Though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me, CT leaves me to myself, letting me wallow in the shitstorm that I caused.
I hurry through the rest of my work with my mind on one thing and one thing only, focusing on taking care of Felicity.
She is the only good thing I have left.
25
felicity
Fall has fully arrivedon the foothills, and as I ride in the back seat of a blacked-out SUV, I watch a few of the leaves fall from trees and smile. We have already made it through Halloween, and I’d had a wonderful time dressing up beyond recognition, helping my mom pass out candy, and making our way through the little street festival that Acton had put on.
Now, I am looking forward to pies and snacks and turkey and football as Thanksgiving approaches. I’m not a big football fan, but we turn it on like everyone else does, nonetheless. It is fun to be in the spirit of it all.
We make our way into the heart of downtown and find the small, hole-in-the-wall studio that agreed to work with me, though we’d put my guitarist, Phil’s, name under the reservation so there wouldn’t be any fans waiting outside every day if my name gets out.
It isn’t my favorite way to live, but with fame comes the cost of privacy lost.
Ezra parks, makes his way to my side, and opens my door. I’m wearing a beanie, oversized sunglasses, and a sweatsuit—something any ordinary person would wear.
Thankfully, in this part of town, it doesn’t seem like anyone cares who is walking on this sidewalk. There are a few people out and about, minding their own business, their attention on their own lives and phones to care about mine.
Just how I like it.
I enter the studio, the smell of a burning candle hitting my nose first before I make my way down a red-painted hallway, following the muffled sounds of a guitar.
That is Phil.
I smile as I enter the room. A sound engineer sits behind the big soundboard, and Phil is in the studio fiddling around inside. He waves when he sees me, and I take off my sunglasses, sliding them into my purse and waving back.
“Holy shit.” I turn my attention back to the sound engineer and give a smile to the gaping man.
“Hi, I’m Felicity.” I knew he knew that, but not introducing myself felt too strange, even now.
“I know.” He stands, nearly knocking his chair over as he stumbles over his feet, holding out a hand for me to shake. Ezra comes forward protectively, and the poor man pulls his hand away, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.
I eye my security. “It’s okay, Ez. He’s just introducing himself,” I say, subtly prompting the man to introduce himself.
“Hi, yes, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude.” He holds his hands up in front of him. “I’m Gavin. I own this studio.”
“Oh, you’re the owner?” I ask with interest, looking around the spacious room. There is a chair against a wall, a comfortable looking one I fully plan to sink into as we dive into our session, and a large couch shoved against the back wall. It is mismatchedand clearly all that could be afforded, but I love everything about it.
“There she is,” Phil’s voice pulls me back to the present, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding my familiar and one of my best friends close.
“Phil! I can’t believe you’re here.” I pull back, keeping my hands on his shoulders, and smile broadly.
He shakes his slightly graying hair and says, “Well, Colorado is much more chill than LA. I’m digging it.”
Phil has been a guitarist since before I could walk, but the minute we met and he took me under his wing, even though my manager and the studio I’d worked with before had hired him, he kept me safe from some shady shit that I could have gotten involved with.
There is no shortage of bad influences in LA, especially in show business.
“Right?” I head for the large chair, digging through my bag for my notebook and tablet.
“Okay, so I was working on a chord progression for that song you sent and came up with some ideas,” Phil says, sitting adjacent to me and grabbing an acoustic guitar I know well.
Gavin sits at the soundboard. “I can leave if you want?” He says the words with a hint of hope, like he doesn’t want to leave.
“Did you sign everything her manager sent?” Ezra asks, acting like the big brother I saw him as.
