Within seconds, Hayes is next to me, rubbing my back and pulling my loose hair away from my face.
Tears burn in my eyes and I can’t help the broken sob that escapes me. It hurts my chest and I feel like I’m about to collapse under the weight of what’s happening.
“Hayes,” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut and willing this pain to go away.
“I’m here, baby,” he whispers. He covers me, his larger frame surrounding mine as if he’s trying to protect me from anything hurling my way.
But it’s too late.
I’m wounded.
I’m broken.
Where do I go from here?
FORTY-ONE
hayes
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16
Jersey paces backand forth across the living room floor. I’m slightly concerned she’ll wear a hole in the hardwood with how hard she’s stomping around, but I’m not about to tell her to stop. I’m not sure she’d listen if I tried.
She’s in full crisis mode right now and all I can do is sit by and offer support where I can.
Her phone has been glued to her ear for the better part of the last hour. She’s been on and off phone calls with Bethany, her manager and PR team, her mom, Roman, and her lawyer—not necessarily in that order.
Her dark chocolate hair is strewn atop her head, messy from her relentlessly running her fingers through the strands. Though her voice is level, I can pick up on her panic, which rises with every passing minute.
I wish there was something I could do, but I’m completely lost. This all goes way over my head. All I can do is sit here, giving her moral support.
When Jersey hangs up the latest phone call with her lawyer, she runs her hands over her face and groans. Shuffling over towhere I’m seated on the couch, she falls down next to me and buries her face in my chest. I wrap my arms around her, my heart hurting for her and frustrated that I can’t help her any more than I am already.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers. Her shoulders tremble as she drags in a shaky breath. My thoughts flash to the sight of her hunched over on the side of the road, crumbling under the weight of her new reality, and my heart breaks a little more.
My beautiful, strong Jersey. I’d do anything to keep her from feeling this pain ever again.
I smooth my hand over her hair and cup the back of her neck, holding her tightly to me. “What did your lawyer say?”
“She’s reviewing the contract to determine whether taking my original song is a violation of my intellectual property rights, or if it would fall under the category of intellectual property they own. It gets a little gray since there has never been any interest in any of my original songs so far.”
I admit, I like that her lawyer is searching for loopholes and ways out. No matter what, someone’s getting sued over this. It would be an added bonus if Jersey can also escape from the chokehold this contract has her under.
“What do you think happened?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea. The only way for them to have gotten those words would have been to hear me sing them”—her eyes cut to mine and my blood turns to ice—“or they somehow got a hold of my notebook where they were written.” I know she believes me, but it still hurts that I’m a plausible option for her words getting leaked.
That must be how they did it, but it’s going to be a matter of finding out the finer details, and then proving that Jersey had written those words first.
I have no doubt her lawyer will be able to handle the infringement situation. She’ll get a large payday—even though it may take time—but I have no idea what will happen next.
“What do we do now?”
“Best-case scenario: I get writing credits on the song and a share of revenue. Meghan’s already recorded it,” she says ruefully, her shoulders sinking. “And it’s already been streamed and downloaded thousands of times by her fans. There’s no going back in that aspect. It’s her song now. Even if we move forward with legal action, the song is out there. Sure, I may be able to get licenses and credits and compensation, but no one will ever recognize it as mine as much as they do hers.”
I remember back to when Jersey sang it for me on Christmas. This song is such an intimate part of her, a clue in to some of her most inner thoughts and feelings. I can’t imagine how devastated she must be feeling to have had that part of her displayed for the world to see, without anyone knowing they’re her words.
“I wish there was some way I could help,” I admit, running my hand up and down her back.
