Page 49 of To Belong Together
“Kennedy.”
“Like the president?”
John glanced to Tim, who shrugged, looking smug.
Instead of replying, John redirected her attention by introducing the dogs.
Isabella, Trigger, and Camo settled in the living room while Tim and John went to the kitchen. John grabbed two waters from the fridge and extended one to Tim.
“Got something stronger?”
Smirking, John switched the water for a soda.
Tim rolled his eyes and took the can. “I should’ve known you’d have nothing to take the edge off.”
“Off what?”
The muscles on Tim’s jaw flexed as he shook his head. “So, Gannon’s serious about this girl.”
“You saw the ring.”
Tim popped open the can. “You think it’ll last?”
“Yes.”
Tim scoffed. “Like anyone knows how anything’s going to turn out, least of all a marriage.” All that remained of the man’s three-month marriage were his daughter and bitterness.
“How old is Isabella?”
“Thirteen, but she’s been insisting on rounding up since her half birthday.”
“When was that?”
“A month ago.” The tendons working on the corner of Tim’s jaw meant he’d given all the information he would.
Isabella could’ve given him a hard time about her age over the phone, but Tim’s tense manner and her presence here suggested that something more was going on. Something in Tim’s situation had changed, and whatever it was, the man wasn’t happy about it.
“Anyway.” Tim drew a breath. “To hear it in LA, you’ll never drum again because of a brain injury. Pair that with the band up and moving out of state, and people think you guys want out.”
People and their wild imaginations. John rubbed his face. “We’ve got new songs, and we’ve always taken a year off between major tours. Who cares where we do that?”
“If you were running around LA, they’d see for themselves you’re not brain dead and neither is Awestruck. The way it is, we have to show them.” Tim eyed him disapprovingly. “You haven’t been cooperative with Lina.”
He’d never liked posting on social media. Gannon had posted everything people needed to know and then some, so John had avoided Awestruck’s social media manager, Lina. “If I post more, you’ll leave?”
“Nice try. We’re putting together a show at the fairgrounds.”
John lifted the cast. “Not for seven more weeks. Doctor’s orders.”
“How much are you willing to throw away on that?”
“It’s two months.” Surely that wasn’t too much to ask after all he’d given to the band this last decade.
“The longer we let it go, the deeper the hole we’ll have to dig out of. Record studios are already sniffing around, figuring out how much they’re going to offer to sign you guys when your contract expires. If they think you’ve lost the will—or the talent—to perform, they’re not going to come through with the amount you deserve. You posting on social media or even doing interviews won’t help us prove that you’ve still got it. Obviously, we can’t risk any further damage to your arm, so you’ll have to figure out one-armed drumming. Unless you want to fake it, and we can roll a tape.”
John groaned.
“That’s what I thought.” Tim took another swig of pop, worked his mouth as if he’d swallowed cough medicine, and twirled his keys in his hand. “You have anything to eat around here?”
