The possible consequences of tearing up that contract are hitting me hard, panic starting to edge in around the pleasant buzz of the beers I’ve consumed.
I step forward and lower my voice. “I need this, D. Things are going good with Jacob now but how long is that going to last? At least if I have music, I have something I can pour myself into, something that makes me feel like I still have a soul.”
His lips press together, and it’s almost painful to look into his eyes, so like mine. “Jera...”
“I’m never going to have a family,” I whisper. “I need this career.”
His face hardens. “Sex isn’t what’s standing between you and a family, Jera. You can be the best lay in the world and it doesn’t mean shit. God, if I thought that was really your problem, I’d take you back in your room right now and show you how wrong you are.”
My head snaps back. After all the time I’ve spent spilling my guts to him, I thought he understood. “Actually, Danny, I am painfully, humiliatingly clear on exactly what my fucking problem is.” Tears quiver at the edges of my vision.
“No, you aren’t. You think you’re cursed because dating didn’t work out in high school? Fuck high school. We were all a bunch of stupid kids back then, anyway.” Danny’s eyes flare. “Do the math. Andy left you a year and a half ago, you threw yourself into taking care of your grandma and then she died, too. None of that was because you fucked up, but you think everything is your fault and you couldn’t deal. So you cut everyone out except me and Jax, because we’re safe.”
He spits the words at me like an insult.
“And even that’s bullshit because before tonight, you’ve never had a real conversation with the guy. You pigeonhole him and make jokes when there’s nothing to joke about, and I’m sick of all the crap you do to keep him at a distance. Jax is part of your band, Jera, and that makes us your family, whether you want to have one or not. You don’t get to leave us.”
“I never wanted to!” I half-shriek, his face wavering through the tears I’m furious to be crying. “I never said that. And you don’t know shit about my problems.” Danny’s always known exactly who he was. His parents are way more demanding than mine, and yet he still doesn’t give a damn about impressing them or anyone else. I seriously doubt he’s ever had a problem between the sheets. “Have you been in a single serious relationship where sex wasn’t involved? Because if you haven’t, don’t you dare judge me.”
Danny’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble. “There are so many things you don’t know about the people around you. If you’d open your eyes once in a while, you’d realize that no one, and nothing, is as simple as you seem to think it is.” He shakes his head with a snap. “This was never about sex. It’s about the fact that you don’t trust anybody not to leave you.”
“Even if that were true, what does it matter?” My nails dig into my palms, my voice dropping to a furious hiss that scrapes my throat. “How do I fix that, Danny?”
He just blinks at me, like I’ve asked the stupidest question in the world. “You don’t.”
The patio door starts to slide open and Jax’s voice says, “Uh, is everything—”
I whirl away. I don’t want Jax to see me cry and it’s not because I’m trying to keep him at arm’s length, it’s because I’d like to keep at least a little dignity, damn it all.
“Give us a minute,” Danny bites off.
There’s a small hesitation, and then the door closes.
“Look at me,” he says, very quietly.
I don’t turn, but Danny moves closer and when he reaches for me, I swat him away. “Don’t you dare try to touch me after saying that shit to me.”
Faster than I knew he could move, he spins me and pulls me into his arms. My hands are caught between us and the harder I fight, the more solidly he holds me.
“Someday, Jera, you’ve got to trust someone, whether it’s this Jacob guy or just a fucking record company. If you’re never willing to risk anything, you’re going to be stuck in the same moment for the rest of your life.”
At some point, I must have stopped struggling, and he’s still holding me. He murmurs the words against my forehead and they lose none of their strength for his lack of volume. Instead, I feel like he’s tattooing them on my skin, ripping me open and dropping the ink inside so I can never forget what he said.
“Life has to be lived blind. You don’t get to know the answer before you ask the question.”
I drop my head until it rests on his collarbone, and he ducks his head so his chin hugs me into him a little bit more.
“You’re my best fucking friend, Jimi.” His voice goes rough and my hands tremble where they clasp his back. “Tonight, though? You’re acting a little crazy, and being sort of dumb. So I’m gonna go.”
He releases me and I let out a shaky, incredulous laugh, tears spilling onto my cheeks as fast as I can wipe them away. “What, you’re going to accuse me of having abandonment issues and then just ditch me? Thanks a lot, Daniel.”
He smiles, and for the first time in a long while, I notice he’s beautiful. As beautiful as Jax, actually, if darker. Quieter.
“Your issues have never applied to me, Jimi. And you know why.” He turns and with a little two-fingered wave, he’s gone.
I know what he’s trying to say, but it’s not the same at all. Danny’s not different from everyone else just because I trust him. He’s different because I don’t have to try to be anything for him. He just loves me.
Then again, he doesn’t have to sleep with me.
I sniff and turn to the kitchen counter. There’s an empty beer bottle, so I put it in the trash. Wring out the dishrag and hang it up. Then I brace my hands against the sink and start to cry. Big, ugly, racking sobs that probably carry right through the thin glass of the patio door. But I just can’t...stop.
I sink down to the floor, curling against the cabinet below the sink whose door never closes properly, and cry until I can barely breathe. For Jacob, because I don’t know how I can live up to what is in his eyes when he looks at me. For how amazing I felt onstage with my voice pouring through the microphone, and how grateful I was all those times Jax stood between me and the uncertain reception of our audience. For my dad, and how his dream slipped away just when he was trying to make it truly his own. For myself, and my future, because I have no clue what the hell it’s going to be.
When I finally quiet, I don’t know what time it is, but my eyes are sore and I’m painfully sober. I guess I should go put out the fire before I burn down the whole neighborhood. Jax will be long gone by now. He probably snuck out through the side yard so he could get clear of all the drama.
When I slide the door open, I blink to find him still there. He sits by the coals of the fire, elbows leaned onto his knees and an empty beer with a picked-off label dangling from his hands.
He clears his throat but doesn’t look up, leaving me the privacy of the dark. “I don’t know if that was because of something I said, but I want you to know I didn’t mean for you guys to fight.”
Fresh tears well up, even though I could have sworn I needed about three Aquafinas and a good night’s sleep before I could produce any more. I may be totally lost about what tomorrow will hold, but there’s one thing I can set right, and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to do it.
I go over and wrap my arms around my friend’s hunched shoulders, pressing a fierce kiss to his temple. “I want you to know you’re always on my list, Jackson Sterling,” I whisper. “I am never going to forget you, or leave you behind. No matter what happens.”
He looks over, surprised and maybe a little embarrassed. And then he stands up, and hugs me back.
Chapter 22: Leaping Blind
“Jera, this is Rob Righetti from Amp Records. How are things up there in Portland?”
My fingers squeeze my phone tighter as I turn my back on the ivy-draped bricks of one of the university buildings. “Oh good, they’re good. Um, nice to hear from you, Rob. What�
��s up?”
Jacob is supposed to meet me here in a few minutes for another one of his mystery dates. I was passing the time playing a game on my phone when Rob’s name flashed across the screen and I nearly had a heart attack. I’ve been dodging the record exec’s calls ever since Danny’s “trust talk” at our band bonfire, but I know I can’t stall forever, so this time I made myself answer.
“I’ll level with you,” Rob says. “My boss is all over my ass for me to close this deal. We’re eager to get you some studio time booked down here, and the lawyers on both sides seem satisfied with the last draft of the contract, but your manager tells me you have some reservations?”
I swallow. Dad said they’d never give me a straight answer, but it’s not like I’ll know if I don’t ask, right?
“I was...” I clear my throat. “It seemed like you guys had some specific ideas about our next album.” I pace a few steps down the sidewalk, managing a quick, tight smile for another passing student.
“And you’re worried it won’t come out sounding like your band, right?”
“Well, yeah.” I stop, and a laugh of relief escapes me. “A little bit.”
Rob chuckles along with me. “A common concern with new performers. But we chose you for your sound, Jera. You chose us for our knowledge of the industry, because we know what holes need to be filled in the markets, which trends are on the way up and which are already headed out. That’s important, but it’s not a dictatorship. It’s a collaboration.”
Excitement tingles in the back of my throat. “So we will have veto power over decisions about the album?”
“It’s your album. It’ll be your music.”
A slight frown creases my brow and I replay his wording through my head, trying to decide how to phrase a question that might get a more definite answer. Rob is the opposite of Jacob in that everything the exec says sounds like a line. I can never decide when he means it and when he’s just telling me what I want to hear.
“Look, Jera, you’re not a solo artist, so you already know a lot of the magic happens when your ideas come together with someone else’s. Within your band, between you and your sound tech, and between you and your label.” He pauses. “I think once you get into the studio with me and your new producer, you’ll be pleased with how we can enhance your style, keep those classic influences we all love so much and make sure there’s a place for you in today’s fast-changing music marketplace.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping.” Except that so far, none of Amp’s ideas have enhanced our style so much as obliterated it.
“You know, it’s not just our company who will want to be involved in the creative process.” He chuckles lightly. “I’m in A&R. The ‘R’ stands for repertoire. It’s our business to make sure you sound the best you possibly can, and every record company in the world runs like that.” Rob pauses. “I mean, you can always go independent, but I think you’re already well-acquainted with the struggles of trying to break into the music world with limited resources.”
I tip my head back to the sky and close my eyes, glad my dad’s not here so I don’t have to see the “I told you so” in his expression. “Yes. We’re well-acquainted with the limited resources lifestyle.” Rob laughs like it’s an inside joke between us. And in my head, all I hear is Danny.
If you’re never willing to risk anything, you’re going to be stuck in the same moment for the rest of your life.
I open my eyes and catch a glimpse of Jacob’s long-legged stride as he approaches. When our eyes meet, he smiles with the totally unabashed delight that always warms something in my chest, even right now when my body is as tight and brittle as an old rubber band.
“Just give me a few more days,” I say to Rob. “I’ll have a final answer soon.”
“Would you rather come down for a visit?” he asks. “The band can fly to our headquarters in San Francisco to finalize the contract, meet the team, see the studio... Plus, I’ve been auditioning some amazing keyboardists to collaborate with you guys. I’d love for you to come down and meet them so you can hear how great the future of The Red Letters is going to sound.”
Keyboardists. The word hits my stomach like a brick of week-old meatloaf. They haven’t listened to a thing I’ve said, have they?
“Wow, um...” A flare of anxiety tries to close my throat. “That’s a very generous offer. I’ll let you know, okay?”
Jacob arrives just as I’m hanging up the phone. He wraps an arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet and swinging me in an exuberant half circle before he sets me back down with a kiss to my forehead.
My muscles ache with the stress of hearing Rob confirm my suspicions, but I still find myself smiling because I can’t help it when Jacob’s around. I don’t want to spoil the mood by telling him about my phone call, so I tuck myself closer into his side and say, “Well, somebody’s having a good day.”
“Somebody has a date.”
I smile, rolling my eyes with the hint of a blush. “Jacob, you find a way to manufacture some date-like activity every time we have more than thirty-five free minutes in a row.” I haven’t even had time to worry if he cares that I’m not into baseball and cars, because he’s always distracting me with something spontaneous and adorable that we both like.
“Is this going to be another spreadsheet joke? Because if you didn’t think it was useful, you wouldn’t always be nagging me for your own copy.”
Jacob, in his infinitely nerdy splendor, made a spreadsheet of our respective schedules to show when we had free time at the same moment in the day. It gives him a near-supernatural ability to surprise me at all the right times, but he refuses to give me a peek at it, which seems unfair considering his schedule is even more packed than mine.
Part of me wonders what’s on his schedule that he’s hiding from me, and the other part of me thinks I’m an asshole for doubting the kind of guy who’s willing to utilize Microsoft Excel just so he can get more time with me.
I take a breath, determined to let the rest of my life disappear for at least the next hour. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your special mystery date? Is it going to involve an inflatable trout again?”
His forehead crinkles. “Not sure. It seems possible.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, that’s not ominous or anything.”
He ducks around me and takes my hand, sweeping me toward the art building. “We, Ms. McKnight, are going to an art show.”
Pausing, I glance down at my black canvas kilt, knee-high combat boots and tight plaid button-down, topped with a leather bomber jacket Danny outgrew back in junior high. “Um, should I have dressed up?”
Jacob dodges a glance at my legs. “Absolutely not.”
Ever since we got together, I’ve ditched Danny’s old concert shirts. I’m still wearing whatever I want, but I’ve started to skip over the baggy and concealing for things that make me feel more confident, because I don’t want to start hating my body again, the way I did after Andy left. The wardrobe change is more for me than for him, though I certainly don’t mind the way Jacob looks at me when I wear a skirt.
I elbow him, flushing happily. “Pervert.”
He brings our clasped hands up and nips at my thumb, then leaves a kiss on the back of my hand. “I prefer the term ‘20-20 vision.’ Anyway, it’s an art show for the seniors graduating this fall. A buddy of mine, Cody, is exhibiting. I thought you might like it.”
After that call to Rob, I’m not really in the mood to go out, but I can’t resist the glow of excitement in Jacob’s face. Besides, student art shows are free, and I suspect that part of the reason all our dates are so eclectic is because he can’t afford the more traditional dinner and a movie thing. There’s no way I’m going to make him feel bad about that by complaining about our options, even if an art show is the last place I want to be right now. I let him open the door for me, his fingers skimming over the curve at the small of my back as I step inside.
Jacob gets pulled aside as soon as we enter th
e small gallery, because on campus, he knows absolutely everyone. I smile at his friends, blushing when he introduces me as his girlfriend. But after a minute, I excuse myself and wander off toward the displays, leaving him to talk with the group of baseball players by the table of boxed wine and crackers. I’m a little too distracted for polite conversation right now.
I stop to examine a multi-media sculpture on a pedestal, squaring my shoulders to disguise the strange feeling in my chest. Each artist has their own little section and it’s a wild blend throughout the gallery of paintings, photography, sculpture, and things that sort of mix all the rest.
How many of these people will pursue a career in art, and how many will go on to other jobs? How many of them will never have another showing after they graduate?
If I say yes to Amp, it’s something I’ll never have to worry about again. Just one phone call and I’ll know the next stage I stand on won’t be in some tiny bar. The half-guilty allure of the thought is still twisting through my stomach when my eyes snag on the Artist’s Statement posted on the wall next to me. Each student has a short essay posted discussing their inspirations and creative role models, and they’re always my favorite part of the senior shows. Even when I don’t like the pieces themselves, I love hearing what drove their creation.
I skim-read the one by a painting of bridge supports, then move to the neighboring exhibit and scan the next statement, smiling. They’re mostly bullshit, a lot of words disguising the fact that they feel moved to make something, and the pieces they use are the ones that come first to their minds, the colors the ones their hands reach for over and over again.
It’s why people like us talk about a muse. When it’s good, it doesn’t feel like it’s you, making stuff up. It feels like something reaching through you and into the world beyond.
A Cruel Kind of Beautiful Page 19
