and ask for at least a two album contract? Or just accept the contract from Spellbound with more reasonable terms, more control, but less money?
I’m a solo processor, so it didn’t even really occur to me to loop Colt in on what was on the table and what I was thinking about. I was too wrapped up in my own head to even consider that leaving that envelope lying around was a terrible idea that could end in disastrous consequences. It didn’t occur to me that he would open it, or that he would do that when I wasn’t home, or what he might think.
So I just need to find him and explain what’s really happening and everything can go back to normal.
Easy peasy.
Except he won’t take my calls. And I don’t actually know where he is.
He was living at his parents’ house when he first got back from working on his brother’s tour before he moved in with me, so it stands to reason that’s where he is now. It’s home, after all. I’d probably go live with my mom again if I didn’t have anywhere else to stay.
But I need his parents’ address.
Lauren and Gabby both gave me their numbers at that dinner. Surely they have his parents’ address?
I try Lauren first, but after a half an hour of waiting and getting no response, I try Gabby.
She responds right away with the information I need and asks if I’m finally meeting his parents.
After hesitating for a moment, I type back, Yes.
She responds with a gif of Katniss from The Hunger Games kissing her fingers and saluting and Good Luck across the bottom.
Thanks. Because I’ll definitely need it.
Colt’s parents live in a gated community, and I sit outside the gate for a minute, considering my options. There’s a stucco gatehouse and presumably I can go in and call them and ask to be let in.
But … there’s the very real possibility that they won’t let me in. And if they do, that Colt will still refuse to see me.
As luck would have it, a car approaches the gate and it opens. This is my chance, and I’m taking it. I pull in right behind them, practically riding their bumper to get in before the gate closes.
I slowly navigate the neighborhood, following the directions on my phone, and stop in front of the right address. It’s a large, two-story stucco house with immaculate landscaping.
I just need to get him to talk to me. Once I explain the situation, he’ll come home, and everything will be fine. I’ll burn the fucking divorce papers in front of him just to show him how dead serious I am.
Turning off the car, I unbuckle and climb out, reminding myself of my plan with every step. This will work. This has to work. I don’t know what to do with myself if it doesn’t.
With a deep breath for courage, I reach out a trembling finger and push the doorbell, then step back to wait. Will Colt answer? Will his mother? I hope it’s Colt, because I’ve heard enough about his mom that I don’t want to have to go through her to get to him. I mean, I will, for sure, I’d just rather not.
Why is everything suddenly so fucked up? Things were perfect just a few days ago, and now, I’m standing trembling on his parents’ front step hoping to beg Colt to come home.
This is what I get for thinking everything’s finally working out, I guess. This is what happens. Everything’s going great, and then somehow it gets all fucked up.
But I stop that line of thought in its tracks, because someone’s fumbling with the doorknob, and then the door opens, revealing a middle aged man with eyes the same blue as Colt’s. His hair is thinning on top and he has a hint of softness around his belly, but the family resemblance is unmistakable.
I force a trembling smile onto my lips. “Hi. You must be Mr. Brasher.” I’m suddenly drawing a blank on his first name, and since we haven’t met and I eloped with his son, I don’t know that I should call him that anyway. Mr. Brasher seems safer. “Is Colt here?” I infuse all my hope into those three tiny syllables.
His brow wrinkles in confusion. “No.” He draws the word out like he can’t understand why anyone would be showing up at his door asking about Colt. “We haven’t seen Colt in several weeks. Can I ask who you