Page 21 of Christmas Music
“He’ll be fine,” she said, cutting him off. “We just need to be able to buy him the right treatment, is all.”
I felt a tear slip down my cheek at that statement, feeling her desperation down to the bone. And I cursed a country whose medical insurance didn’t care for people like Mr. Wheating. Good, hardworking people who got sick and needed support.
People who needed a hero when they could no longer play hero themselves.
“What if the ranch included Connor?” she asked suddenly. “And us. What if we all stayed on as, I don’t know, consultants?”
There was a considering pause while the man in the suit thought about that. “It’s possible,” he finally said. “It might just work. It would mean you continue to work, though.”
“I’ll do it,” she replied immediately. “And so will Connor.”
I drew back at that, my eyes wide at the contract she was willing to sign. She was selling Connor’s future to pay for her husband’s current treatment. Forcing him to stay here and run the ranch when he wanted to be out there on the road, performing.
And he’d do it. I knew without a doubt that he would. His dad needed a hero, and if someone gave Connor a way to be that hero…
He wouldn’t think twice.
I headed for the studio in the basement, having heard quiet enough and feeling… okay, onlyslightlyashamed of having eavesdropped. Against all odds, I’d come to care for Connor in my time here, and I didn’t feel bad about trying to figure out it what was going with his family.
I didn’t.
I did, however, mean to do something about it.
I slid into the studio to find Connor himself sitting there, playing a guitar.
“Oh,” I said. “Hi.”
Brilliant, Liv, I thought. What a lead-in.
He glanced up, his eyes somehow dull and lifeless, and I realized that though I’d thought he didn’t know about the meeting, he must. When he saw me, though, those eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing here?”
Okay, not the reception I was expecting. “I, uh—”
“Came to snoop?”
“No! I came to see about the studio. I need to finish a song and so do you, and we’re running out of time. Two days left and we have to perform. Areyouready? Because I know I’m not.”
His face fell again, and I realized that though he might. Not be ready, he also wasn’t willing to talk to me about it.
“Go away, Olivia,” he said. “I need to talk to my mom, and I don’t have time to worry about you as well.”
I felt my heart crack right down the center, for reasons I didn’t truly understand, and then felt my knees start to buckle. I’d come here so positive we could work together, so sure that it was the right thing, that hearing him send me away…
It made no sense.
And yet it did. He had something going on with his family that I didn’t understand. Something I couldn’t truly sympathize with. And though I was throwing myself at him, practically forcing him to accept me, he was evidently incapable of—or unwilling to—accept help.
“Fine,” I said, keeping my voice as cold and hard as possible. “I came here thinking I could help, but if that’s how you feel about it…”
I spotted a demo reel on the table in front of him—the recording we’d done together—and walked over and grabbed it. It wasn’t mine to take, not really, but it represented the best thing I’d ever done, and if he wasn’t going to use it, I would.
I’d just have to write my own lyrics so it was more mine than his. I could do that.
“I came here to suggest that we work together,” I said quietly. “I wanted to help you win that contest. But if you don’t even have time to talk to me, I guess I’ll just take my music and go home. Good luck.”
I turned and left, hating that I was leaving and yet so furious that I couldn’t imagine trying to stay.
