me.
“No, I’m not . . .”
Reason swallows the rest of my sentence. Of course I know I need to do the song. But the last thing I want to do is get up in front of all these happy faces and sing about the first time I kissed Bristol or how she turns me inside out like a sweater running through the spin cycle.
“I’ll do it.” I run my hands over my face, exhaustion from the demands of the week landing on me like a brick house. “Whatever.”
“This is exactly what I warned you about.” Rhyson points a finger at me.
“I know you better get your finger out of my face.” Involuntarily, my lips lift at one corner, and so do his. He laughs first, a small sound that loosens some of the tension bunching at my neck and shoulders. “I don’t think this is going to work, Rhys,” I say quietly after the short-lived laugh.
“What won’t work?”
“Bristol, us working together.” I tip my head back to look at the lights overhead with their multi-colored gels. “I don’t want her to manage me anymore.”
“Dammit, Marlon.” Rhyson leans back, arms straight, heels of his hands pressed to the stage and supporting him. “You and Bristol work incredibly well together. Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
“I know. I just . . . I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.” I look at him frankly. “I’ll just keep antagonizing her until everything blows up, and we’ll ruin even the chance to be friends some day.”
“Is that what you want?” Rhyson asks. “To be her friend?”
“You know what I want.” I tap out the bass line to “Top of the World” on my leg. “Wanted. But I’m finally accepting that won’t happen. I only agreed to her managing me in the first place to be closer to her. Kai and I thought it would help my chances.”
“Kai was involved in this shit storm?” He shakes his head. “That’s what she gets for playing matchmaker.”
“Her heart was in the right place.” A bitter breath gushes past my lips. “Mine wasn’t, I guess. You were right all those times you said I should give up on Bristol and let it go.”
“Yeah, well. What do I know?” Rhyson shrugs carelessly, but when he meets my eyes, he seems more careful than a few moments before. “I mean, what if I was wrong about Bristol? I’ve been wrong before. Like that one time in high school I was wrong.”
“We both know you’ve been wrong a lot more than that.” My smile starts but melts before it’s fully formed. “But about this you were right.”
“But, maybe if—”
“What are you saying?” I bunch my eyebrows into a scowl. “It’s settled. I’m not working with her anymore.”
I lace my fingers together behind my neck and heave a defeated breath.
“Dude.” I meet his eyes with complete honesty. “I just can’t.”
Rhyson searches my face for a few seconds before nodding and sliding off the stage.
“So when?” he asks.
“After Dubai.” I glance at my watch to see how late it is and hop off the stage, too. “I need to get ready.”
“What do you want me to tell her?”
“Nothing.” I bite the inside of my jaw, enjoying the slight pain. “I’ll tell her myself.”
“You sure?”
“If we’re ever going to be friends again, then yeah. I need to talk to her about it. Right now, I can’t be her anything. Not with things the way they are. Once I’m over her and have really moved on . . .”
I leave the thought half-done and shrug, heading back to get ready for the show because I have no idea what that will feel like.
Chapter 17
GRIP
HIGH SCHOOL. SENIOR year. School of the Arts theatre. Empty except for Rhyson and me. We’d snuck up to the catwalk and, legs kicking over the sides, dreamed out loud. Compared to the success he’d had early in life as a concert pianist, Rhyson’s dreams to write and produce music for other artists seemed modest. Mine, which were to be a voice to our generation, hear my music on the radio, and reach fans all over the world, seemed loftier than the catwalk we sat on that day.
Now Rhyson’s onstage introducing me, applauding with everyone else in the packed club as I join him. I can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks about the dreams we spoke into existence that day, the ones we worked into existence over the last decade.
“Here’s the man with the number one album on