Faded (Faded Duet Book 1)

by Julie Johnson

  “Really?”

  He nods and walks over to the register. I watch in silence as he pulls out a short stack of bills and extends them toward me. When I make no move to take them, he sighs. “Come on, I don’t got all day.”

  “I’m not taking any money from you, Isaac.”

  “Don’t be high and mighty. Doesn’t suit you.”

  “But—”

  “This is standard severance. You earned it. You’re a good waitress and a hard worker. Take it before I change my damn mind.”

  My fingers close around the bills. I hate accepting charity, but between bus fare and at least one night in a motel, I need the money more than I’d like to admit.

  “Thank you, Isaac,” I whisper in a thick voice. “For the job, for the room, for everything. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

  “Ah hell.” He rubs the back of his neck, which is rapidly turning red. “It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing.”

  He gives me his sternest look. “You be careful, kid. It’s a mad world out there. And if you ever find yourself back in Nashville… you’ve got a job waiting for you here. Hope you know that.”

  I leave the same way I arrived, months ago — just a girl with a guitar, cut adrift once again. Only this time, I’m leaving behind a life I built for myself. A life I’ve grown to love. I’m so distracted by my misery, I don’t even realize I’m being followed as I make my way toward the bus terminal beneath the burning midday sunshine.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ryder

  My pen hovers over the contract.

  Sign, date, and initial.

  Lacey’s girly signature is already there, on the line beside mine. She turned the dot above her “i” into a goddamned heart. I doubt she even read the contract in full before flourishing her name on the paper.

  I can feel them all hovering a few feet away, on the other side of the conference room. Lacey, Becca, Chris, Clay. All waiting for me to hand over my artistic freedom with one scribble — in exchange for a hell of a lot of money. More than I’d ever anticipated, if I’m being honest.

  As Clay predicted, The Red Machine executives loved the showcase yesterday. They watched Lacey strut across the room in her tiny cut-off shorts with greed shining brightly in their eyes, already tallying the revenue she’ll pull in with a pop-country crossover album blasting from the speakers of every radio from Los Angeles to Miami. I dutifully sang backup and played my chords as some drummer I’ve never met before butchered Linc’s solo behind me.

  Welcome to the label.

  There’s a loud pop as Clay opens a bottle of champagne with a shower of foam.

  “A toast!” He starts filling glass flutes. “To Independence Day! And, of course, the newest artists at Red Machine Records.”

  “Hear, hear!” Becca giggles.

  “Lacey, we’d like to start building some buzz about you right off the bat, even before we start producing the album,” I hear Clay explaining. “Your social media presence is hugely important, as is interacting with the right people now that you’re here in LA. Who your friends are, where you hang out, what you wear… that’s just as important as the music. Maybe even more important, in this day and age.”

  What the fuck could be more important than the music? I think, but my partner simply nods — an empty blonde bobble-head, agreeing to every word that passes through Clay’s lips like gospel.

  “Don’t worry,” Becca jumps in. “I’ve already made sure you guys are on the list at a few of the best parties in town, tonight. You’ll be rubbing elbows with some of the brightest stars in Hollywood when the fireworks go off. Personally, I’d recommend going to Grayson Dunn’s barbecue over in Malibu. Everyone who matters will be there.”

  Everyone who matters.

  Who the hell talks like that?

  Lacey is squealing at such a high decibel, I’m surprised the windows don’t shatter. “Did you just say Grayson Dunn? The Grayson Dunn? People magazine’s Sexiest Man alive? Star of Break Even and Break Down?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Lacey sounds seconds away from a seizure. “We are so there!”

  “Great! It starts around dusk, rages all night. As soon as the contracts are signed, we’ll get you and Ryder into some new clothes that are more…” Becca pauses carefully. “In line with the brand we’re going for.”

  Lacey squeals again, only too happy to have her identity swapped out for a shiny new version bearing the Red Machine stamp of approval. I wonder what trendy getup they’ll try to get me to wear. Probably skinny jeans and a fucking fedora.

  Good luck with that, assholes.

  “Ryder, come on! What’s taking you so long?” Lacey sighs impatiently. “Hurry up, I want to go shopping.”

  My pen hits the paper, ink pooling at the tip. I watch the black blob spread for a moment, thinking about all those zeros at the end of my advance, all the things I could buy with that money…

  And the fact that the only thing I really want can’t be bought.

  I set down the pen, straighten to full height, and set my shoulders as I look from Clay to Lacey.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  Everyone goes still, champagne flutes frozen midway to their mouths. Chris actually stops typing into his phone and glances up.

  Clay blinks slowly, not comprehending. “Can’t do what, exactly?”

  “I can’t sign this contract.”

  “Excuse me?” He looks dumbfounded.

  “Thank you for your time, for flying me out here. For everything. I really appreciate it.”

  “Wait!” Clay calls after me. “Ryder, if this is about the advance, we can get you more money—”

  “It’s not about the money.” I stop in the threshold. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere else I have to be.”

  Someone else I have to see.

  As I walk out the door, a grin tugs at my mouth. A real goddamned grin, for the first time since I left Nashville. I should probably be feeling crushed beneath the magnitude of what I’m giving up… but as I make my way down a hallway lined with platinum records on the walls, the only thing I feel is free.

  “Ryder!” Lacey shrieks, running after me. She catches me just before I reach the elevator, her eyes flashing with absolute fury. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I told you. I’m leaving.”

  “Are you insane? Get back in that room and apologize to Clay!” she hisses, clamping onto my arm with her hot pink talons. “Go fix this, before they decide we’re not worth the effort and drop us from the label!”

  Clenching my teeth, I reach down and forcibly remove her nails from my skin. “Lacey… this whole thing was wrong, right from the start. We never should’ve come out here in the first place. Not without Aiden and Lincoln. We never should’ve split up the band. If you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Oh, cry me a fucking river! You and your bleeding heart are getting really boring.”

  “That’s your plan — insult me till I change my mind and agree to stay?” I scoff. “Let me know how that works out for you.”

  She glares at me. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “But I’d regret staying here with you far more.”

  “That’s because you’re not thinking clearly.”

  “My head’s never been clearer, actually.” I turn away from her and punch the button to call the elevator.

  A frustrated scream splits the air. “No one sane walks away from this kind of money, Ryder. No one.”

  “A few weeks ago, I might’ve agreed with you. Hell, a few days ago I might’ve agreed with you. But money isn’t everything, Lacey. It takes losing something you can’t buy to realize that.”

  “Do you realize how epically you’re fucking me over here?!” Her expression flickers and for the first time, I see fear beneath the furious facade.

  “I’m no
t trying to fuck you over. You can stay. You’ve already signed the contract. By all means, make an album with Red Machine. Fill your wardrobe with clothes they pick out, fill your social life with people they approve. I hope it makes you happy.”

  “They won’t keep me on the label without you! You write all my damn songs!”

  I shrug. “There are plenty of other songwriters in Los Angeles, Lacey. Find one.”

  “You can’t do this to me!” She screeches. “You can’t just screw me over because you miss your precious friends. You can’t give up everything because you’re pussy-whipped over some plain little barmaid back in Nashville. Do us both a favor — take that elevator down to the nearest bar, grab the first hot girl you stumble across, and screw your way out of this funk before you ruin both our lives.”

  I was going to be calm. Civil. Even after she clawed into my arm and called me every nasty name she could come up with using her somewhat limited vocabulary. But as soon as she directs her venom at Felicity, I’m done playing nice.

  I lean into her space, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  “They’re my songs, Lacey. They were never yours. You’re just a mouthpiece in cut-off shorts.”

  She’s still standing there gaping at me when I board the elevator and head down to the exits.

  I’ve got a plane to catch.

  My hands drum restlessly against the arm rests for the entire flight. The woman in the seat beside mine watches me warily, as though I’m about to highjack the plane. I don’t even have it in me to shoot her a reassuring I’m-not-a-terrorist smile. I’m full of too much nervous energy to sit still.

  Four and a half hours never felt so damn long.

  The entire trip, I torture myself thinking about the many ways I fucked things up with Linc and Aiden.

  How could I have been such a damn prick?

  I was blinded by the money and the undeniable lure of seeing my name in lights at stadiums all across the country. I was so fixed on proving to myself — and to my father — that music isn’t a dead end, I got wrapped up with the very people who would’ve destroyed everything I love about making it. But I’d rather play passionately in dive bars with my best friends than make millions on manufactured radio garbage with Lacey.

  I glance out the portal window as my father’s gloating words flash through my head.

  When you slink back here with your tail between your legs after the real world kicks you in the nuts, don’t expect this job to be waiting for you.

  He’ll think I’ve failed, that I’m crawling back home without a record deal. In truth, it’s the opposite. If I’d stayed in LA, I’d be just like him — a slave to the man, choosing business over passion. Money over music. And I have no desire to emulate a high-functioning alcoholic with a short fuse and a double mortgage, who’d cut his only child out of his life for daring to disagree with his rigid worldview.

  I shake the thin plastic airplane cup and suck down my last sip of whiskey, hoping it’ll ease some of my nerves. It doesn’t even touch them. I don’t know what’s waiting for me back in Nashville. I don’t know if the damage I did can be undone. As the miles disappear between me and my destination, the pressure in my chest begins to feel like an anvil sitting on top of my lungs. I can hardly breathe.

  I’ve never had an anxiety attack before, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m having one now.

  Glancing at the woman in the seat beside mine to make sure she’s asleep, I pull out my wallet and shake one of the little white pills Becca gave me from the pocket where I usually keep condoms. She called them a pick-me-up but I’ve found they relax instead of energize me. They were the only thing that kept me even-keeled enough to deal with Lacey while I was out in LA; hopefully, they’ll calm me down enough to keep my shit together, now.

  Flagging down the fight attendant, I order another whiskey to wash the pill down.

  Two more hours.

  It feels more like two years.

  She’s my first stop.

  I tell myself to go to the loft, to deal with Aiden and Linc before I do anything else, but I find myself ordering the cabbie to drop me off outside The Nightingale. I bound up her stairs and pound my fist against her door, half-frantic. There’s no answer. After a minute, I peer through her window. Worry grips me in a vise when I see how empty it is inside. No guitar leaning against the wall, no silver watch sitting on her bedside table, no fresh flowers in a plastic cup on her dresser. Even the band posters have been pulled off the walls.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I race down the stairs, turn into the alley, and push open the back entrance to the bar. They’re not open for business yet, but I find Adam holed up in his office. He glares at me when I barge inside without invitation.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Thought you signed some fancy record deal and moved to LA.” His lips twist. “Or are things not going so well between you and Lacey?”

  I ignore him. “Where is she?”

  “Who? Lacey? Fuck if I know. She hasn’t been my business for months. You saw to that, when you fucked her.”

  “Not Lacey,” I snap. I couldn’t give less of a shit about his wounded pride. “Felicity.”

  Adam’s eyes flare with comprehension. “Seriously? Is there anyone you haven’t screwed in this town? I’m going to start including it as an interview question when I hire new waitresses. Ryder Woods’ whores need not apply.”

  I take a stride in his direction before I can stop myself, my hands curling into furious fists. When I manage to speak, my voice is icy with restraint. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Once. But if you ever talk about Felicity like that in front of me again, I’ll tear your fucking tongue out and shove it up your ass.”

  “Testy, testy.” Adam’s grin is carefree as he leans back in his seat and crosses his legs on his desk. I fight the urge to slap them to the floor. “I didn’t realize you were so serious about the new girl. Though I can see the appeal, I guess. She looks pretty fucking bangable in that uniform.”

  My teeth grit. “Just tell me where she is. She’s not upstairs and her stuff is gone.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “Adam, so help me god.” I take three steps closer. “Apparently, you have a burning desire to taste your own asshole, ‘cause I’m about two seconds from following through on my previous warning. Why don’t you save us both from that unpleasant experience and tell me where the fuck she is.”

  My roar is so loud, he flinches back, his boots jolting to the floor. There’s a gloating look in his eyes when they lock on mine. I haul in a ragged breath to keep myself from pummeling the answers out of him.

  “Gone.”

  I go still. “What?”

  “Felicity. She’s gone.” His lips twitch. The prick is loving every moment of this. “According to Isaac, she cleared out the room upstairs and took off sometime earlier this afternoon.”

  “Why?” My voice is tight. “Did you fire her?”

  “No,” he snarls. “But now that I know you’re so invested, I wish I had.”

  “Tell me where she went. Now.”

  Adam rises to his feet. “Look, it’s not my job to keep track of the trash you throw away—”

  He doesn’t get out the rest of his sentence, because I grab him by the front of his shirt and slam his body up against the nearest wall. The filing cabinets rattle ominously. A picture frame crashes to the floor.

  “Jesus!” He’s panting hard, eyes full of fear. “That’s all I know, I swear to god!”

  I don’t even bother to hit him before I turn on my heel and leave his office. He’s not worth the effort. My mind is consumed by more important things.

  She’s gone.

  She’s fucking gone.

  I feel hollow as I walk out of The Nightingale, a man cut adrift without a purpose. Coming back here wasn’t just about Felicity, but I’d be lying to myself if she wasn’t a factor in my decision-making. In my head, when I imagined coming back here, things went a hell of
a lot differently. I thought I’d knock on her door, pull her into my arms, and tell her…

  What, exactly?

  That I missed her so much it hurt to breathe while I was gone?

  That life without her isn’t something I want to experience again?

  That I think I might’ve… I really could’ve…

  I shake my head. It doesn’t matter what I’d tell her. Not anymore.

  I fucked it up when I left.

  I was too slow coming back.

  Now, I’ve really lost her.

  “You,” Linc growls, blocking the doorway to the loft. There’s a wary look in his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here, Ryder?”

  “Apologizing,” I mutter. “Trying to, anyway. I don’t have a lot of practice.”

  His stony expression doesn’t shift, he widens the door a foot as Aiden steps into the frame at his side.

  “You don’t have to let me in,” I appeal. “Just listen. Two minutes. Then I’ll go, and I promise I won’t come back.”

  Linc’s jaw clenches. “Not a chance, you motherfu—”

  “Let him in,” Aiden interrupts. His gaze is slightly softer than Linc’s, but it’s not exactly a beacon of welcome as we walk into the loft in frigid silence.

  They settle on the couch as I sit in the recliner. I can tell from Linc’s stance he’d like to reintroduce his fist to my face as he sits on the sofa across from me.

  “Two minutes started forty seconds ago,” Aiden reminds me as the quiet drags on.

  “Right.” I clear my throat and try to figure out what the hell to say. I had a full plane ride to rehearse exactly how I’d approach this scenario, a million different ways I’d explain my plan to bring them into the fold once I had a chance to talk to Clay in person. Somehow, I’ve got no words as I stare across the gap at two guys I used to call my best friends. My time is running out, so I skip making any excuses and go for simple, brutal honesty instead. “I was a prick.”

  “Prick?” Linc snorts. “I’d say more of a backstabbing son-of-a-bitch, but that’s just me.”