There’s no use in talking about the music front, as he called it. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.
Meadow is in control. It’s all in her hands. I’ve always settled into that idea and appreciated that I didn’t have to worry about shit.
In a strange twist of events, now her being in control is the reason I’m worried.
Fucking hell.
“I heard through the grapevine—the one named Larissa—that you and our other mutual friend, Bellamy, had a little playdate last night. Now, I don’t want the details of that because Bells is like my sister and not some fuck-a-friend like she is to you. I would appreciate a generalization of how the evening played out so that I know whether to duck when I see her again. I have to look out for myself here.”
He smiles cheekily.
“That’s what we all expect out of you, Boone,” I say with a sigh.
“At least I’m consistent. Now you, on the other hand …”
I ignore his little jab and pick up a bottle of dish soap instead. I twirl it around in my hands as I ponder my response to his inquiry.
There are a couple of things that I’ve been able to discern from this whole getting-on-the-same-page-with-Bellamy thing. One is that I cannot stop thinking about her. It’s a crazy, nearly obsessive thing, and everything that I do or say or think brings me back to her in some way.
Case in point: Mom asked me if I wanted blueberry muffins today. I immediately wondered if Bellamy found the ones that I left on the loveseat last night. Then I caught a whiff of a woman’s cologne at the gas station while on my way to the golf course. It made me think of her, too, and the scent she wears lately.
This is going to be a problem if I don’t figure out how to fix it.
“So, are you going to answer me or what?” Boone asks.
“Why couldn’t I have been really good at something in Savannah?” I ask him instead. “Like, why couldn’t I have been a good fisherman? Or a teacher? Or just a bum like you?”
He looks wounded. “You don’t hate yourself enough to be a teacher. And not just everyone can pull off a bum like me, okay? Check yourself.”
I chuckle. “That’s too bad because it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier than this.”
“What’s happening? Want to talk it out?”
I give him an odd look. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m trying to be a good brother.”
“Well … don’t. It’s weird.”
He shrugs.
I set the soap bottle down and sigh. “Meadow is going to call me this week and, hopefully, she’ll have a contract ready to go. I’m assuming that I’ll just have a few days to make a decision. She said the new label wants a super quick turnaround too, so I’m going to have to just jump in and get to work, and I’ve been struggling creatively. I can’t be creative and pen happy shit when I want to scream.”
Boone’s legs stop swinging.
“I didn’t realize how fucked up my life was until I came back this time,” I admit.
It’s strange hearing those words topple from my lips. I never would’ve thought that I would be in this position if you’d have asked me three months ago.
But now I know it, and I’m having a hard time forgetting it.
I blow out a long, noisy breath.
“I’ve tried to place the blame on everyone else,” I say. “Meadow is at fault for the whole Willa debacle. Meadow is at the helm of my contract negotiations, and they seem to want something, or someone, maybe, other than what I’m all about. Whoever they are now. And then I come back here and this shit with Bellamy …” I look at my brother. “It’s all my fault, Boone. Every last bit of it.”
He considers this. “I doubt it’s all your fault.”
“No, it is. It’s my fault because I let it all happen. I looked away and let Meadow run wild with my career, and I accepted Bellamy pushing me away because, for all intents and purposes, I was a dick.”
“You are a dick. Always, more or less. But, playing Devil’s Advocate here, Meadow works for you. And Bellamy could’ve … not Bellamy’d this.”
I grin. “I appreciate your support, but I dropped the ball. All of them.”
Boone picks up on that and runs with it.
He stands straight and looks me in the eye. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“I know exactly why I drop all the balls in my life. I can tell you why I neglected something, failed something, ignored something else—it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t mean there’s a good reason, either, just that there is one.” He pauses. “Why are you dropping your balls?”
I make a face and shake my head. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
“Your balls dropping.” He snickers. “No, seriously. I want to know why.”
“I don’t fucking know. Shit happens. Isn’t that good enough?”
“Yeah. Good enough if you’re willing to take a bullshit answer.”
We have a showdown, each of us unwilling to look away first. Finally, he gives up and sighs.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll tell you why you drop them.”
“Oh, please. Tell me,” I say sarcastically. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Me either.”
I flinch. “You mean you don’t already know?”
He shakes his head. “No. I just open my mouth, and the truth comes out. It’s my party trick.”
I laugh and head to the breakfast table. I sit. He watches me from the sink.
“Shoot,” I say.
“I think that you let your balls fall with Meadow because you didn’t want to have to think about your career. You could just party it up and have fun, and it didn’t feel like something permanent to you.”
Not bad.
“You always say you’ll be home to visit, and we both know that’s not true. But it sounds good, and I think you tell yourself that so you don’t have to acknowledge your life isn’t here anymore.” He narrows his eyes. “That or you don’t have to think about this being your life, your actual adult career. If it’s not and you fail—who gives a fuck? You had a good ride. You’ll just go on about your life in whatever job you were supposed to have all along.”
My blood runs cold.
I’ve never admitted any of that aloud to a single soul on the face of the planet. But have I thought about those things? Only a million times while lying in a bathtub in a random hotel.
Boone is emboldened by the success he thinks or knows he just scored.
“You also dropped your balls with Bellamy—not last night but the proverbial ones,” he says, grinning, “because you think you would lose her anyway. She’s always fought you and pushed you away. You figure that it doesn’t matter if you actually stayed in her life or not because it wouldn’t have worked out regardless. It was just so much easier to make the decision and help the inevitable along.”
Holy. Shit.
“Damn, I’m good,” he says, impressed with himself.
I’m impressed with him too. But I’m not about to tell him that.
My finger runs along my bottom lip.