Andalways you.
I’llput all this behind us,
Wrapit in a grave.
I’lllet this summer end,
I’llvisit when I’m brave.
Daisies,and daisies,
Daisies,and daisies,
Andonly you.
His handcovered his eyes, resting his elbow against the strange guitar that must’vefelt tantalizingly wrong in his hands, and I watched one tear emerge and fallagainst the black wood. He exhaled, wiped his eyes hastily and dropped the handback down.
“Devin,you good, man?” Jerry asked through a microphone.
Composinghimself, Dev nodded and cleared his throat before saying. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Richardleaned forward against the soundboard and grinned. He wasn’t my mother’swonderful and warm boyfriend in that moment, staring through the glass at myworld, sitting in that room lined with soundproofing. He was a wolf, hungry andfeasting his eyes on his next meal. I didn’t know what to make of it, but Iwasn’t sure I liked it.
“Devin,”he said into the mic. “Devin, Devin, Devin.”
“Uh,yep, that’s still my name,” Dev quipped.
“Weare going to make you a star, you know that, right? Sheeran better watch out,because Devin O’Leary is on his way.”
“Youknow, Rich, I really don’t have any beef with Ed, so …”
“Then,you’ll tour with him.”
Devinblinked his response before saying, “Get the fuck out of here,” in a strangledvoice.
Richardbeckoned with his hand for Devin to come out of the recording booth, and hefollowed like an obedient dog. Richard was suddenly nothing more than a suit,standing and salivating over my boyfriend and his gift. His hands reachedforward, sinking his claws into the shoulders I clung to at night.
“Doyou know how talented you are?” he asked sincerely.
Devinshrugged. “Uh, well, it would be pretty conceited of me to say I’m a fuckinggenius, so …”
“Well,I’m telling you right now, you are,” Richard confirmed. “A fucking genius, Imean.”
Devdidn’t even hide his eye roll, and I stifled my laugh. “Let’s not go crazyhere, Rich.”
“Youaresobrilliantly talented, and in a few months, the entire world isgoing to know it. I’m going to make sure of that,” Richard said with a steadynod. “How many songs do you have written?”
Blinkingand clutching the guitar like a security blanket, Devin shrugged and shook hishead. “Uh … I don’t know? A few dozen?”
“Alloriginal?”
“Uh,well, if I had written them, I would hope so. But I did sell a couple toBeyoncé, though.”
Jerrywhipped his head to look up at him while Richard’s jaw dropped. “You’re fuckingkidding,” he said.
“JesusChrist, of course I’m kidding,” Devin said, shaking his head incredulously,looking down at me. “Why does nobody understand sarcasm?”
“Idon’t know, babe,” I said, feeling suddenly small and very out of place.
