“That’syour decision to make, though.”
Isighed and shook my head. “Ididn’t make that decision. I let them makeit for me and I didn’t say anything. I’ve been a puppet for the past severalmonths of my life and it took her leaving, for me to fucking see it.God,I’m such an idiot.”
Scrubbinga hand over my face, I looked to the rafters and thought of Black & Brewed.The nutty, bitter scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the shop. Thewhir of espresso machines and gentle singer-songwriter music filling the space.The leather-bound books on the shelves.
Home.
“Ifthat’s what it takes to get yourself a Grammy, though …” She laughedlightheartedly, attempting to lift the heavy mood from the atmosphere, and Idropped my eyes back to her.
“Idon’t need a fuckingGrammy,” I snapped, a little harsher than intended.“I never wanted a Grammy. I never wanted a platinum record, or a sold-outstadium tour.”
“Then,what do you want?”
“AllI ever fucking wanted washer,” I said, saying it out loud. “That’s allI fucking want. I would rather never play my fucking guitar again, than liveanother day without her.”
Becca’smouth fell open and her eyes stared blankly toward me. “Wow.”
“What?”I asked gruffly.
Shesmiled sadly. “I just hope someone can love me like that one day, so much thatthey’re willing to give up their passion, just to be with me.”
Inodded, wrapping my hand around my glass and lifting it to her. “I hope sotoo,” and with my toast, I drank and swallowed. Licking my lips, I said, “Holyshit, that’s really good.”
“Itold you.”
“Youdid,” I said with a smile.
Weate in silence, because the night wouldn’t go beyond that table. She knew Iwouldn’t sit in her Jeep again and that I wasn’t going back to her place. Thiswasn’t my life. This was never supposed to be mine. I gave it up, to be withKylie, and after thirteen long years of waiting, I finally got her.
Whythe hell would I give that away?
?
Myfist connected with the doorframe.
Ididn’t want to knock; I wanted to break the fucking door down. Still, I had tokeep some semblance of composure, and that was hard to do. With monotonouscarpet on either side of me, I waited impatiently, unsure if I would even get aresponse.
Andthen, it opened.
“Weneed to talk,” I demanded as I pushed my way into the hotel room.
Richardclosed the door behind me. “It’s about time.”
“What?”I asked, turning to face him before sitting on the couch. I glanced around, andsaid, “My room is nicer than yours.”
“Noshit,” he mumbled with a smirk.
Hewas dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants. I liked Casual Richard. CasualRichard was so much better than Suit Richard. Suit Richard saw dollar signswhen he looked at me, but Casual Richard saw a friend—maybe even a son. Hecared, helistenedand I knew with the way he satacross from me on the bed, he was going to listen then.
“Iwas wondering when you’d need to talk,” he admitted.
Nodding,I said, “I need to go home, Rich.”
“Iknow,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Normally, I’dgive you the ‘you’re under contract’ spiel, but I’ll be honest with you, Devin…”
“What?”
“Ithink I made a mistake with you.”
