“You’re fine.” Tyler shifted in her seat. She prayed Taylor wasn’t about to bring up all the bullshit Oakwood put out about her because she wasn’t sure how she’d respond. It was easy to dodge questions when they were asked through email and spam phone calls. Face-to-face was a different story. The anxious feeling invaded her body again and Tyler felt the palms of her hands start to sweat.
“I know you probably have a lot going on right now, but are you going to record again?” Taylor asked, easing her mind andbody. Sighing in relief, Tyler sat back in her seat and pulled the corner of her lip into her mouth.
“Umm, I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I think I’m adjusting to life without music. The pressure of always being on is draining, and for the first time since I signed my contract, I feel like I can breathe. Don’t get me wrong, I love singing, but I want to sing on my own terms, plus Oakwood basically banned me from every studio you could think of, I can’t record if I wanted to.”
“Not ours!” Taylor’s eyes bloomed. “We have a fully equipped studio and you’re welcome to use it anytime you want. Oakwood ain’t stopping shit this way, tell her.” She nudged her husband.
“You’d offer her my kidney to keep her close, huh?” Rahlo joked.
“Maybe.”
“But she’s right,” he said to Tyler. “My studio is open to you whenever you want to come through and drop something.”
“I appreciate that,” she responded with a warm smile.
“Period,” Marley agreed. “Plus, we love a good comeback album. Every time a nigga piss Keyisha Cole off, she makes some fire music.”
“Swear!” Taylor clapped her hands. “Beyonce, Ciara, and Mary J too. Don’t let them steal your light. I’m sure you were a bad bitch before Oakwood, and you’ll be an even badder bitch without them.”
“I second that!” Marley snapped her fingers.
“Aight, aight.” Rahlo slid from under his wife. “I’m about to bring out the horseshoes.”
“Horseshoes?” Czar frowned. “Nigga you need to go back to making trap music, you turning into an old white man.”
“Fuck you,” Rahlo chuckled, jogging to the other side of the yard.
“I need to smoke before he starts this horseshoe shit,” Czar stated, standing to his feet. “Walk with me, LB.” He reached for his wife.
Following her husband's lead, Marley took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the side of the house. Taylor excused herself to go check on their kids. She trusted the nanny, but it didn’t stop her from popping in on them.
“You straight?” Logic asked, rubbing the side of Tyler’s leg.
“Yea,” she snapped. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because I said I got you and that requires me checking on you, constantly.”
“Well, I’m fine. I didn’t sneak off to pop a pill if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Don’t act like I just listen to you,” she said with a frown.
“I’m not saying all that, but I also know you’re not trying to go down that road with me.”
“Boy bye.” Tyler waved him off. “You’re not my daddy or my man.”
“Obviously because neither of them niggas know what to do with you.”
“And you do?”
“I’ll show you better than I can tell you.” Logic tapped her leg before getting up. “Holler if you need me.”
???
It didn’t take Rahlo long to set up the game, and to make it interesting, he suggested they take a shot for every horseshoe that missed the ring and put one hundred dollars in a hat for every horseshoe made. At the end of the game the person with the most points would win the hat full of money. Never one to back down from a challenge, Czar and Logic both agreed to the rules.
An hour into the game, Czar was cheating, Rahlo was passing out shots like bottled water, and Logic was barely hanging on. He was a smoker, and a smoker couldn’t hang with drinkers no matter how hard they tried. Logic couldn’t even see the skinny ass rings anymore. Every time he thought he was doing some shit, Rahlo was handing him a shot glass, and Czar was cracking the fuck up.
