by Lacey Dailey
He takes the spot beside me, slipping his arm around my waist the way he used to when we were kids. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my cheek on his shoulder. We don’t speak for several moments.
We avoided talking about our dad this entire week. The two of us just pretended he wasn’t there. It was easy to ignore when we were shopping, swimming, visiting all the tourist attractions, and gambling in the hotel casino. Now that it’s time for him to leave, the weight of the conversation is beginning to crush me.
“Renzo? Where does dad think you are right now?”
“He doesn’t know anything. I just left. He hasn’t called. He doesn’t check up on me.”
“Must be nice.” I rub at my temples. “Running away was a good idea in theory, but now I’m thinking it wasn’t the best plan of action.”
There is nothing that could make me regret getting inside that car with Max. This summer has managed to completely transform my outlook on life. Each day has been cathartic and refreshing. I’ve laughed more in these couple of months with Max than I have in my entire life.
Max Mitchell is incapable of being miserable, judgmental, or boring. He lives his life in stark contrast to my father, and I don’t like thinking about how tragic my summer would be if Max hadn’t come along.
I don’t regret Max Mitchell.
I think maybe I do regret not owning up to my departure. I could’ve written my father a letter or left him a voicemail or something. My refusal to communicate will just make it that much harder when I have to return home with no plan and no way to make money.
“It’s a temporary plan of action, Gigi.” He tousles my hair. “You just ran away to get your thoughts in order. To find a life you want to build without dad hovering. I get it.”
“Yeah, it sounds awesome when you put it like that. That’s exactly what I’ve been saying to myself since I smashed that ring, but it’s easier said than done. I’ve barely thought about what I want to do. I have a college degree I don’t intend on using, and I’m jobless the second we return home.”
“I wouldn’t say your jobless.”
I pull from his hold, scoffing. “Renzo, really? Max has a label now. It’s only a matter of time before he hires an actual manager.”
“You seem to be doing a fine job, Gigi.”
“Thank you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not totally flying by the seat of my pants.”
“Well, then you’re doing a seriously good job bullshitting it.” He nudges my shoulder. “Gigi, honestly? If I was an outsider, I’d have no idea you weren’t trained in this. You’re polite without being a pushover and assertive without being bossy. Besides that, you know your client. Max has said multiple times he’d be lost without you. He likes having you on his team.”
Max is still in the very early stages of releasing a record. It was just two days ago he officially signed his contract. His signature came off the heels of two dozen phone calls to his parents and an hour long discussion with his parent’s lawyer regarding the contract.
He was practically lying in wait for something to come and tear this opportunity away from him. I laid in his arms at night and spoke into the dark, encouraging him to understand that this won’t go away. Maybe No Prudence Entertainment wouldn’t have worked out, but another label would’ve offered Max the same thing. He’s not the kind of artist that goes unnoticed.
Not anymore.
“That doesn’t mean I’m the best person for the job.”
Renzo holds up his hands, surrendering to me with his lips pressed together. “Maybe not. I have no idea what it takes to be a manager for an upcoming artist. I just think that if you enjoy doing it, and Max doesn’t want to find a new one, why would you give it up?”
When I agreed to be Max’s manager, I thought maybe I’d need to take some sort of class. A state test maybe. Something that would end in me receiving a certificate that says I’m qualified or certified to manage somebody’s entire career. As it turns out, I don’t even need a signature on the bottom of a used napkin. All I need is an artist who trusts me and the ability to be available twenty-four seven.
“I don’t want to give it up, Renzo. I’ve put a lot of work into it this summer.” I gnaw at my lip. “It’s just… part of me would feel guilty if I didn’t offer him the chance to get a real manager. Someone who can offer advice through experience. Someone who’s been there and has already learned the ropes.”
He holds up his hand, ticking his fingers as he speaks. “First, you need to let him make that choice himself. Second, nobody said you have to do this for the rest of your life. Maybe just do it until you find a new path to walk down or until Max’s career becomes too overwhelming to handle. Or, who knows, maybe you’ll become the most sought out manager ever.”
“Yeah, right. And do you know how much I hate the fact that I have a college degree completely going to waste?”
“Psh.” He flicks me in the forehead and stands up, returning to his packing. “Gigi, you hate the idea of any job that degree will give you. Do not stop yourself from doing something you enjoy because you feel guilty you lost time and dad’s money. You’re still young.”
I move so I’m sitting on my knees. “So, you think I should consider keeping the manager job?”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“So incredibly much.”
It’s something I yearn to work my ass off for because it’s a job my brain believes can rock my world. It’s a feeling I chase every day—a feeling I believe is worth fighting for. I’m still learning the ins and outs of this industry, but the passion Max harbors for such a fast-paced, creative industry lit a spark beneath my ribcage. A spark that has since burned into a flame I don’t wish to put out.
If Max will have me, I desperately want to stay.
“Then why would you even consider quitting?” He throws a T-Shirt at my head. “You should probably get some sort of contract drafted, explaining your job duties and outlining some sort of compensation plan.”
“Maybe I will.” I smile behind the fabric of his shirt, pulling it from my head and folding it while he stares at me with a proud smile.
“Renzo!” The harsh sound of the front door slamming intrudes on our moment. The noise is followed by hurried steps thumping against the hard floor. Max barrels into the room Renzo’s been occupying, panting through a smile. “Thank hell. I caught you before you left.”
“Dude.” Renzo opens his arms, adoration smeared across his face. “I’m gonna miss you.”
With a roll of my eyes, I watch Max launch himself into Renzo’s embrace. The two of them make a big show, squeezing the life out of each other and faking loud, obnoxious sobs. I’m not sure what sort of arrow hit my brother or why he and Max hit it off so well, but the way they’re hugging, you’d think they’ve been best friends since birth.
I set Renzo’s shirt in his suitcase. “You guys have only known each other for eight days.”
“Sometimes you just know, Gia.” Max chides, tucking his face in Renzo’s neck. “Shhh. I’m hugging your brother goodbye.”
“What about me? Don’t I get a hug filled with that much love?”
“Baby, please. Stop being so needy. Renzo is leaving.”
“Not from you, you goon!” I climb off the bed and shove Max from Renzo’s embrace, taking his place.
I squeeze my brother’s middle, secretly giddy over the way he and Max became best friends overnight. Especially after learning how difficult it is for Max to make friends and how terrible of a time he has letting people in. They’re the two most important men in my life. It would have been a disaster if they’d ended up despising one another.
“Gia! You’re hogging him!”
“Oh, shut it, Maxwell!”
“Guys, whoa.” Renzo barks a laugh, sliding from my embrace. “I promise we will all see each other again.” He turns back to Max, pushing his fingers through his hair. “All joking aside, it was really great to meet you, Max. You’re a great friend. I’m sorry I’m missing y
our show tonight.”
Max tries to brush him off like Renzo’s friendship didn’t completely change his summer. “Don’t sweat it, man. You came to four of them while you were here. I’m sorry I was working so much.”
“Dude, for real?” Renzo claps Max on the shoulder, giving him a shake. “You just signed a record deal! Of course, you’re busy. Don’t apologize for that.”
“You guys sound like you’re in a relationship that hit a rough patch and are apologizing for all your wrong doings so you can move forward.” I crawl back on the bed, sitting cross legged beside Renzo’s suitcase.
“I would never wrong, Max.” Renzo’s lips flatten. “He would never wrong me either.”
“True.” Max bobs his head. “We pledged it to one another in bed the other night.”
“Oh my shit.” My fist closes around the pillow on Renzo’s bed. I swing my arm, whacking them both as hard as I can. It doesn’t do much other than illicit a loud grunt from Renzo, a cackle from Max, and a smug grin from yours truly. “You guys are so extra.”
“I was born this way, Gigi.” Renzo drawls, pressing all his weight on his suitcase for an easy zip-up. “But for real? It sucks this is the performance I’m missing. You couldn’t have debuted one of your new songs at a show I was actually in attendance for?”
“Sorry, Ren.” Max shrugs, flailing himself onto the bed, maneuvering himself between me and Renzo’s oversized suitcase. “The song wasn’t ready until now. I’ll have Gia send you a playback once I get it recorded.”
“I haven’t heard it either!” I pout. “He won’t let me.”
Max looks at me like I’m the most exasperating person in the world. “I told you when it was ready.”
“Can I at least know what it’s called?”
“Make A Move.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about making moves, Gia.” Max smirks, bopping my nose. “Duh.”
“You annoy me.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” He flicks my earlobe just because he knows it bugs me. “You love it.”
“Maxwell Morgan!” I swat his hand aggressively. “Knock it off.”
He doesn’t stop.
I give him the finger and flop backward, using all my energy to focus on keeping the smirk I know he’s dying to see contained.
He cackles. “Sorry, Gia Maria. I know how much you hate that.”
“Do I need to remind you how old you are?”
“Nah, I remember.” His lips curl into a smirk the size of Texas. “I just don’t care.”
Renzo clearing his throat halts my laughter. He’s staring down at us with his eyebrows raised and a pointed stare falling directly into Max’s face. “Make a move, huh? When did you write that song?”
Max shrugs, tucking his feet under his lap. “I’ve been working on it for a while.”
“A while as in a week?”
“Dude. Seriously?” Max chokes, flashing me a quick look I can’t read. “You have no chill.”
Renzo’s eyebrows dip. “Am I right or am I right?”
“Right about what?” I stand on my feet, my head moving back and forth as I study their fierce expressions. They seem to be having some sort of conversation consisting only of head tilts, eyebrow raises, and pursed lips. “Am I missing something?” I point an accusing finger at Max. “Did you let Renzo hear your song?”
“No, Gia. I didn’t let Renzo hear my song. I promise. He just thinks he’s smug.”
“I am.” Renzo winks at him. “Now, I know why you’re waiting for me to be gone before you perform it.” His face falls as he processes his words. “Wait.” It appears he’s thinking something over before his lips curl into a snarl. “Dude, what the hell?”
“Renzo, holy shit! It’s not like that.” Despite Renzo’s face full of grump, Max laughs.
“I’m going to pretend that image didn’t enter my brain and go wash my eyeballs with bleach.” He turns into the bathroom, slamming the door.
“No chill, man!” Max yells, clutching his stomach as he laughs. “You have no chill.”
“Max, what exactly is happening right now?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, trying to contain his laughter. “Just an inside joke.”
“You have inside jokes with my brother?”
“Yeah. Why?” He flashes me a rakish smile. “You jelly?”
“Jealous of the strange relationship you have going on with my brother? No. I think I’ll keep the one we have. There’s less threat of burning my corneas with bleach.”
Sliding off the bed, he yanks me into his chest. He pushes his nose into my neck, inhaling. “I really hope you like my song, Gia Maria.”
I wrap my arms around his middle, resting my head on his chest and listening to the steady thumps. “I love all your songs, Max.”
“This one is special.”
“What kind of special?”
He kisses my forehead. I revel in the way my skin vibrates beneath his lips. “You’ll see. Now, let’s drag your brother out of the bathroom and take him to lunch before we have to put him in a taxi to the airport.”
I get another kiss to the forehead before he’s gone, barging into the bathroom that Renzo’s supposedly rendering himself blind in.
I pivot and pad across the suite, into the bedroom I share with Max so I can find some shoes and ponder what’s so special about Max’s new song. If you ask me, all Max’s songs are special. They each come from a place of vulnerability and pain—a place of anguish protected by secrets. To share that with the world takes a remarkable kind of strength.
I’m not sure what to expect from Max’s new song. It goes without saying I won’t interpret it the way he wrote it, but I know for certain it will take my breath away.
He always does.
“Have you heard his new song yet?”
I don’t understand how Landon can waste all his time and energy on his cell phone when there are words being shared and hearts being exposed.
I press my lips together, unwilling to hide my scowl. He’d have to look up from his phone screen to see it anyway. “No. I haven’t.”
“The crowd is going to respond really well to it. I saw the tweets you’ve been putting out. Good work.”
I ignore his compliment and give my attention to Max. With an assured, confident stance, he grips the microphone with both hands. His lips just graze the top of it as he sings with his head tilted and eyes closed. There are beads of sweat dripping off the ends of his hair while his Converse covered foot taps lightly on the rubber floor. Johnny’s hanging off his body, lying abandoned while he lets his voice and the soft sounds of a piano do all the work.
When Max’s shows moved to a bigger venue due to increased interest, dozens of musicians reached out, offering to play backup to add a little flavor. Max isn’t the type of guy who likes a lot of flavor onstage with him, so it was a hard pass on the backup singers, drummers, and many enthusiastic bass players who were eager to stand next to the guy who brought the MitchellMagic. While they were all talented, Max just wasn’t interested in adding anything extra.
And then he heard Arthur playing softly in between one of his sound checks.
Leave it to Max to offer a 73-year-old Navy veteran on the sanitation crew a spot to play piano alongside him five nights a week. Arthur ditched his broom so fast, it’s like he was waiting for an excuse to burn the thing.
“Do you know what his new song is about?”
“Making moves.” I say, staring at his iPhone and wondering if I can make it explode with my eyes.
“Oh. Cool. Like dirty moves? Or dancing moves?”
“I’m not sure, Landon. Perhaps, you should listen and find out.” The edge in my voice is sharp enough to cut glass.
It’s enough to get him to drop his hands and focus on me. “What’s your issue?”
“My issue is that the entire time Max has been onstage, you haven’t looked away from your phone once.”
He pinches the bridge o
f his nose. “Gigi, I manage seven other musicians. I’m busy.”
“Yeah, well, one of your musicians is onstage right now. Be respectful!”
“I’m not being disrespectful. I’m being efficient.” He rubs at his forehead, sighing. “You manage one artist. I manage eight. It may only be for a few more weeks but it’s a lot of work. You think just because Max is performing my job stops?”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I think that Max is only going to be singing for your tour until the end of summer. Like you said, it’s over in a few weeks. You should appreciate the artist you gave a platform to.”
“Gigi, Max just signed a record deal. These other seven artists haven’t.” He shakes his phone. “I’m trying to make things happen for them so they don’t have to return to their home states and their day jobs, telling stories about their summer in Vegas and how close they got to the real deal. I appreciate what Max brought to this show. I appreciate he took a chance on my idea, but he did it. He made it. I’ve got limited time to help these other artists make it too.”
I fumble for words.
The music industry is cutthroat, but Landon Carmichael is good people.
His lips turn up, his smile illuminated by the glow of his phone against the darkness that comes with being backstage.
“I’ll put it away for his new song.” He says, his thumbs flying across the screen. “I’ve been waiting for weeks.”
“You and me both.”
I adjust my gaze and find Max glowing beneath the stage lights. He has one ear monitor laying on his shoulder, confident fingers strumming the chords on Johnny while he sings the song he titled ‘A.’ The first song I ever heard him breathe into the mic. The one that captivated me immediately.
The one I’m absolutely positive was written about Aiden.
Arthur sits politely on his piano bench, his hands in his lap while his body rocks back and forth, no doubt losing himself to the place Max’s music is taking him. I peer out into the audience, finding similar expressions on the faces I’m able to see.
They’re awed.
Dazzled.
Completely enamored by the man standing above them with a guitar and a voice like air.
