Fox forced a patient smile onto his face, even though his insides had the consistency of jelly. “All right, Cap. You win. I guess . . . I’ve got the wheel on this trip.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hannah stood outside Opal’s apartment, waiting for her grandmother to reach the door. The last time she was here, just over a week ago, she’d been filled with dread over going inside. Talking about her father. Feeling totally disconnected from Opal and Piper in the process. Now, though, her shoulders were firm instead of slumped. She didn’t feel like an imposter or like she was faking it until she made it. She belonged here.
She was Opal’s granddaughter.
Finally the main character of her own life.
Youngest daughter of Henry Cross.
They’d come to an understanding through his music. Once, a long time ago, he’d loved her. He’d held her in his arms in a hospital room, taught her how to toddle, and gotten up with her in the middle of the night. He’d gone off to sea thinking he would see her again. And Hannah liked to think, maybe in a way that only she could understand, they’d had a nice, long visit through his songs, given each other a sense of closure. It was quite possible she’d even been given some fatherly advice in a roundabout way, because she’d woken up on Monday morning, the final day of shooting, with an idea. A place to go from here.
A place that would mean continuing to work in music . . . and be near Fox.
If that’s what he wanted.
A knot that had grown familiar over the last five days grew taut in her belly, agitating the coffee she’d drunk this morning. If she went back to LA as originally planned, it would be with a heart broken beyond repair. Being without Fox since he’d left only cemented that belief. She missed him so much she ached with it. Missed the way he frowned and parted his lips slightly when she talked, like he was concentrating hard on what she was saying. She missed the way he tucked both hands under his armpits in the cold. Missed his devilish laugh, the stroke of his palm down her hair, the halting way he spoke when he was about to drop some honesty.
The fact that he’d learned how to be honest with her at all times.
Every time she closed her eyes, she envisioned him striding down the dock in her direction, opening his arms, the decision to put in the work, to build a relationship with Hannah right there on his face.
What if it wasn’t, though? What if five days on the water made him realize it was too much too soon? Or too much work, period?
Maybe she’d been impulsive to suggest leaving LA to be closer to Fox. Maybe she should have just gone back home and tried to do the long-distance thing for a while. But she couldn’t see herself being happy with that. Not now. Not when she knew how right it felt to have him at her side. At her back. All around her. Didn’t he feel the same?
Yes. He did—and she’d have faith in his actions. She’d have faith in them.
The door opened and there stood Opal, a row of curlers down the center of her head. “Oh! Hannah. I was just in the middle of taking these rollers out and now you’ve caught me looking a fright. Come in, come in. It’s just us girls. Who cares!”
Hannah entered on a laugh, tucking a finger into her jeans pocket to make sure the envelope was still there, as she’d done a hundred times on the walk from set to Opal’s building.
“What brings you by, my dear? Not that you need a reason!”
She followed Opal into the bathroom and started helping her remove the final row of pink foam curlers. “I would have called first, but I was too excited.” She wet her lips. “You remember when I asked for permission to use Henry’s songs in the movie we’re filming?”
“I surely do. But you said it was a long shot.” Opal’s hands dropped to the sink. “Don’t tell me it’s really going to happen, Hannah.” She scrutinized Hannah’s expression, and her own transformed with awe. “I don’t believe it. I . . . How? How? They’re not even recorded properly. They’re just words on a page.”
“Not anymore,” Hannah murmured, relaying the events of the last week. “Come on, I have one cued up on my phone ready to play.” She hooked an arm through Opal’s, leading her from the bathroom to the couch. Once they were settled, she snuck out her phone and opened the sound file, exhaling roughly as the music filled the room. The opening dance of the fiddle and bass, followed by the purr of Alana Wilder’s vocals, the muffled beat of the drum added in postproduction.
Hannah thought of the moment on set when she’d approached Sergei and wordlessly handed him a set of AirPods, hitting play and watching his eyes go wide, his fingers tapping on his knees. That sense of accomplishment. No matter what he decided, she’d created something magical. She’d moved the dials until it all came together and overcome the doubt to get it done.
Her first leading-lady move—and definitely not her last.
Opal covered her mouth with both hands, her knuckles going white. “Oh, Hannah. Oh, this does my soul good. It’s the closest I’ve come to speaking with him in twenty-four years. It’s extraordinary.”
Warmth spread in her chest. “There are more. Three total. And I’m working on recording the rest.” She took the envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Opal, her pulse beginning to tick faster. “In the meantime, the songs have been copyrighted in your name, Opal. You’ll be getting a percentage of the income generated by the soundtrack, but I managed to negotiate a signing bonus, too. For the use of Henry’s songs in Glory Daze. It doesn’t include whatever the production company will have to pay you if they use the songs in advertisements—”
“Hannah!” Opal gaped at the check she’d pulled out of the envelope. The one Sergei had handed her this morning. “I get to keep this?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, flustered, trying to hand back the check.
Hannah pressed it back against her grandmother’s chest. “You will. Henry would have wanted it.” She swallowed around the sharp object in her throat. “I feel confident saying that now. Before . . . I wouldn’t have. But his songs helped me know him, understand him better . . . and family was his life.” She smiled. “This is a good thing, Opal.”
Her grandmother sighed, and the last bit of resistance left her. “He would have been so damn proud of you.”
“I hope so,” Hannah said, pressing a wrist to her burning nose. “Now let’s get the rest of those curlers out. You’ve got some cash to burn through.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Hannah was back on set, still hugged by the warm glow.
She wrapped her arms around her trusty clipboard, enjoying the feel of it against her chest, knowing today would be her last day as a production assistant. She’d been right to start at the bottom and learn the ropes, but that time was coming to a definitive close. Propping other people up was something she’d always do naturally, because she loved being supportive. But career-wise? It was time to support herself, too, and go after what she wanted next. To chase the high she’d gotten by creating art on her own terms.
The entire crew crowded into one half of Cross and Daughters. On the other side of the bar Hannah had renovated with Piper, lights beat down on Christian and Maxine, capturing their final scene in the movie. One that Sergei, true to form, had written into the script at the last second, wanting to maximize the new soundtrack. There had been no plan to shoot at Cross and Daughters, but thankfully, Hannah technically owned half the bar. She’d called Piper for permission, either way, and her sister would be stopping by shortly to serve drinks to the celebrating crew.