that sounded like “midlife crisis.”
“You’ve been in this business long enough to know this life doesn’t come without sacrifices.” He shakes his head. “Speaking of, how’s recording going with Zeke?”
I frown. “I’m halfway through an album, but I’ve been slowing down.”
The past few months in studio, I’ve gotten down four finished tracks. But they don’t make me happy the way music used to make me happy.
“Come record with me.”
I swirl my drink. “I’m on a five-year contract for three albums with a studio option.”
“Which means your ass belongs to Zeke.”
“My ass belongs to no one.”
I’ve paid off my dad’s medical bills, and I’m planning to buy a place by the ocean where it’s warm. Zeke’s sending me new songs I have zero interest in recording. Plus prods about self-promotion. Like even on break, I can placate the record execs by dropping a few poolside selfies. Hashtag tortured artist or whatever the PR team emails.
I rub my left hand over my neck, mostly to feel the mess of tingling and soreness that sets in from flexing my fingers.
Jax’s gaze narrows. “It hurts.”
“Scar tissue’s a bitch. It doesn’t like the cold or vibration or days that end in Y.”
I could write for days about the moods of a damned appendage, one that intermittently has numbness and searing pain, that makes me regret I ever took for granted a second of what I used to do.
What I’ll do again soon.
“I head out the doors to the patio, the easy laughter of the stragglers standing in familiar groups drawing me toward them. When my gaze lands on the former pool house beyond, I stop.
My mentor pulls up at my side.
“You should’ve started this label years ago,” I say.
Jax only shrugs. “Things happen at the right time. May not be your right time or mine, but they happen when they’re meant to.”
I crane my neck towards the gardens edging the patio. “There a Buddhist statue around here I haven’t seen?”
Jax laughs, his deep voice rumbling. “Problem with the label is I’ve got some guys booking the space, but we need new sounds. New voices.”
“You haven’t found anyone.” I’m surprised to hear that because I know dudes who’d fly from LA in a heartbeat to record at Jax’s studio.
“I have one kid, but he’s got an attitude, and with all the legal and financial red tape, I haven’t had time to work with him. Sophie’s been acting out lately, and Hales is due in six weeks.”
“Supervising a teenager can’t be that hard. I practically taught myself.”
He eyes me up. “If it’s that simple, you try getting him to lay down something good.”
I’m only half listening, my gaze finding Annie across the patio. She’s standing in a group that includes Mace, Jax’s former bassist Brick, and Brick’s fiancée, Nina.
“Haley invited her.” Awe and weariness twine in Jax’s multimillion-dollar voice.
“How long is she staying?”
“No clue. Haven’t got my wife pinned down long enough to ask her which direction the sun’s rising and setting in, either.”
I take a sip of the bourbon. It’s actually not bad. “You and Annie should’ve made up sooner.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.”
“Kids aren’t that easy, Tyler. Someday, you’ll see.”
I always figured the rift between them came from Annie’s “try anything twice” attitude and Jax’s fierce protectiveness, along with a dose of stubbornness on both sides. Regardless, I hate that Jax and I made up when he and his own daughter haven’t.
I could fix it.
The thought takes hold and won’t let go.
I turn to face my former mentor. “Give me two weeks. I’ll get a decent track out of your aspiring artist in the studio.”
Jax chuckles. “I assume you want something in return.”
I drain the rest of my bourbon and set the glass on the nearby table the caterers have started cleaning.
“You take care of your problems with your real kid. Tell Annie you’re sorry,” I go on under the weight of Jax’s stare. “That you’re an idiot and you fucked up two years ago and fans can’t buy you a scrap of perspective when it comes to the people in your life.”
When his amber eyes spark, and it’s unsettling how much they’re like Annie’s. “You’re serious. Why do you care enough to give me two weeks of your time?”
“Because I made things harder for her.”
“That’s the only reason.”
“That’s the only reason,” I echo.
But as he turns to go back inside, I yank off my jacket, feeling overheated once again.
7
I’m ripped from my dreams in my former bedroom the next morning. For once, it’s not because I’ve