Don't Let the Music Die (The Storyhill Musicians Book 2)

by Annmarie Boyle

  Brad laughed. “You’re really enjoying that, aren’t you?”

  He looked back at Amy-Lynn, now engrossed with her phone. Yes, he was—in so many ways. Ways he would not share with his manager. “Yep, I am,” he answered. “Thanks, Brad, for hooking me up.”

  He ended the call and jogged back to Amy-Lynn.

  She looked up. “Everything okay?”

  “Better than okay.” He was so excited to tell her. “CTV reached out to Brad. They want to talk to me about hosting a new country music singing competition.”

  He waited for her smile. Or the words, “I’m proud of you.” But none of that came.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. Pretty much the opposite of a smile. “CTV?”

  He cocked his head to the side, his brows pulling together. He didn’t understand her reaction. “Country Mu—”

  “I know what CTV is, Matt,” she snapped, shoving her phone into her pocket. “I just can’t believe it.”

  His spine stiffened, and he hoped he was misinterpreting her reaction. “I can’t believe it, either. But my ‘not believe it’ is happy. You sound upset. I thought you’d be happy, too.”

  She blinked her eyes. Several times. In rapid succession. “Everything is so easy for you.”

  “What?”

  “Must be nice to be pretty. All you have to do is smile and things fall in your lap.” She started to pace. “You leave OU and, like, a week later have a starring role at Dollywood. Your band found you on YouTube, for pete’s sake. And you waltz in for an interview and three hours later you have a co-hosting gig—on a nationally syndicated show. Do you work for anything?”

  Where was all this coming from? I mean, she’d always teased him about being born under a lucky star, but he thought she’d been kidding. God, she thought even less of him than he’d realized. Anger sizzled up his arms and shot directly into his core.

  “I worked my ass off for all of that.”

  She stopped and looked up at him, her eyes flashing. “Did you? Did you really?”

  “Yes, I did! And you would know that if you hadn’t kicked me to the curb. If you’d have taken that journey with me—like we had planned.”

  They stood staring at each other, chests rising and falling.

  Matt lowered his voice. They were drawing the attention of passersby. “I can’t help what I look like. I had nothing to do with that. But I’ve been judged by it all my life. Every time I run into a problem, people say things like you just did, ‘It’s a good thing you’re pretty’ or ‘Don’t worry about being talented, your looks will get you the job.’ It makes me feel like shit—like no one ever looks beyond the surface. I’m more than a plastic toy. And you, of all people, should know how commenting on my looks and maligning my efforts makes me feel.” He stepped away from her and ran his fingers through his hair.

  How did this day careen off the tracks so quickly?

  He thought she’d be impressed. That’s why he’d reached out to Brad. To show her he was more. And she still saw him like all the others, one-dimensional.

  He startled when she placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what? Insinuating I don’t work for the things in my life or for letting your real feelings show?” He knew he was being harsh—and childish—but her words stung. No, it was more than that. They dug into a place he tried to keep hidden. The part he hid behind big smiles and manufactured confidence.

  She wasn’t entirely wrong. He played into the stereotype, used his outward appearance to his advantage when necessary. But that was to sell a few tickets. Not the big stuff. He worked his ass off for the big stuff.

  Her words hurt, for sure, but he was angry with himself, too. He was exploiting the very thing that he was fighting against. Having it both ways. Having his cake and eating it too. And all the other clichés his father parroted.

  “Matt,” she said, gripping his arm tighter. He turned to her. Her gaze was steady. “I really am sorry.”

  “I think it’s time I got you home,” he said, weary from their exchange, weary from his thoughts. “We both need to prepare for the show tomorrow.”

  Sadness filled her eyes before she blinked it away. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not what I want, Avery, but I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “You called me Avery.”

  “Isn’t that what you prefer?”

  “Not when you use it to put distance between us.”

  “Putting distance between us, now that’s something you’re an expert at.”

  She sighed. “You’re right, maybe it’s best we call it a day.”

  Avery walked to the back door, giving Matt a small wave goodbye. The last twenty-four hours had been quite the ride.

  She quietly slipped her key into the lock and slowly opened the door, trying to avoid the squeak the old house usually offered, announcing arrivals.

  She tiptoed in. Was she really sneaking into her own house? Doing the walk of shame at thirty-one years old?

  In the end, it didn’t matter. The house was empty, and a note was on the kitchen island.

  Jess, Wyatt and I went to the park. There are some left-over cinnamon rolls on the counter. ~M

  She grabbed a knife and carved out an enormous chunk of gooey, bready goodness. Seems eggs and bacon only held out so long. Used up from a fight . . . or a night filled with mind-blowing sex.

  She looked at the clock. Lunch or a nap? She grabbed another chunk of cinnamon roll, deciding on a nap. Then she’d prepare for tomorrow’s show.

  She grabbed a pen and turned over Momma’s note, ready to tell her family she was home and resting for a while. But she didn’t even have the cap off the pen before Wyatt burst through the door, his hair plastered to his forehead and a streak of mud across his cheek.

  “Tía,” he yelled, running to her, wrapping his chubby arms around her knees, and squeezing.

  She couldn’t help laughing. If only everyone was so happy to see her.

  “You’re in a good mood,” her sister said, winking.

  “I was just thinking, what if everyone greeted me as exuberantly as Wyatt? Then a picture of Celeste and Ajay popped into my mind. I think I’ll save those kinds of hugs for Wyatt.”

  “And Matt?” Jessica said.

  Avery’s smile fell and she slumped onto a barstool, shoving the balance of her cinnamon roll into her mouth.

  “Oh,” Jess said. “Please don’t tell me you accidentally fell asleep on his couch or something equally lame.”

  “Doesn’t your child need a bath?” Avery said around the cinnamon roll and pointing to the muddy handprint on her jeans.

  “Bath!” Wyatt yelled, spinning in a circle. Avery wasn’t sure if he was excited or upset until he added, “Get dinosaur toys, Mommy.”

  Excited it was.

  “Fine,” Jess said, “but I’ll be back in twenty minutes, and I want every juicy detail.” She grabbed Wyatt around the waist and ran upstairs. He opened his arms and squealed, “Airplane!”

  “You can leave out the juicy details for me,” her mother said, moving to the opposite side of the island.

  “Good,” Avery said, “because I didn’t have any plans to discuss sex with my mother.”

  Isabel’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “So you did sleep with him?”

  Avery grimaced, funneling a hand through her hair. “Yes.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea given your history?”

  “Too late now. It’s done. But after this morning, I don’t think I have to worry about it happening again.”

  “Because?” Isabel grabbed a dishcloth and wiped away the crumbs Avery dropped. Her eyes appeared to be lowered, but Avery knew she was watching her.

  “Things were said.”

  Her mother’s head popped up. “You finally told him the truth?”

  “Not those things.”

  “Amy-Lynn,” her mother said, putting an entire conversation into two words. />
  “I tried to tell him last night and again this morning—twice, but we got interrupted.”

  “Did you get interrupted, or did you allow yourself to use something as a convenient excuse?”

  “Wow, Momma, tough love this morning.”

  “The more you allow him back into your life, the harder it’s going to be to tell him. If there’s a relationship starting here, the longer it goes, the likelier it is that the truth will have devastating consequences.”

  “I’m not sure that’s an issue anymore. He got a text about a job opportunity and I”—Avery grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut— “made a crack about him only getting ahead in life because of the way he looks.”

  “Oh, Amy-Lynn.”

  Avery dropped her head into her hands. “I know Momma. I hit him where it hurt. And to make matters worse, I couldn’t make a full apology because I think part of me, deep inside, wonders if it’s true.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Amy-Lynn. What would you do if someone accused you of the same thing?”

  “I’d scream about the patriarchy and how women are unfairly judged by their physical appearance,” she grumbled.

  “Exactly. Do you think your reaction had more to do with the simple fact that you thought Matt Taylor would never be back in your life? Yet here he is . . . and you’ve fallen back into old”—Isabel cleared her throat and lifted her fingers in air quotes— “habits.”

  Avery tried to suppress a giggle, but it burst out at her mother’s euphemism.

  Her mother chuckled but sobered quickly. She reached for Avery’s hand and covered it with her own. “I just want you to be careful, Amy-Lynn. It took you a long time to get over him.”

  Avery nodded. Momma was mostly right. Having Matt back in her life, if only for a short while, unsettled her. But she was wrong about how long it took to get over him. Because she never had.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Forty-seven minutes to show time.

  Avery had arrived early under the pretext of avoiding her family, but the truth was she had laid awake for hours. In the pre-twilight hours, she had mapped the contours of her bedroom ceiling while her comments to Matt played on repeat. What was it about anxiety that made the bad stuff loop over and over? Why couldn’t her mind replay the good stuff? I mean, she’d had one of the best orgasms of her life just hours before losing her shizzle at the park. She’d gladly relive that. But no.

  Eventually, she gave up any hope of falling back asleep and got dressed. That’s how she found herself here, sitting in the studio, staring at the black and white analog clock hanging opposite her desk with an ache she hadn’t felt in years wrapping around her lungs and squeezing. It was loss. Or maybe, more accurately, the fear of losing something so precious all over again.

  The red second hand clicked loudly in the eerily silent studio. Forty-three minutes to show time.

  Needing a distraction, she opened the blue file folder sitting six inches to her right. Blue folders were for show notes. She scanned the bullet points, seeing nothing but a jumble of words. No matter. She didn’t need the notes. She had them memorized. Like always.

  So why bring them into the studio every day? Routine. Precaution. Systems mitigated risk. Didn’t they?

  Sitting here, counting down the minutes in her perfectly adjusted ergonomic chair, she wondered if any of it mattered. It’s not like her innumerable spreadsheets and to-do lists could wallpaper over the chaos in her mind.

  She’d always told herself that her systems helped her remember all her responsibilities. But what if she’d put them in place to help her forget? Forget that no matter what she did, she couldn’t bring Daddy back or make Momma well again. Forget that she’d walked away from the only man she’d ever loved.

  Thirty-three minutes to show time. Twenty-three minutes until Ajay arrived. He didn’t have any ridiculous pre-show rituals. He just calmly arrived, opened his computer, and was ready to take on the day.

  Thirteen minutes until Matt arrived. If he showed up at all. The chances were fifty-fifty at best.

  She pulled a sheet of notes from her blue file folder and flipped it over. At the top she scrawled, ‘Will Matt Taylor show up?’ Pros: he has a contract; he wants exposure for Storyhill. Cons: her.

  Oh my god. Was there anything she didn’t make a list for? She crumpled the paper and threw it in the bin. Almost. It didn’t quite make it. It landed a few inches from the trash can mocking her—and she left it.

  A groan-laugh-crazy cackle erupted from her. Her one act of defiance. A piece of paper on the floor. You go, Avery. Really let loose.

  She laid her head down on her desk. She was tired of all of it. Tired of wanting the things she didn’t deserve. Tired of believing she didn’t deserve them. So tired.

  “Avery.”

  Someone was tapping lightly on her back.

  “Yes?” she said, raising her head, blinking, and rubbing at the corners of her eyes. Had she fallen asleep?

  Ajay was standing next to her. “Eleven minutes to show.” Even Ajay knew her proclivity for odd numbers.

  Her eyes flashed to the door. “Is Matt here?”

  “I haven’t seen him, love. I’m sure he’s on his way.” He handed her an updated schedule, placed a copy on Matt’s side of the desk, and wandered out. See? Calm. Not nervous at all. Why would he worry? He had no idea that she’d had the best sex of her life, freaked out, and slung mean words at the co-host.

  A week ago, she’d have been thrilled if Matt decided not to show. Today she wanted him to walk through the door like she wanted her next breath.

  Because she didn’t want to explain his absence to Celeste. Or to her listeners.

  Whatever you need to tell yourself.

  She punched the talk button. “Ajay, I think it might just be me and you today.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when Matt stepped into the studio.

  “You came,” she breathed out. She cleared her throat. “I mean I figured you would.” Lie. “I made a pros and cons list.” Embarrassing truth. She pointed at the balled-up paper. “Pro: you signed a contract, you wouldn’t let Storyhill down—"

  “Mac,” he hissed.

  That name. His name for her. It stopped her ramble in its tracks. He picked up the paper and deposited it in the trash. She released a ragged breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Order restored.

  Avery met his gaze, and the moment stretched between them. She should say something more. But what? I’m sorry? I’m glad you’re here? I’m an idiot that sometimes loses control of my mouth when I get stressed? She’d say all three if her perfectly styled, I-always-have-everything-under-control boss hadn’t just blown into the studio like a beautiful tornado.

  Avery watched as Matt turned away from her and, in what felt like slow motion, morphed his frown into his ‘nothing bothers me’ smile.

  She knew it was fake, but it still cracked her heart a bit. She wanted that smile.

  Celeste smoothed a hand over her perfectly styled hair and once again expertly ignored the cloud of tension fogging up the room. Could Celeste teach her how to do that?

  “I know it’s only three minutes to air, but I’d like you to stick around after the show. There’s an opportunity I’d like to discuss.”

  Great. Celeste’s last ‘opportunity’ involved dropping her ex into her lap. At least nothing could be worse than that. She hoped.

  “You know I never leave right after the show,” Avery responded.

  “Right, but I need to talk to both of you,” Celeste said, waving a finger between them. “Matt, do you have the time? It should only take fifteen minutes.”

  He sat down in what she now considered his chair, picked up his headphones. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Fifty-nine seconds,” Ajay said.

  “Great,” Celeste said, turning toward the exit. “I’ll see you in my office after you wrap the show.” She clapped her hands. “Until then, make some magic.”

  Avery inwardly
groaned. Celeste really needed to stop saying that. Anyone who had a basic understanding of body language knew they were both fresh out of magic.

  Avery peered over the top of her microphone, willing Matt to look at her. He didn’t.

  “Hey,” she said, reaching over, tapping a pen on his side of the desk. He finally looked up at her. “We okay?”

  He nodded, but the usual light was missing from his eyes. “I told you on day one, I’m here to help Storyhill. I’m not about to let them down. No matter what happens between us.”

  “But—"

  He held up a single hand. “If you want to discuss last weekend, it’s best we do that during non-working hours.”

  A shiver of unease slithered up her spine. His voice sounded icy and indifferent. If he was going for coolly professional, he’d failed.

  She didn’t want to go on like this, but Matt looked down and flipped open his file folder (not blue) and pulled out his show notes.

  So that was it. Conversation closed.

  The show intro played in her headphones. Time to push his arctic attitude to the back of her mind.

  When the intro faded out, Avery pushed the microphone slider up. “Good morning, country fans! Grab a cup of coffee—or two—it is Monday, after all, and get ready for another great interview. In just a few minutes we’re welcoming Devin Penney, fresh off tour, to the Avery Lind Show. But first I need to thank Matt Taylor for filling in for me last week. I hope y’all had the chance to listen to his interview with Grace O’Connor. If not, Ajay will have the replay up on our webpage by this afternoon.” She turned to her producer. “Say good morning, Ajay.”

  “Morning lovies,” he said, not missing a beat. “Really looking forward to this week, we’ve got a great line-up. We’re previewing the new album by Josie Tillman—early reviews say it’s her best music to date.”

  “I got to hear the title track last week,” Matt said, his voice revealing none of his earlier irritation. “It’s amazing. It’s all acoustic, a very unplugged sound. I think her fans are going to love it.”

  Avery breathed out a sigh of relief. He was not letting their personal life leak into the show. “Sneak peeks are one benefit of being Matt Taylor, folks.” She smiled at him, but he stiffened.