Page 87 of The Ballad of Us
“Never,” I promise, and I mean it.
As I sit in the studio, surrounded by our closest friends, who've become like family, with Leslie standing guard like an elegant bouncer and Duke pressed against my leg for comfort, I realize that the paparazzi were wrong about one thing.
I'm not the woman who saved Gray Garrison.
We saved each other.
Leslie offers to escort me home amid all the chaos still lingering on Main Street. We leave the Belvedere Street Studio and head to my apartment, where I can sit in my favorite chair and mull over everything that’s happened to shake my world today. Even through the chaos, I continue to hope that peace and endless possibilities might still be within our reach. My resolve begins to outweigh uncertainty. Whether or not love and strength can shield us from a world that refuses to look away, I know one thing for certain—whatever comes next, we will face it together.
Twenty-Eight
GRAY
The conference call with Marcus and the label executives begins with Marcus jumping straight into the financial stakes. “Gentlemen, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to capitalize on our album's highly anticipated release. We're discussing not only an opportunity for unprecedented growth but also the substantial risks that come with it.”
I'm sitting in our studio, the rest of the band scattered around me, their expressions ranging from eager anticipation to cautious skepticism. Zep is tapping his foot impatiently, wondering aloud if we are truly ready for such a big endeavor. Andrew, ever cautious, is fully committed but stresses the importance of managing this wisely, especially with my recovery journey in mind. Wyatt, contemplating deeply, acknowledges the enormous pressure but also recognizes the incredible chance for the band to expand.
Marcus's voice booms through the speaker, filled with the manic energy that once sent me to find relief at the bottom of a bottle, as the mixed emotions swirl around the room. “You're sitting on a goldmine. The offers available right now would make your head spin. Madison Square Garden, the Hollywood Bowl, and international festivals are chomping at the bit to book you. We have to strike now.”
Andrew leans forward. “So, what's the proposal, Marcus?”
“Eight months, forty-five cities. Starts in three weeks. We're calling it the 'Resurrection Tour.’ We'll play major cities like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Miami. The tour is expected to generate around $150 million, based on ticket and merchandise sales. The contract guarantees a seven-figure payment, with more bonuses if we hit streaming and merch goals.”
The word 'Resurrection' slices through me. It’s a bitter reminder of the person and choices I clawed my way back from. My throat tightens, air thins, and I'm dragged to the morning after Rhea left, when I was alone and crumbling. The suggestion that my recovery is now a brand hook, exploited for ticket sales, feels like a huge violation. Dread coils inside me. Am I just a story for them? The shadow of relapse isn’t gone. It’s always going to lurk just beneath this shiny offer, waiting for the perfect opportunity to comfort me in ways I can’t go back to.
“The money is insane. We're talking about seven figures guaranteed, plus additional bonuses for merchandising and streaming. This is generational wealth, boys,” Marcus continues.
Zep and Wyatt exchange glances. I can see the temptation in their eyes. After years of incredible success, this is a significantly higher payday that could set them up for life.
“Eight months is a long time, and three weeks isn't much notice.” I waver, with everything here at risk of disappearing forever. Rhea is at risk of flying away again.
“That's the music business, Gray. Opportunity doesn’t wait.” Marcus is relentless.
“What about a smaller, regional tour?” Andrew asks.
Marcus laughs, sharp and dismissive. “Nobody pays top dollar for regional tours. It's all or nothing. Venues are holding dates, so I need an answer by the end of business tomorrow.”
I hesitate. “Any flexibility?”
Marcus fires back, “It's full commitment only.”
After he hangs up, the silence in the studio is deafening. Everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to say something, but guilt and anxiety swirl inside me, sharper than ever.
A wave of emotions washes over me. The immense remorse over dragging her into my chaos swells inside. The protectiveness I feel towards her stems from the fact that she lifts me up, gives me so much strength and love, and my eternal gratefulness is soul-deep that she's at my side. Her hurt expression lingers in my mind, fueling my determination to protect what we have and how far we’ve come together.
Rhea had said quietly, “I never expected to love a celebrity until I met you three years ago. We’ll figure this out.” Her words anchor me, but I feel the weight of my obligations and the dread of disappointing both her and the band.
The paparazzi invasion over the past week has been relentless. They've turned our peaceful village into a circus, camping outside Mountain Mornings, following Rhea to the grocery store, shouting questions about whether she's the reason I got sober… questions they have no business asking. Yesterday, a photographer scared Duke so badly that he wouldn't leave Rhea's apartment for hours. I know this is wearing on Rhea, and it hurts to see the stress in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. Last night, as we sat on the porch, I asked her how she was holding up. She commented that she was okay, but I feel like she was holding back for my sake.
“It's also life-ending money if it kills Gray's sobriety,” Parker says.
“Not saying we should, just that we consider it,” Cody counters, but it still feels like pressure.
“There's nothing to consider,” Parker says, scanning the room.
Zep throws his hands up. “What about us? We all have a stake here. How can we support Gray and each other?”
Wyatt nods. “Yeah, Parker's right. We need ways to keep Gray feeling in control on the road.”
