“No.” Aiden swallows hard. “I’m totally sober.”
Linc rolls his eyes. “Then what’s with the dramatic entrance?”
“I just got off the phone with one of the scouts from Route 66 Records.”
The air goes still.
“And?” Lincoln prompts, abandoning his coffee cup.
“They saw our set last night.”
“And?”
“They want to sign us.” Aiden’s throat works as his eyes sweep across Lincoln and Ryder, coming to rest on me. “All of us.”
“No fucking way!” Linc’s grin overtakes his entire face. “That’s amazing!”
“What do you mean, all of us?” Ryder asks.
Aiden is still staring at me. “They want Felicity, too.”
“Mother fudger,” I whisper as all three of them turn to stare at me.
Ryder’s hand is tight on mine as we climb out of Linc’s car and head for the door of the coffee shop where Aiden arranged for us to meet with the scout from Route 66. A grim tension has descended over our small group as we walk inside.
At least the yelling has stopped.
When Aiden broke the news about the record deal, Ryder and Lincoln were at each other’s throats in the span of a minute. Linc thought it was a no brainer that I’d join the band — of course I’d sign on with them to sing. Of course I’d want to go on tour. Of course I’d consider moving to Los Angeles to work on the album.
What kind of crazy person doesn’t dream of landing a record deal?
Me.
But someone like Linc, who’s dreamed of the spotlight for as long as he can remember, can’t possibly understand someone like me, who’s never wanted attention or public recognition. I don’t have to look farther than my own family tree to justify my reasoning. I’ve seen firsthand how fame can destroy a life. From the outside, it might seem like the best thing in the world… nothing but endless royalty checks and universal adoration. But that astronomical success comes with a level of scrutiny and pressure that’s far more of a burden than it is a blessing.
I spent my childhood in a steel cage; I have no desire to trade it for a glass house.
When Ryder told Linc to stop pressuring me, the tension escalated to a breaking point. Thankfully, Aiden managed to diffuse the situation before punches were thrown. I swallowed down the immediate impulse to run and told them I’d go to the meeting, buying myself some time to think of a way to extract myself from this tangled web.
The weight of Lincoln’s eyes is heavy on my face as he holds open the door for us to walk inside. I can almost see the accusation simmering beneath his skin — the outright anger that I somehow hold the keys to the future he’s always wanted.
I look down at my feet and feel Ryder squeeze my fingers in reassurance. I know he can sense how torn up I am inside. Just as I can sense that, no matter how much he’s trying to hide it from me, he’s just as invested in this Route 66 deal as Lincoln.
The guilt inside me grows so overpowering, it’s hard to breathe.
I might be able to deal with disappointing Linc and Aiden. But Ryder?
I don’t think I could stand to see the look in his eyes if I dangled his dreams in front of him, only to snatch them away at the last moment. I don’t think I could stand myself, if I did that.
Aiden spots the talent scout — a chic-looking woman in her early thirties with an asymmetrical auburn bob and long, pin-straight bangs. She’s dressed in stilettos and a sleek white suit I’d never in a million years be able to wear without staining. She’s speaking rapidly into her phone, but hangs up when she sees us walk in.
“Hey.” Ryder tugs me to a stop before we follow Aiden and Linc over.
I glance up, eyebrows raised.
His lips graze mine in a light kiss. “You do not have to do this, Felicity. I know how you feel about being in the spotlight. I know this isn’t your dream. And I hope you know, whatever you decide, I’ll back you up. I’ll make sure Lincoln doesn’t flip out on you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, stretching up on my tiptoes to kiss him properly.
We take our seats and soon become the subject of the scout’s intense focus.
“I’m Francesca Foster with Route 66,” she says in a forthright, no-frills tone. Her eyes are sharp with intellect as they move from me to Ryder. “I’m not going to waste your time, or mine, with ass kissing. I don’t do ass kissing. I do facts. And the facts are, if you sign with us, I can make you very, very successful in a very, very short timeframe.”
“How do you know that?” Ryder asks, sounding dubious. “Not to undercut your enthusiasm, but we’ve been through this before, to disastrous results. I apologize if we’re a bit skeptical, but we only have your word to go on, here.”
“I encourage skepticism. It’s a healthy method for ascertaining truth.” She straightens her shoulders and folds her hands delicately on the tabletop. “Your lyrics are strong and catchy, for the most part, though I’d suggest you ditch the re-tuned Lacey Briggs songs and write entirely new material, perhaps involving Felicity in the process to better suit your sound.”
Everyone looks a bit stunned at the level of intel she seems to have on our group.
How does she know about Lacey?
Does she work for the CIA?
“Your instrumentals are also quite solid. You’re comfortable both playing and performing together. There’s a natural energy between the three of you”— she gestures at the boys — “that makes it clear you have the ability to create good music together.” She pauses. “Good, but perhaps not exceptional.”
Lincoln’s eyes darken with anger. “That’s bulls—”
“I am not finished.” Francesca smiles, but there’s iron behind it. “This is where Felicity comes into this equation. She’s the wildcard.”
I go still, not liking the sound of that. At all.
Ryder chuckles lowly. “Fitting.”
When Francesca’s brows lift in question, he clarifies. “Felicity’s last name is Wilde.”
“Ah.” She doesn’t laugh. Simply straightens her shoulders again and launches back in. “As I was saying, the three of you have a solid group dynamic. But the four of you… it could be phenomenal.” Her eyes are speculative. “Ryder and Felicity — your voices are completely complementary. Perfectly suited for duets. I haven’t heard harmonizing like that in years. With a bit of polish, some vocal coaching… you could make an incredible album. You could sell a lot of records.”
“And what, exactly, would you want from us in return?” Ryder keeps his voice calm and even, but I can tell from the way he’s squeezing my hand beneath the table that he’s excited by the things she’s saying. “We’re not interested in a label that tries to change our sound or manipulate our image.”
“If I can be frank — it takes far more brute force to take a rough lump of clay and chisel it into a sculpture than it does to acquire a beautiful piece of art, pull it out of storage, and put it on display for the world to enjoy.” Her smile is small, but steely. “I’m interested in signing fresh talent, not manufacturing it.”
Lincoln is nodding. Aiden is fighting a smile. Ryder’s grip tightens on mine.
I can feel their hope, tangible in the air around me.
I am holding their dreams in my hands.
“You seem so sure there’s an audience for us,” I chime in, feeling my defenses rise. “I just don’t think you can be certain of something like that, at this stage.”
“As I said, I like data. However, I’m not so rigid that I cannot accept the existence of some variability. There is, to use a common term, a certain X-factor that makes some groups rise astronomically to the top of the charts, far faster than any projections can account for.” Her pause is heavy. Her eyes are intent. “I believe you have it.”
“Still.. this seems like a huge gamble for you. We’re nobodies from Nashville and you’re convinced you can take us to LA and turn us into stars, essentially overnight?” I shake my head. “It seems a bi
t too good to be true, if I’m being honest.”
“Honesty is always appreciated, Felicity.” She smiles placidly. “Do any of you have a smartphone with you?”
“I do,” Linc says, pulling out his iPhone.
“Do me a favor.” Her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. “Plug the word ‘Nashville’ into your search engine.”
“Just ‘Nashville’?”
She nods, watching him type. The smirk on her face reminds me of a magician setting up an unsuspecting audience member for a slight of hand. The smirk grows into a smile when she hears a curse explode from Lincoln’s mouth.
“Holy shit— look at this!” He shows his screen to Aiden, whose eyes widen. They both look a bit stunned as they pass the phone over to Ryder. I peek over his shoulder so I can see what all the fuss is about and feel my breath hitch.
The screen is full of dozens of results from the past few hours. They all have headlines that say things like:
Country couple’s onstage reunion: watch it now!
Fireworks in the sky — and on stage — at Nashville music festival
Each article has a video clip attached. Ryder’s finger taps the screen and suddenly, I’m watching a tiny video of… me.
Running onstage, barefoot, my hair falling out of its braid. My face looks totally star-struck as I slam to a stop ten feet from Ryder. He’s still singing the song he wrote for me, eyes closed. The audience is going insane as they wait for him to look up and notice me standing there. And when he finally does…
That kiss.
It’s magic. Pure magic. Like something out of a fairy tale. Scripted like a Hollywood movie.
I must make some small sound of concern as I read through the hundreds of thousands of comments piling up at the bottom of the article.
Blyss G: Omg, who are these two?! That’s true love right there!
Sumita M: Someone give them a record deal, STAT.
Taylor W: Is this on iTunes yet?
Sara E : Get yourself a guy who looks at you the way he looks at her…
“Wow,” Ryder breathes.
“Wow,” I concur.
“There are hundreds of articles just like that one circulating around the internet as we speak.” Francesca’s voice cuts through the fog inside my brain. I look up and find her watching me carefully. “Your love story — and your music — has gone viral. People want to know who you are, where you came from, what you’re doing next… They’re already emotionally invested. And if you capitalize on that momentum… if you let me help you do it… I have very few doubts about your future.” She pauses. “Does that answer your question about why I’m so confident there’s an audience out there for you?”
All I can do is nod. I’ve been effectively stunned into silence.
Francesca sits back in her chair and expels a sharp breath. “I like concrete numbers. Solid figures that support my reasoning. I never make an offer if I don’t know, with certainty, that it’s going to be mutually beneficial for all parties involved.” She reaches into her slim briefcase and pulls out a sheet of paper with about a dozen names and contact numbers typed in crisp, lowercase font. “These are just a few of the deals I’ve brokered in the past few years. All artists who signed with Route 66 and went on to do great things. By all means — reach out to them. Do your homework on me. Ask around. Everyone will tell you the same thing: if Francesca Foster makes you a promise, she’ll deliver on it.”
She reaches into her bag again, extracts a contract, and slides it across the table toward us.
Aiden has a shellshocked expression on his face.
Lincoln looks a little bit in love with her.
Hell, I’m half in love with her. I want to be her when I grow up.
“We’re going to need some time to discuss this,” Ryder says, squeezing my hand so tight I think my fingers have lost circulation.
“Naturally. Nonetheless, I will need your answer by tomorrow night — I’m headed back to Los Angeles on the red-eye. Keep in mind, if you accept this deal, we’ll want to bring the four of you out to LA as soon as possible, to get the ball rolling. Media attention may be plentiful right now, but next week there’ll be someone else in the news if you don’t take control of your narrative.” She rises gracefully to her feet and stares down at us as she slings her briefcase strap over her shoulder. “If you have questions, call me. My direct line is on that sheet. If you don’t like something in the contract, it can be amended. I’m all about transparency.”
We all rise to shake her hand, trading polite goodbyes. The boys manage to stay silent until the door swings closed behind her before exploding into motion.
“Holy shit!” Lincoln yells.
“Unreal!” Aiden grins. “Just un-fucking-real!”
Ryder is scanning through the contract, his eyes devouring the words on the page with such intent focus, I can hardly stand to watch. “This looks good,” he mutters under his breath. “This looks fucking great actually.”
Linc and Aiden crowd around him so they can look as well.
I don’t move.
I’m frozen. Paralyzed. Trapped inside a nightmare.
Francesca made it clear that, without me, there’s no deal.
You’re the wildcard, Felicity.
Which means, it all comes down to me. My decision. There is no vote. This is not a democracy.
I am the dictator. I am the monarch.
Off with their heads.
There’s no way I can pretend to be impartial here. I am holding three futures in my grasp, fragile as glass, and if I decide to drop them…
They’ll shatter.
It would be hard enough to choose, even if Ryder wasn’t part of the equation. But he is. And I can’t ignore the fact that my decision will have lasting effects that ripple out across not just our lives, but also our relationship.
There is no win-win scenario I can see here. No gray area. Either path I pick, one of us loses.
If I walk away, I keep my life of safe anonymity… but I could lose him in the process.
If I agree, I could make his wildest dreams come true… and lose myself completely.
I am balanced on the edge of a razor-blade — sway too much in either direction, I’ll wind up sliced in two.
Him or me.
His dreams or mine.
…but definitely not both.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ryder
I can’t tell what the hell she’s thinking. She’s retreated back behind those golden eyes like a ghost, and I can’t reach her. There’s nothing I can say to make this choice for her, nothing I can do to shoulder this burden.
It’s her call.
So, I give her space when she tells me she’s going to take a nap in my bed. I know she needs to be alone to process. The last thing I want to do is pressure her into a decision she’s going to regret a few months down the line. At the same time… I can’t pretend I’m not excited about the Route 66 deal.
I’d get to follow my dreams. So would Linc and Aiden.
But she never dreamed of this. Felicity never wanted anything to do with this life.
I’m jittery from the anxiety, from not knowing how this is going to play out, even after I pop two little white pills in my mouth and chase them down with a beer in the bathroom. The guys are just as on edge. I’ve never heard our apartment so quiet as we sit on the sofa, staring into space.
Three men awaiting life sentences.
Noon.
One o’clock.
Two o’clock.
When there’s still no word from her at three, we switch from beer to whiskey, passing around the bottle in grim routine. This morning, our dreams felt so close I could reach out and grab them with both hands. Now, with each tick of the clock, I feel them slipping through my grasp.
It’s selfish as hell to admit, even to myself, but I want this. I want this so bad, I can already see it — the four of us out in LA, sharing a loft, making music all day long. An album with a sound we con
trol and cultivate, produced by a studio that supports our vision. That future is so damn clear in my mind. And I want it, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Except her.
I want Felicity Wilde more than any stack of papers. More than seeing my name on a billboard. More than millions of fans screaming for my songs.
Now that I know what it feels like to lose her, I never plan on doing it again, if I can help it. Even if she turns down this record deal. Linc and Aiden might be resentful, but I’ll find a way to deal with it. I’ll figure out a way to fulfill my dreams without dragging her into them against her will.
It’s five on the dot when my bedroom door finally cracks open.
All three of us turn to watch her as she walks into the room, looking fragile as she stands there barefoot, wearing one of those gossamer sundresses that cling to her curves so perfectly. I try to read her answer on her face, but she’s a master at concealing her thoughts.
“Well?” Linc practically spits, feeling far less patient.
Her eyes dart to mine and, slowly, a grin spreads across her face. I feel my chest expand with joy and relief and excitement.
“Let’s do it.” She laughs. “Let’s make an album.”
Aiden and Linc holler so loud, I’m sure the neighbors think there’s a homicide in progress. I hold out my arms and Felicity hurls herself into them, laughing as I spin her around the room in dizzying circles.
We lie beneath my sheets later that night, breathing each other in. My arms are wrapped around her, tracing circles on her bare skin with my fingertips. Her head is on my chest, listening to each beat of my heart as it pounds beneath her ear.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask softly. “I know it’s all happening pretty fast.”
Her head lifts until her eyes find mine. “I’m sure.”
“It’s going to be good.” I grin. “Better than good, Felicity. It’s going be amazing.”
“I know.”
“We still have to decide on the band name.” My brows draw together. “Anything come to you, yet? Linc wants something short that also has meaning. He suggested we go by Nash — which is so fucking terrible I refuse to dignify it with any actual consideration. Aiden wants something unique — The Wandering Souls or When Darkness Comes or some equally awful shit.”
Faded (Faded Duet Book 1) Page 21
