Page 97 of Sounds Like Love
“I think it’s a beautiful song,” he replied. And, distantly, I heard him think,“Like you.”
I’d miss that the most. The asides in his head, never knowing if he meant for me to hear them or if I simply intercepted them through happenstance. I liked to think the latter. That even when I no longer lingered in his head, he still thought them. If only to himself.
I held the pen out to him. “Do you want to do the honors?”
He looked down at the ballpoint, and then pushed it back to me.“You’ll come up with something better.”
I couldn’t have done this without you.
“Lies,”he replied.“You’ve done this a dozen times before.”
Written songs, yes. But not like this. Not with this sort of experience, this sort of emotion. I’d written songs for the better half of a decade, but none of them reached so far down into my soul and burrowed there. Not like this one.
I wasn’t sure there would ever be another like it.
But I did know, at least, that I could still write. With a little help, and a little faith, and a little love—I could do anything.
And maybe that meant I could do something new.
I fiddled with my pen again. “Sasha, I’ve been thinking—”
His stomach made a noise. He blushed, grinning with embarrassment. “How about I cook something for you? How do you like your eggs?” He pushed himself off the bench, whatever I was about to say lost in the moment.
“Scrambled,” I replied. I could tell him later.
“Coming right up,” he replied, disappearing into the kitchen.
I stayed on the bench, twirling my pen between my fingers, reading over the song, hearing it full and fleshed out in my head.
It was a good song, I thought.
“It’s a great song,”he corrected me, though his voice was fainter still.
His confidence made me smile. Maybe I should go in and help him with breakfast. I wasn’t sure I trusted a pop star to not burn the toast—
My phone began to vibrate on the top of the piano. I reached for it, and looked at the caller ID. It was Rooney, my manager. And suddenly my life in LA came back with asnap, like a rubber band pulled too far. Dread clawed at my stomach. I didn’t have to answer it, but what if Rooney was calling with something important? Shit.
“Bacon?”Sasha asked.
Um—sure.
I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Oh, thankgod,” she started excitedly. “Are you sitting down?”
I did, on the edge of the bench. “Now I am … what’s so important you’re calling at—what—six in the morning from LA?” I added, doing quick math in my head.
“You know I’m an early bird,” she replied offhandedly. “And I didn’t check my email last night, though IknewI should have. Are you ready for this?” Before I could answer, she continued, “We heard from Willa’s team, and she’s been asked to perform at the VMAs. With the song.”
“‘If You Stayed’?”
“That’s the one, Jo.” She sounded so proud.
I was silent, stunned. For a few days, I’d sort of forgotten about—well—all of it. My career. Who I was. The world at large.
“How do you like your toast?”Sasha asked.
I—I don’t know, I replied. It was hard to think it to him, my brain loud and spiraling. Holy shit. Willa Grey was going to perform ‘If You Stayed’ on anawards show.That had never happened before. I didn’tcarehow I took my toast in this moment.
