“So you still need about fifteen grand or so?”
“Well, we could certainly record an album for less if we cut some corners on production value. Or I guess we could just do a few songs instead of a full album—or maybe another basic demo.” He puffs out his cheeks like a puffer fish, thinking. “But I really didn’t wanna do another demo—been there done that—I wanted to put together a full album that showcases who we are and what we can do.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Shit. Maybe I should just record a quick demo with my acoustic guitar on my iPad, just so you have something current to send to the guy before he forgets who you are—”
“Nope. We’re not gonna send Reed a demo, Dax.” I pull a thick envelope out of my purse and plop it onto the coffee table with a thud. “Because you’re recording a full album.”
“What’s that?”
“Open it.”
Dax opens the envelope and peeks inside. “Oh my... What the fuck is this? Did you rob a bank?”
I smirk. Oh, if only Dax knew how spot-on that comment is. I’d originally planned to use this wad of cash to pay off my credit cards and car, of course, but that was before I found out I’m gonna be amill-i-on-aire.
“Where the fuck did you get this kind of cash?” Dax asks, his eyes wide.
“Playing craps,” I say matter-of-factly. “That’s almost twenty grand there, baby. Enough for whatever album you’ve been dreaming of making plus a bit extra for bells and whistles: strings, horns, a freaking choir—whatever. Or maybe PR for the album when you release it or a down payment on a new bike.Whatever. It’s yours. Go forth and prosper.”
“How the fuck did you win twenty grand playingcraps?” Dax asks. “How is that even possible? You must have been betting, like, hundreds of bucks per roll—maybe even thousands.”
“Yeah, well, Josh spotted me some gambling money and then his brother walked away from the table and gave me all his chips. So, actually, I didn’t win any of this money fair and square. But Josh insisted I keep it, so whaddayagonnado?” I shrug. “And now it’s yours.”
“Wait a minute. The dudegaveyoutwentygrand and you’re not sure if he’sseriousabout you? Are you mentally deficient?”
I wave him off. “No, trust me. You don’t know Josh. Just because he’s crazy-generous and he gave me an insane amount of money doesn’t necessarily mean he wants a serious relationship with me. He has a warped sense of reality when it comes to money. The guy wears two-thousand-dollar shoes (which, true story, I barfed on one night).He drives a frickin’ Lamborghini, Dax.The guy’s not normal.”
“Dude, I don’t care how rich he is or what shoes he wears or what car he drives. If a guy gives a woman, especially a woman he’s sleeping with, twenty grand, then he thinks she’s one of two things: averyhigh-priced hooker or the woman of his dreams.”
My heart skips a beat. Damn, my brother has a knack for hitting the nail right on the head sometimes.
Dax picks up the envelope and begins counting the hundred-dollar bills inside, shaking his head with awe as he does. When he’s finally done counting, he looks up at me, his eyes glistening. “Thankyou so much, Kat,” he says. “I’ll repay you one day, I swear to God, every last penny.” His voice breaks adorably. “I’m gonna do everything in my power to make you proud of me, Kat.”
I grin from ear-to-ear. It’s so rare that Dax calls me Kat. With him, I’m always Jizz or sis (or Splooge or Protein Shake if he’s feeling particularly silly). He must feel uniquely overcome right now to be addressing me by my real name.
“You never need to pay me back,” I say. “It was never my money in the first place. And I’m already proud of you. All I want is for you to make the exact album you wanna make—no holding back.”
He lurches at me and wraps me in a fervent hug. “I love you, Kat. You’re my all-time favorite sister.”
I laugh and kiss his cheek, my eyes stinging. “I love you, too. You’re my all-time favorite baby brother.”
We hold each other for a long beat.
“Now get the fuck out of my house, you mooch,” I say, pulling away from our embrace and wiping my eyes. “I’ve got a thank-you email to write to our mutual benefactor, and then I’ve got a hot date with a certain piece of motorized machinery.”
Dax laughs. “No shit, you do.” He rubs his eyes. “Thanks so much, Kat. I’ll never forget this as long as I live.”
“I didn’t do it so you’d owe me something. I did it because watching you make your dreams come true will be the same thing as making my own dream come true.”
He wipes his eyes again. “I’ll make you proud, sis.”
“You already have.”
There’s a beat. We’re smiling at each other like simpletons. I think this is one of the best moments of my life. Way better than if I’d received something amazing for myself.
“Now get the fuck out,” I say. “You’re cramping my style.”
He kisses me on the cheek again, shoves his guitar into its case, scoops up his envelope full of cash, and strides toward my front door. But a few feet from the door, he stops short and looks down for a very long beat, his back still to me.
When Dax finally whirls around to face me, I’m expecting him to thank me again, or maybe say something deep and poignant—but that’s not what happens.
