“You look good,” she blurted with a forced smile. “I mean, you put on, what…ten pounds in rehab?”
“Fifteen in the past two months.” Turned out my body was down with the whole less-drugs-and-alcohol and more-food-and-exercise thing. I hadn’t realized just how emaciated I’d become until I’d stepped on a scale. Weightlifting helped too.
“You look healthy,” she gushed. “That’s all I meant.” She rocked back on her heels and clasped her hands in front of her navy-blue dress. “Healthy boy. Healthy, healthy, healthy.”
I pressed my lips in a line to keep from laughing at how flustered she was. “Right, and now that we’ve settled that, what did you need?”
“Oh. Harvey called. He said you haven’t returned his last two calls.” She arched an eyebrow.
Uptight Zoe has returned.
“Funny, I don’t have any voicemails from him.” I shrugged.
“Because your voicemail is full.” She crossed her arms. Too bad that dress’s neckline wasn’t just an inch lower. I would have killed to see just a little cleavage.
“Huh.” Hell yes, it was full. If I wanted to talk to someone, I picked up.
“And he mentioned something about three or four texts?” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.
“I’ll be sure to look.” I wouldn’t.
“You’re such a liar.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Just tell me what you want me to say to him. How many songs have you started? How long do you think you’ll need for three?”
“Zero, and I don’t know.”
“You’re killing me, Nixon.”
“There’s nothing inside my head you’d want on the page. Not right now.” Music had always been my outlet, my escape. It was where I channeled the emotions too messy to voice and too crippling to willingly recognize. But everything in my soul was too much right now, and I was too tight to let it free. It was like trying to force the Mississippi River through a keyhole, and I didn’t have alcohol to ease the way.
She studied me carefully, and whatever she saw was enough to drain some of her tension. “Have you considered that writing about what you’re going through might help? I heard what your therapist said—”
“Have you considered that I might not want the world to sing along to what I’m going through?” I challenged as the sweat chilled on my skin. “That maybe there are pieces of my pain you can’t profit off?”
“Me?” She drew back like I’d hit her. “I would never—”
“Sure you would,” I snapped. “You all do. You, Ben, Harvey, Ethan…everyone in this industry makes money when Jonas falls in love and Quinn goes back to the guy she left behind. Usually I’m cool with it. I’ve made a lot of damn money ripping my heart open and bleeding out for the audience. But this part of me isn’t for sale.” I marched toward her, but she didn’t budge from the doorway. “Get out of my way.”
“No.” She raised her chin and stared me down.
“I’m sorry?” I had more than a foot on her, and she still looked undaunted.
“I said, no. I’m not moving. We’re having a discussion.” She shifted her weight, popping her hip like she was digging in for the fight. “You run away from everyone but me, Nixon Winters.”
“What the hell do you want from me?” I snapped.
“Right now? I’d settle for you understanding one fact.”
“And that would be?” I glared down at her.
“I don’t give a shit if you give Harvey the song. If you need to write something to work through everything that’s eating you from the inside, then go lock yourself in the studio, write it, then burn it for all I care.” She looked up at me unflinchingly, with nothing but honesty radiating from her eyes.
“You’re serious,” I said softly.
“As a heart attack. I chose this business for the same reason you did—because I love music. I love the way it can change my emotions, and the way it can give voice to things I can’t seem to say. I love when a song becomes the soundtrack to a moment in my life, and then hearing it takes me right back. I love the feeling that courses through my body when you’re on stage, playing a solo that speaks through the music instead of the words. It skips right over my brain with a direct hit to my heart.” She tapped right above her neckline.
My chest tightened—swelled—but I couldn’t look away. Her emotional honesty was magnetic, humbling, and turned me on faster than any half-naked groupie in my dressing