“You like poker?” Dax asks.
I nod.
“Beer?” Brody asks.
I nod a little more enthusiastically.
They look at each other. “Yeah, we chose right,” Dax says, and they both laugh. “Let’s go play some poker and drink some beer at your new place.”
CHAPTER 56: LEXI
I hate that part of a plane ride when the wheels first touch the ground after being in the air for hours. I brace myself and squeeze my eyes shut, and then we’re coasting toward the gate.
I’m back in Nashville for just two nights. Long enough to pack up what I can and allow the movers to do the rest, to break my lease on my apartment, and to say goodbye to my friends and family.
I haven’t told my parents yet. I thought it would be more fun to just show up at their house and tell them in person that I didn’t win the show but I ended up with something even better: I got my very own recording contract with Ashmark Records.
I haven’t told my friends in ERS yet, either. They aren’t going to believe it. I’m going to invite them along because I feel obligated to, but I have a feeling I already know how that conversation’s going to go.
They aren’t going to uproot their lives and move to Los Angeles, and maybe we wouldn’t need to do that if we started out a few levels higher than where we are now, but Ashmark is strategic in building a platform for a musician, so I need to be close to the label so I can contribute to that foundation.
And through it all—starting at the hotel this morning and through the ride to the airport, the plane ride, and now the ride to my apartment—Gage has been on my mind.
Certainly he turned his phone back on by now.
Surely he saw my text from before we met up in the house and filming started.
And he hasn’t responded.
Do I even bother showing up at the hotel on Friday?
I’ll be back in LA—probably staying at that very hotel, in fact. Part of my job over the next few days is to look over the housing options Shana, one of Mark’s assistants, sends my way. She asked a million questions about what I want, and she’s working hard to match me with my perfect LA home.
I want to text him, and I start about a million and one different messages...but none of them are sent.
At this point, it all just feels a little desperate. He won, and he didn’t tell me he loves me back, and he hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. The ball seems firmly in his court, and he’s not even bothering to bounce it around.
I want to fight for him, for us—but I also can’t put a damper on his victory. I don’t want to be the sad, lonely girl who looks like she’s riding his coattails. That’s never been me, and while I may have given in on other things that weren’t exactly me over the last month or so, that’s not something I’m willing to budge on.
I call my mom as we wait to get off the plane.
“Lexi?” she answers.
“Hey Mom.” I feel tears stinging behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry at the airport. “Are you and Dad at home?”
“Dad ran out to the hardware store but he’ll be back soon,” she says. “Are you in town?”
“Yeah. Just landed.”
“Come on over. I can’t wait to see you. Can you talk about where you were now?”
I clear my throat. “Sort of.”
“Okay, girlie. I’m excited to hear every single detail.”
I get my suitcase then text Danny as I wait for my Lyft.
Me: You guys around? I’m back for a couple nights and would love to see you.
He doesn’t respond right away, which I don’t take to heart. He’s never been great at texting.
I text Andy and Sam similar messages, but nobody responds. My ride shows up and I head toward my parents’ house, only a twenty-minute ride from the airport. My dad’s car is in the driveway, so they’re both at home.
And screw the nondisclosure agreement. These are my parents.
I’m telling them every detail.
Well, almost every detail.
Once we’re seated at their kitchen table, the place where every important conversation in our little family has ever taken place, I dive in headfirst.
“I was invited to be on a reality show to compete for the open spot of bassist in a band that has shelves lined with Grammy awards,” I begin. “Along the way, I fell in love, that love turned to hate and then back to love again, I pretended to date another guy, I got burned, and ultimately I came in second place.”
My parents both stare at me like I’ve sprouted an extra head.
“Wow,” my mom finally says. “That’s a lot to take in.”
“What band?” my dad asks.
“MFB.”
My dad’s brows go up. He’s heard of them. Even my mom looks surprised. “The one with that cute guy as the lead singer? Didn’t his wife just have a baby?”
I giggle. “You mean Dax Hunter? Yeah, that’s him. And yes, that’s the band.”
“And you came in second?” my dad asks. I nod. “Holy smokes.” His tone shows that he’s clearly impressed with that achievement.
“You should’ve won, Lex,” my mom says. “You’ve got the talent. What happened?”
“I signed a contract that says I can’t really say what happened, but they picked a guy who was just an all-around better fit.” I tap my nails on the table, and then I spill the rest. “He’s also the guy who I happened to fall for. That’s a really long story, though, so we’ll save it for another time. I’m only in town for two nights, and I need to meet with ERS while I’m here, too.”
“Why only two nights?” my dad asks.
“Well, for one, the producers asked me to stay in Los Angeles through the airing of the finale. But there’s another reason...” I trail off, not quite sure how to frame it, and then I rip off the bandage. “I’m moving to Los Angeles.”
My mom gasps. “You’re what?”
“I didn’t win the spot in MFB, but I walked away with something potentially even better,” I say, sure I wouldn’t explain it that way to anyone else aside from my parents.
My dad’s brows dip down. “And what’s that?” He picks up his cup of coffee—he’s the guy who’s never without a cup as he says it’s what keeps him on an even keel—and takes a sip.
“I was offered a recording contract with Ashmark Records. They want to branch into country music, and they want me to be the first country artist on their roster.”
“What’s Ashmark?”my mom asks. “Is that a good idea?”
“Ashmark is the record label owned by the singer of Vail. It’s the kind of opportunity I can’t pass up. Every artist they’ve signed has skyrocketed to superstardom, and they believe that I’ll be next.”
My dad sets down his coffee cup. And then, in a rare burst of emotion and an even rarer occurrence of a curse word falling from his mouth, he yells, “Holy shit, my daughter’s going to be a star!”
My mom looks at him with her jaw dropped down, and I giggle, and I guess that’s the long and short of it.
After we do a little celebrating—which really just means hugs all around and a glass of wine each since my parents aren’t really drinkers—I check my phone. I have responses from Sam, Andy, and Danny, but still, both unsurprisingly and disappointingly, nothing from Gage.