Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,25

stuff to make batter to cover up the ground-up vegetables in Kaylee’s food. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s drop it.”

“I can’t.”

The fridge door slams shut. On its own. Totally wasn’t me. “Why not?”

Ryder leans against the kitchen counter. “Do you know why Eleven broke up?”

“Harley Valentine wanted to go solo?”

Ryder huffs. “We were all ready to do our own thing, but do you know what the catalyst was? Despite what the tabloids printed, it wasn’t because we constantly fought … Well, we did fight, but it was like brothers. We’d yell, we’d get over it, and then it’d be business as usual, but the main reason we broke up was because of me.”

I frown.

“I loved being in the spotlight. I lived for it. But the second Kaylee was born, all that love for the industry was overshadowed by fear. Like you saw when we left the play center, fame and children don’t mix.”

“I don’t … I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“I let fear for Kaylee darken my career and fame. Whatever it is you’re scared of, you need to—”

“I need to make like Elsa and let it go?”

He steps closer. “Don’t be too afraid to step into the spotlight. With one song, I know you were born for it.”

He moves next to me, and his arm brushes against mine. My body responds in a way it really shouldn’t, but it’s not like I can help it. Here’s this guy, basically telling me what I’ve wanted to hear from industry professionals ever since I left home, saying I was born to live my dream and encouraging me to take it.

I get the pity stare from most people when I say I’m trying to make it as a musician. There are countless people trying to make it in this business, the majority of whom won’t see the inside of a recording studio.

“Think about what I said, and if you want help with anything—anything at all—I’m here.” Ryder touches my shoulder and squeezes.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I should …” I point to the ingredients on the counter before I start to read into the simple friendly touch.

When he lets go, I immediately want to feel it again, but he steps away. “I’ll go see why Kaylee’s taking so long in the bathroom.”

“I’ve noticed she has a new fascination with filling the sink up with bubbly water and giving her toys a bath.”

“Oh. Fun.”

“At first I thought she might have been having digestion issues, but nope, it’s just very important to make sure her Bratz dolls have good hygiene.”

“Oh, thank God for that. I was beginning to worry for them.”

I crack a smile. “Me too. Maybe that’s why her GI Joes are hooking up with each other. The girls are smelly.”

Ryder laughs and backs away with an expression I can’t quite read, but one I’d love to see on his face time and time again.

Chapter Seven

Ryder

I can’t figure out why Lyric is so adamant about sabotaging himself. I can’t get his singing voice out of my head, and I’ve been dreaming about the scene I walked in on.

My daughter, the light of my life, dancing around this ubertalented man as he sang a hauntingly beautiful song.

I’ve heard that damn song so many times since the second Frozen movie came out, both the Idina Menzel version and Panic! At the Disco’s. Neither of them gave me goose bumps the way Lyric’s did.

I was ready to call every record label I could think of to tell them to sign Lyric, but I get the feeling if I did that, whatever has been holding him back would refuse the offer.

He’s amazing with Kaylee, and it would suck to lose him as a nanny when things are going well so far. I haven’t had to worry about Kaylee getting bitten or bullied, and I feel better knowing Lyric’s always with her at playgroup to keep an eye out.

But I can’t help feeling like he’s wasting his talent being a nanny when he could be huge.

His image might need some work, but he has the voice to carry whatever image he wants. Ed Sheeran doesn’t fit the mold of what labels look for because he doesn’t need to. It’s his voice that carries him.

Lyric is objectively hot, and he has the voice.

A tapping on the glass between the studio and the control room breaks my Lyric-infused daze.

Cash cocks his head at me.

Oh shit, we’re recording.

I hit Stop and press the button for the intercom between the rooms. “Sorry