by BK Rivers
It’s Saturday and Micah’s birthday party is in full swing at the park near our apartment. There are a dozen seven- and eight-year-old boys running around, high on cupcakes and frosting, and I only hope I can keep track of them all. Stacey’s here, along with Jordan, and they’re both helping me wrangle the boys into a huddle so Micah can open his presents. I sit behind my son while he tears open birthday bags and wrapped gifts, and I find I can’t keep my eyes off Jordan. For someone learning just a few days ago he’s a father, he’s sure handling it better than I could ever have hoped.
He’s wearing a smile on his face that reaches his eyes, and it fills me to the brim with happiness. After we spoke more about Micah, and he told his parents about him, they demanded he take a paternity test. I have to admit it stung more than I would’ve thought that his parents didn’t believe me. The results came back quickly, of course proving his paternity. I’m sure they’ll eventually want to meet their grandson, but as of right now, there haven’t been any attempts to get to know him. Jordan tells me not to worry, because he’s enough for me and Micah, and deep in my heart I know he’s right.
“Having a good time?” Jordan asks, startling me. His hands rest on my shoulders as he dips down to kiss my cheek, making my heart race.
“Today has been great,” I answer. Actually, having him here with us has been amazing, something I never thought could happen. Now that it has, in a way it makes me sad. He’s missed so much, and I can’t help but wish I’d made a different choice all those years ago. But I was so young and wanted him to live his dreams.
“I want to spend the rest of the weekend with you and Micah,” he says close to my ear. “I don’t want the two of you out of my sight until I have to leave on Monday to go to L.A.” He squeezes my shoulders gently before sitting on the bench next to me. The heat from his body snakes around me, making me shiver in anticipation. I don’t want him out of my bed the rest of the weekend.
My cheeks heat thinking about him in my bed. Never have I brought a man to my apartment, let alone had one in my bed, and I worry that Micah will catch us. By some miracle though, he’s been nightmare-free and stayed in his own bed until morning each night. That is to say, both Jordan and I have agreed that for the time being, he will be gone before Micah wakes up in the morning. We don’t want to confuse him right now.
Stacey’s been a trooper, though, putting up with us every night. She pretends to gag every time Jordan kisses me and says she can’t wait to be in her own place so she doesn’t have to witness the nightly tongue wrestling. Every time she brings up moving I get a little teary-eyed, because I feel like it’s the end of the Reggie and Stacey era. She’s not going to be here for our nightly girl talk anymore or to tell me to grow up when I’m having a bad day.
Parents begin to show up to take their boys home, and by the time the last boy leaves I’m wiped out. The party was only two hours long, but I swear watching twelve boys ages you about five years. Stacey, Jordan, and I clean up our party area as Micah goes through his presents with gusto. Jordan gave him his present this morning, a brand new blue bike with handlebar brakes. He had the biggest smile on his face until he admitted he didn’t know how to ride a bike. That made me feel like the worst parent in the world, never having taught my son to ride. Jordan took it in stride, even appeared excited at the prospect of showing him the ropes.
“You ready to head home?” I ask Micah after the car is loaded and the party all cleaned up. He nods enthusiastically, turns to Jordan, and gives him his signature smile. Uh-oh, he’s about to ask Jordan for the moon.
“Will you teach me how to ride my bike now?” he asks, practically jumping on the balls of his feet. Jordan beams, nods, and my boy wraps his arms around Jordan’s waist like they’ve always belonged there. I choke back a tear, knowing I promised myself I was finished crying no matter how this turns out. I’m all in, even if that means in the end I’m all in with only Micah. I know I can’t keep Jordan if he doesn’t want to stay, and I won’t ask him either. He needs to make that decision on his own.
Chapter 35
Jordan
Most days I still can’t believe I have a son. I was royally pissed when I called my parents to tell them about Micah and my dad demanded I take a paternity test. I didn’t have to take a test to know that Micah was mine. He has my eyes and, damn, that smile of his—just like mine. I like to think I’m doing a great job suppressing the hurt that sneaks up on me occasionally, but I know I’m going to have to deal with it in the long run. Holding something like this back will only blow up in my face. I’m hoping my trip to L.A. with the guys to finish our recording session will give me some clarity.
After Micah’s birthday party, I did everything I could not to puff out my chest like a proud father when he asked me to teach him how to ride a bike. I haven’t earned that title, not yet, but it still felt amazing to have him ask me and trust me enough to show him what to do. And let me tell you, he’s an amazing kid. It didn’t take him long at all to learn how to ride, and that alone filled me with pride.
Spending the nights with Reggie in her bed, loving her, holding her, makes me want things I don’t know how to ask for. Maybe it’s not so much the how, but the who. My life isn’t exactly normal, and I have commitments. But they don’t mean anything without Reggie and Micah. So now I’m seeking clarity.
The six of us guys are piled into the van, driving on the I-10 to L.A., and my mind won’t leave Reggie and Micah. I’m never going to get the answers I want if I can’t keep them off my mind. We have five days to finish these songs and make sure they’re perfect. Then our break will be quickly coming to a close. Jeremy has already told the guys his plans to separate from the band and get married next month, and a large part of me wants exactly what he’s getting. A family, something normal after these crazy years we’ve all spent together.
While Drake drives, I sit in the front seat with one foot on the dash, ear buds in, music grounding me. I always listen to the instrumental versions of our songs. It helps me focus on the tasks at hand, which right now means getting my head in the game. We have thirteen songs to finalize, and then they’ll be going out to the world. I know I’ve said it before, but this album feels so personal, like I’ve stripped myself bare for the world to see who I really am. It’s damn good and, when finished, will be our best release ever.
Which brings me back to Reggie. This album feels like my farewell. The goodbye my fans need and deserve.
***
Two days of being in the studio makes me feel like a caged animal. Our rhythm is off, the sound isn’t right, and no matter what I do I can’t find the heart to get the job done. Mandy Montrose, our agent, stands behind the glass with her arms folded across her chest, glaring at me. She’s already called me out once today to give me the “talk,” but I just can’t pull it together. I’m screwing this up for everyone, and right now the look Mandy’s giving me says she’s one minute away from screaming.
“Jordan!” Well, that minute flew by quickly. “Get your ass out here,” she growls over the speakers. The guys shake their heads as I leave the microphone. “Go to lunch, guys,” Mandy says, dismissing the band. When I step through the door, she’s there on the other side with her face pinched in anger. Her white blouse is wrinkled over her chest from crossing her arms all morning.
“You’ve been in studio for nearly two days, Jordan, and we haven’t been able to produce music worth the toilet paper to wipe my ass. What is wrong with you?” She turns, her artificially black hair swishing over her shoulder as she paces across the small waiting room. Four barely padded chairs line the short wall, and opposite is another glass divider that looks into the sound room. The walls are gray with framed gold and platinum records hanging sporadically around the seven-by-ten room.
Is it wrong that, although I know these songs are amazing and the album will be incredible, I suddenly don’t really care to get them out to the world? Which brings me to a phone call I need to make. And fast.
; I pull my cell from my pocket, holding up a finger to silence her, and begin scrolling through my contacts. When I find the name I’m looking for and walk out of the waiting room, Mandy follows close behind, mumbling a string of swear words. When I hit the cement outside the studio, I breathe a sigh of relief. Well, maybe not quite relief, more like a breath of hope. Meaning I sure hope I know what I’m doing.
“Where the hell are you going?” she demands, wrinkling the blouse even more. “You are contractually obligated to record this album! You can’t just walk away from our conversation.” She’s practically screaming now, standing outside the studio for anyone within twenty yards to hear.
“I’m taking a lunch break,” I say, readying to hail a taxi. “Let’s meet early tomorrow, and you’ll get your album.” Her jaw drops as I quickly jump into a cab that just pulled up. Before she has time to react, I slap the driver on the shoulder and tell him I’m ready to go. He quirks a smile, nods, and then drives away from the curb, leaving Mandy wearing a scowl. Palming my cell, I press send and wait for the line to pick up.
“I haven’t heard from you in almost two years,” Greg Bryant, my lawyer, says in his deep baritone voice. “How the hell are you doing? Wait. Don’t answer that. Why are you calling me?”
I’ve known Greg for several years; actually, he’s been my lawyer since White Shadow signed our record deal. He’s what the music industry would consider a hard-ass in the business. He knows his shit, and I wasted no time in putting him on retainer when we signed our contract.
“I’m here in L.A., and I need a favor,” I say with a chuckle. “I need you to look over my contract with Mandy Montrose and Orion Records and tell me how ironclad it is.”
A long pause hangs on the line before he says anything. “What’s this all about, Jordan?”
“I want to retire, and I need to know how long I’ve got before I can do it.”
“Wow. I’m not in the office, but if you want to meet me there in an hour, we can go over it.”
“Sure, I’ll see you in an hour.”
Forty-five minutes later, I’m outside the building where Greg’s office is located on the twenty-ninth floor, overlooking a large man-made lake near the center of the city. Why the city developers thought they needed to build a lake right here is beyond me. I ride the elevator up and stare out the glass windows as the people get smaller and smaller the higher I go. When the elevator doors open, Greg is waiting for me, wearing a pair of plaid golf shorts and a pale blue Polo shirt. His muddy brown hair is styled into a messy look, not unlike the one every guy tries to create to make the world think they spend no time at all on their hair.
“I never pictured you as a golfer, Greg,” I say as we shake hands. “I figured more of a tennis player.”
“Actually, I play both.” He smirks and leads me to his office. He offers me a Cuban cigar when I sit down across from him, but I turn it down. “So, what brought on your sudden desire to cut out of the music industry?” he asks as he turns on his computer.
“Would you believe love?”
His eyes widen, but he smiles and pulls up my contracts with Mandy and the record label.
“She must be something to make the one and only Jordan Capshaw want to give up touring and all the girls throwing themselves at your feet.”
Greg scans through the contracts, scribbles some notes on a piece of paper, and then prints off a couple pages. I take a moment to watch him as he reads through the pages he printed one more time. His lips purse, then relax, and he shakes his head, humming quietly to himself.
His office is made up of windows on two sides that overlook the lake below, while the other two walls are a rich, navy blue and give the room a moody glow. A painting of a massive oak tree reminds me of the large trees lining the driveway of Jemma’s home. Or rather, the house and land I now own. I only bought it because it was the start of my recovery, and I can’t help but wonder now if it will be my last stop on this journey called life.
Greg looks up from the papers with a surprised look on his face. I can’t tell if this is a good sign or not.
“Well, it looks like your contract is pretty solid,” he says, and my heart drops to the floor. “They covered all their bases. If you’d come to me three months ago, I would’ve said there’s no way you could break the contract.”
A whoosh of air rushes from my lungs. “So you’re saying what, exactly?”
“First, it would seem your contract with Orion Records is complete.” A smile tugs at his lips as he leans back in his chair.
“So, this new album Mandy has us recording doesn’t even have a home to go to right now?”
Greg shakes his head and continues. “It would also seem that Mandy Montrose’s contract as White Shadow’s agent expires next month.”
“What does this all mean?” I ask, hoping I’m understanding correctly.
“It means that you and White Shadow are only bound by the terms of Mandy Montrose’s contract for another twenty-eight days. You will be free agents and can seek new representation or retire or do whatever you want.”
There has to be a catch. No one gets this lucky; something’s not adding up. “It’s not that I don’t trust your legal skills, Greg, but how did this get by Mandy? Why hasn’t she brought up renewing our contract? What if I didn’t want out and the album was cut and ready to go?”
“If you truly want out, now is your chance. I’m not sure I’d be questioning the how and why if I were you.” Greg’s advice is legit, but I can’t help but feel there’s something he’s missing. Luck just hasn’t ever been on my side.
“All right, man. If you say we’re free in a month, then I’m going to take your word for it.” I can’t believe this weight has been lifted from my shoulders. We shake hands, and I’m so relieved I could skip down the hall, to the elevator, and all the way back to the hotel if it weren’t so far away. This is the best news I could’ve received, and now I can meet up with the guys and figure out what to do from here.
I dial Mandy on my cell and make some random excuse about being unable to show up tomorrow to finish the album and offer an apology for walking out on her earlier. It was rude and I shouldn’t have done it. Though the end result is better than I could have hoped for.
I’m meeting the guys back at the hotel to discuss the future of the band, but first I send a quick text to Reggie letting her know my plans might be changing. I hate to stay away longer, but after tonight my life may be changing even more drastically than it already has.
Jeremy slaps me on my shoulder in a greeting when I walk through Drake’s hotel room. The guys are all sitting around the small table playing a round of poker and it makes me happy to see these guys who are like brothers to me.
“What’s up, bro?” Carson asks, pulling the discarded cards into a pile in front of him. “Mandy was royally pissed when you walked out today.”
I rake my hands through my hair, smile, and plop down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, that was a really dick move on my part. I called her and apologized.”
“You okay?” Drake asks after taking a swig from a bottle of water.
There really isn’t any way to ease in to what my plans are, so I lay it all out for them to see like the deck of cards in front of Carson.
“Our contract with the label is complete,” I say, releasing a breath. The guys stare at me in confusion. “Mandy’s contract as our agent expires in a month and I’m giving you my notice. You’re going to need to find a new front man for White Shadow.”
There is a stilled silence in the room as the guys glance back and forth between us all. A smile grows on Jeremy’s face and then as if the weight of the room shifts, Drake stands and reaches for my hand.
“It’s about damn time you came to your senses and married that girl,” he says, smiling so wide that creases form on the outer edges of his eyes.
“Who said anything about getting hitched?” I ask with a grin overtaking my own face.
“This guy over here is tying the
knot next month,” Drake says, pointing over his shoulder at JD. “It was only a matter of time before you followed suit. Though we all think it should have been you first.”
“Hey!” Jeremy says with a smirk. “When you know, you know.” He shrugs and the rest of the night is like this. Easy, casual, and the way family should be.
Chapter 36
Reggie
Stacey is moving out today, and I’m an emotional wreck. Micah is upset and won’t talk to me, and Jordan’s been MIA for so long it scares me. I receive a random text from him every once in a while, but it feels like his trip to L.A. was a goodbye. If it wasn’t, then why hasn’t he come back to me? I know his recording session is done, and he should’ve been home five days ago.
I shake my head and return my focus to Stacey, who’s packing the last of the boxes with the remaining items from her bedroom. Her brother, James, and two of his friends showed up an hour ago and are loading up a small U-Haul truck with her large furniture. Her bedroom is empty except for some boxes lining one wall, and it hits me this really is the end of the Reggie and Stacey show.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, hoping she’s considering changing her mind. “You don’t have to move out.”
Stacey plops to the floor, sits cross-legged, and blows out a breath. Her red hair is pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head, and it reminds me of the day we moved in together all those years ago. This complex isn’t the nicest, but it’s housed us for almost nine years. Nothing is going to be the same when she’s gone.
“It’s time for me to be on my own, Reggie,” she says quietly. “I need to find out who I really am. You know this. Please don’t make this harder on me than it already is. I need to know you’re going to be okay when I’m gone.”