“Good. I’m working in post-production on my new movie, and we were talking about trying to bring in some new sound to the soundtrack.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I maybe might have mentioned that my sister is in a band…”
“Kit! What the hell, dude?”
“Look, Mom’s in a tizzy ever since your boyfriend outed you. Dad looked you guys up and you’re really good, Billie. People should hear what you’re doing.”
It saddens me that Dad has taken the time to listen to our band but not reach out and tell me what he thinks. But it’s also not surprising. He gets so absorbed in himself…kind of like his son. What they don’t get is that we are getting heard. “People do hear our music, Kit,” I answer glumly. “Every time we play live, which is two weeks out of four. Sometimes more.”
“In bars.”
“Yeah, in bars. Though we’ve got a music festival lined up soon, too.”
Kit laughs. “Well, I’m just thinking you don’t have to do that whole struggling artist thing. You’re not some garage band of nobodies. You have the connections to help get yourselves heard.”
“I don’t want it to happen that way, though. You know that.”
“You’re being a total brat about this,” Kit insists. “People would kill to have your connections. Family who can literally open any door to help you. Instead, you want to struggle and act like these opportunities don’t exist for you. Tell me something, Billie, what do your bandmates think? Are they happy doing the local scene and toughing it out like some group of teenagers waiting for their big break? Or would they maybe like to walk willingly through an open and potentially lucrative door?”
I look over my shoulder at Sven and Nikki, who are thankfully engrossed in an argument about a lyric Nikki doesn’t like in one of our newer songs.
“What is it you’re thinking of for us?” I ask, resigned to hear his pitch.
“Come in. Watch the rough cut. Spend a few days in the studio making songs to go with the storyline. See what happens. We’d pay you, even if we don’t use the work.”
I sigh and look at my bandmates again. I know they would want to do this. And it’s with Kit, rather than my parents, which makes me feel point-five percent better about taking the handout.
“Let me think about it and talk to the band.”
“That’s all I can ask. But don’t fuck around too long. We’re on a timeline here, Bill.”
We hang up, and I decide I need to get comfortable with this before I bring it up with Nikki and Sven. They will say yes automatically, and I need to be on board before it happens.
I call Stuart and tell him I need to talk. We agree to meet up for dinner at one of our favorite bars, and when I get there, he’s already in a booth. His face lights up when he sees me.
“Hey, you.” I smile at him as I slip into the booth.
“Hey, yourself, sweaty McGee. Been at the cross-fit gym?”
“I was at practice and don’t be mean.”
“Aw, I’m sorry,” he says, sticking his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “How’s the music biz?”
I shrug as the server comes over, putting our favorite drinks in front of us automatically and taking our food orders. As she walks away, I tell Stuart about my brother’s call. His eyebrows raise high on his head as I tell him we have a chance to make music for one of Kit’s films.
“That is huge. Holy shit, Billie. You’re going to do it, right?”
“Kit wasn’t even supposed to know.”
“Well, how did he find out?”
“Calum Lefleur,” I grind out, as if his name is a dirty word.
“A hockey player has what to do with this?” Stuart asks, picking at the label on his beer bottle.
“Cal, as you know, has been volunteering guitar lessons at the club.”
“And?”
“And we became…friends.”
The word hangs there between us. Stuart won’t look at me when he repeats, flatly, “Friends.”
“For the most part, though we slept together a couple of times. It’s nothing serious.” I shrug for effect.
Stuart tips his bottle back, taking a long drink before setting the drink back down hard enough to give away his feelings.
“It’s nothing serious,” I repeat. “It started out kind of random. Scratching an itch. He’s awkward but cute, and I had him pretend to be my boyfriend for my dad’s party, just to get my mom off my back.”
I’m talking too much. Also, it’s a dead giveaway for the mixed bag of feelings I’m toting around now that I know Cal has (had?)—but who really knows—a long-time girlfriend. Is he that clueless about women? Can he not see how deceived I feel? Hurt even? I’ve tried not to overthink things and to put Cal back on the work-only shelf, but it’s not been easy. I really liked him too. Enjoyed his company. Gah!
Stuart continues to stare at his beer bottle. “Scratching an itch.” His tone is dead.
“Stu—”
“I’m in love with you,” he blurts.
A heartbeat passes, and then I answer quietly, “I know.”
“You know? And you sit here telling me about your random hookup with a dumbass hockey player? You chose to take him to your parents’ instead of me?”
“First off, he’s not a dumbass. And second, if I’d taken you, you’d have thought it was a big thing. I needed someone who knew it wasn’t real.”
His mouth opens, and he sits back as if he’s been slapped. “That was not fair.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, realizing how much that must’ve hurt him. “I just mean—”
“I know what you mean, Billie. You mean that I’m the sad puppy dog following you around since high school, hoping you’ll pay attention to me. And picking me, even for something as stupid as a family gathering, means paying enough attention to get my hopes up.”
“That’s not true,” I insist. “I care about you, Stu, you’re my best friend.”
“Friend zone. Gotcha.”
“Well…”
“What I don’t get, though,” he says, shaking his head, “is why you can’t see me that way. How come?”
“I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.” I give him the only answer there is.
“That’s fine,” he says, clearly unconvinced.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, and I don’t want to lose what we have.”
“By trying to make it something it isn’t?”
“Relationships are messy. I like having you in my life this way.”
“Billie.”
I lift my brows and give him a What? look.
“I didn’t just magically wake up feeling this way, you know. I think, maybe if you opened your eyes, you could grow into feeling the same way about me.”
I have to resist the urge to cringe. It’s not that I find Stuart unattractive. Not at all. He’s a good-looking man. He’s successful and caring and funny and loyal. He’s a good person, worth loving. But I hate seeing him like this, on the verge of begging.
Our food comes and we eat in near silence as the house band starts tuning up for the first set of the night. I’m thankful for the mic checks and guitar riffs, which fill the space between us in between awkward sentences about how our jobs are going.