk regulars and a bartender who looked bored. Hotel rooms in different cities, cheap but full of possibility.
"Remember how that felt? The freedom? The adventure? Never knowing what city we'd wake up in or what crowd we'd play for that night?"
Drew did remember. She remembered the adrenaline rush of performing for strangers, the way applause felt like validation. She also remembered the constant uncertainty, never knowing if they'd make enough gas money to get to the next gig, living onconvenience store food and whatever free drinks venues would comp them.
Chris leaned closer, and suddenly the space between them felt charged with history and possibility. "I know this is a lot," he said, his voice softer now. "But think about what you're really choosing here, Drew. Think about whether you're staying because you love this life, or because you're afraid of the bigger one waiting for you."
The words hit like a physical blow. Fear. Was that what this was? Was her growing attachment to Piper, to this apartment, to the domestic routine they'd been building—was it all just elaborate self-sabotage disguised as contentment?
"The label needs an answer by tomorrow," Chris continued, gathering the contract papers with practiced efficiency. "But if you're really going to do this—if you're going to take your shot—you need to be ready to move fast. Pack tonight. Leave with me in the morning."
He stood, straightening his leather jacket and checking his watch with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he already knew what her answer would be.
"I need time to think," Drew said, but the words felt weak even to her own ears.
Chris paused at the door, manila envelope tucked under his arm. When he looked back at her, his expression was gentle but implacable.
"Don't think too long," he said. "Opportunities like this don't wait for anyone—not even someone as talented as you. And Drew?" He paused. "Whatever you decide, make sure you're choosing your life, not just avoiding it."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Drew alone with the lingering scent of expensive cologne and the weight of an impossible choice. Fifty thousand dollars. Three albums. Everything she'd dreamed of since she first picked upLuna and realized that music was the only language she'd ever spoken fluently.
From under the desk, Pickle emerged cautiously, as if checking to make sure the intruder was really gone. He padded over to Drew and sat at her feet, looking up at her with those knowing green eyes.
"What do you think, Pickle?" she whispered. "What would you do?"
But even as she asked the question, Drew realized the choice wasn't just between career paths. It was between the person she'd been—always chasing, always uncertain, always dependent on someone else's vision of her potential—and the person she'd started becoming here. Someone who organized benefit concerts, who helped solve other people's problems, who woke up every morning in a place that felt like home.
The question was whether that growth was worth more than everything she'd spent years working toward.
And whether she was brave enough to find out.
