an expression strangely reminiscent of a certain hockey player who inspired this experiment. “So what are you planning to do with this then? It’s a shame to let it sit. People need to hear this.”
I shrug, warming at his words. Joel is a well-respected engineer and producer. If he says it’s good, it’s good. “I’m still trying to figure that out. For now, let’s just finish the track and see what we get.”
He still looks skeptical, maybe even annoyed, as he lets out a breath and turns back to the console on the desk. “Fine. But, Gen. This shit is special. I don’t know where you found this inside yourself, but you need to go find more.”
Joel stayed until just after four, with a promise to come back as soon as our schedules would allow. He’s also going to track some drums and bass for me, using what we did as a reference track to start from scratch with a full-band sound. If I like what he does, we’ll re-do the vocals and give me the epic rock-vibe I heard in my head. We agreed that, for now, he’d keep quiet about who’s behind this track. He’ll do as much as he can himself, and tell anyone else he has to bring in that it’s a new artist. My vocal sounds so different there’s little chance someone would tie it to Genevieve Fox without context.
Once the adrenaline wears off, though, I crash hard and don’t wake up until mid-afternoon the following day. Thankfully, it’s a rare off-day, which almost feels painful as I blink awake and realize I would’ve spent it with Oliver if I could. I reach over to check my phone and bolt up in the bed.
Stop stalking me.
My stomach drops at Oliver’s first message, my pulse hammering in a simultaneous rush of pain and relief at hearing from him. It hurts to read his rejection, but at least he’s okay. Then, I see the smiley emoji, and tears spring to my eyes. He’s joking. Oh god. I can barely breathe as I open the chat window to see what else he wrote. Next is an address, followed by:
Come over if you want. I’m here for a while.
He’s there for a while? What does that mean? Panic mounts as I roll out of bed and practically run to the shower. Crap, I didn’t even answer him. I rush back to my bed and swipe my phone off the nightstand.
Late night sorry. Just saw your message. I’ll be over as soon as I can.
The bubbles populate below my message almost immediately, and I smile, hoping he’d been waiting for my message.
Great. Sandy’s family is here, but he’s still on the road. I’ll let them know you’re coming.
I’ve never showered and gotten ready so quickly in my life.
The woman who answers the door wears a loose bun and stiff smile as she ushers me in.
“You must be Genevieve,” she says. “Ollie’s in his room. I’ll show you where it is.”
Ollie? Does everyone call him that? So cute.
“Thank you. Sorry to barge in on you like this.” A tiny human scurries past in an opening up ahead, and I hear distant shouts from another child that probably wasn’t the runner.
“It’s no problem, really. It’ll be good for him to have a visitor. With the team out of town and on a losing streak, now is not the best time for a setback.”
“A setback?” I ask in alarm.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “He didn’t tell you? I thought that’s why you were here.”
I pull in a breath, guilt mixing with an ember of panic at her statement. No, I didn’t know. Because I removed him from my life. Again. I can’t bring myself to explain all of that to this stranger. Despite her words, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s not thrilled I’m here.
I force a smile. “Yeah, I came as soon as I could,” I say, still not sure what she means but hoping that deflects enough to get me past this interview to find out.
She nods and leads me toward a stairwell. “Well, he’s downstairs in the in-law suite.” I start down the steps. “Oh hey, I’m a huge fan of your music.”
I return her polite smile and mutter a “thanks” before continuing downstairs. Yeah, no way that’s true. In fact, I get the sense she’s not a fan of me period. Oh well, I’m not here for Raffie Sanderson’s wife. I continue on as quickly as