already finished, and besides, we don’t even have a second verse yet.”
“Screw that. We’ll finish the song and unfinish the album. It’s not due to drop for another six weeks. I’ll call Ben and have him deal with the production side.” Jonas stared down at the spiral notebook. “What are we going to call it?”
I never went for the obvious titles. It just wasn’t my style. “How about ‘Mad Alibis’?”
Jonas’s smile spread slowly across his face “Yeah. Yeah, that’s the one.” He lifted his brows at me. “Now, how about sneaking a little ‘Merciful Fire’ onto the album too?”
“No.” My fingers picked at the lead-in from memory. “Too personal.”
“Man, I hate to break it to you, but you’re in a long-distance ‘maybe’ relationship with a woman you don’t even talk to. Too personal might ease those waters right now.”
“I’m not putting a song about Zoe on an album when she hasn’t even heard it.” I shook my head.
“Yeah, and ‘Mad Alibis’ isn’t about her?”
My mouth opened and shut a few times.
“Exactly.” He laughed.
The back door opened and Vivi raced out, a bundle of pure energy as she zipped up her jacket. “I finished my homework!”
“What exactly are they giving kindergarteners these days?” I questioned.
“Don’t get me started on the math.” Jonas groaned, but he was all smiles for his little girl. “Good job, honey.”
She ran her fingers over his strings. “Did you finish?”
“Almost!”
“Can I hear it?” She bounced on her toes.
“Sure,” I answered for Jonas, then took it from the top, working through the harmonies once he hit the chorus.
Vivi clapped when we ran out of material. “I love it! You play really well, Daddy.”
“Thanks, honey, but you know, Uncle Nixon plays even better.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Jonas nodded emphatically.
“You’re better than Dad?” Vivi eyed me skeptically.
“Singing? No. Playing, yes.” I was shamelessly proud of my hands.
“Dad bought me a guitar.” Her bright eyes met mine. “Can you teach me too?”
My entire chest seized. I took a deep breath and let it out, keeping myself in the here—the now. She wasn’t Kaylee. I’d never get that chance back. I’d made my choices, and she’d paid a price neither of us had foreseen. Maybe it wasn’t my fault—I was still working through that—but I’d been a factor all the same.
“Honey, Uncle Nixon is—” Jonas started, obviously seeing my distress.
“Sure, I’ll teach you,” I interjected.
“Thanks!” She rewarded me with a grin, then threw her little arms around my neck.
“Any time.” I squeezed her back, and she raced off to play.
Jonas gave me a speculative once-over.
“What?”
“Just picturing you as a dad.” He gave me that hopeful look he’d been fond of since I’d come to Boston.
“Don’t.” I shook my head. Not that a green-eyed baby would be the worst thing in the world, just…not any time soon. I could barely picture the next six months as it was, and that was even knowing we were due to start a moderated tour schedule the first of July. But maybe one day. As long as Zoe was on board.
“Scared of diapers?” he teased. “Or the whole commitment thing?”
I scoffed. “I’m just scared I’ll be better at parenting than you are, and I’m trying to give you the upper hand for a while.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get back to that second verse.”
I fell into the music a little deeper than usual, and before I knew it, we were dropping the single.
Two months into the…whatever kind of break this was…I sat at a conference table at Berkshire Management with Quinn and Jonas, going over all the details for the tour that started in two weeks.
“That will give you time to hit up the radio station,” Ethan said, flipping the page on the stapled packet we’d been given.
I turned mine absentmindedly, keeping one eye on the glass wall as another person who wasn’t Zoe walked by. We’d been in this room for an hour, and still no sign of her.
“…at which point Nixon will put on a pair of rubber duck feet and peacock feathers…Nixon!” Ethan snapped.
“What?” I whipped my head toward him.
“You’d better start paying attention before you agree to a music video dressed like a really bad rendition of Elton John.” Jonas laughed.
“She’s not here. Stop looking,” Ethan lectured. “So that does it for the LA trip. Turn the page—”
“What do you mean, she’s not here?” I challenged.
“She’s on the road with Seven to One. Because they listen during meetings and let their manager do her job.” Ethan stared me, silent, for all of ten seconds.