Page 19 of August Lane

August disconnected. They hadn’t spoken to each other since.

“We’re not talking right now,” August admitted to Mavis, hoping it would make her drop the subject.

It worked. Mavis nodded curtly, aware of their history.

While she admired her aunt, she’d always been the first to point out when Jojo was being selfish or unreasonable, probably because she’d been both while facing motherhood before she was ready.

“It’s like, you’re not the problem,” Mavis had told her once after too many margaritas. “But you also are.”

August had agreed. She still did, which was why being angry with Jojo had never changed how much she loved her. But love had limits.

“Oh no.” Mavis stared past August, then tried to hide behind her, which was ridiculous. August wasn’t short, but Mavis was a glamazonian giant. “Did he see me?”

“Who?” August tried to look, but Mavis hissed a warning to be still.

“David Henry. Your mother’s manager. Or handler. Or… Who’s the right-hand man in mafia movies?”

“The consigliere?” August turned to study David.

Despite the heat, he wore shirtsleeves and a tie.

His dark hair was streaked with gray and slicked into a side part with pomade.

He cut his eyes at everyone he passed, as if they were all trespassers in his executive suite. August nodded. “Okay, yes, I see it.”

“I hate that guy,” Mavis grumbled. “I don’t work for him, but he always acts like he’s seconds away from firing me.”

“He’s like that with everyone.”

Mavis’s eyes widened. “Of course you know him.” She grabbed August’s arms. “Deal with him for me. Please? I’ll owe you.”

It had been years since August had seen David, not since she was little.

There was no way he remembered her. But she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to extract a favor from Mavis, who, unlike Paul Cleebus, the man they called “ghost mayor” because no one ever saw him, was one of the most influential people in Arcadia.

“Move that money back to the showcase.”

Mavis’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t. It’s already spent.”

“Well, do something. Find another sponsor. Make sure Silas doesn’t cancel it.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Before August could thank her, she pivoted and escaped with a brisk walk. David reached August minutes later and eyed the divots left by Mavis’s heels.

“Probably something I said.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Again, August was struck by how unbothered he seemed by the heat.

The beads of sweat on his brow were the only sign he was standing in the same ninety-eight-degree hell as everyone else.

“I have that effect on women.” He focused on August. “The stage is wrong.”

“I know. So does Mavis.”

“Is it being fixed?”

“Yes, in two days.”

“Perfect.” He clasped his hands together. “See? She didn’t have to run away. I can be reasonable.”

“Pass that along to your demanding client.” She pointed at the billboard. “That thing is tacky. She looks like the star of a Black Hee Haw revival.”

David gazed up at Jojo’s image, his expression unreadable. “Be nicer to your mother, August.”

“You remember me?”

“I gave you a doll once.” He finally looked at her. “The kind that pees. Do you remember what you said?”

“No. But if I was older than ten, blame the hormones.”

His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “ You don’t have kids, do you? That’s what you said to me. Then you tucked that expensive doll under your arm like a football and went to your room.”

“Was that Christmas?”

“Only one I ever spent here.” He looked around. “Nothing’s changed except you.”

She ran a hand over her hair, suddenly conscious of her appearance. He was probably used to being around women who considered makeup and hairstyles a hobby. Or, as in her mother’s case, part of their job description. “Kids grow up.”

“Which makes them harder to parent, or so I’m told.”

“Good thing she never tried.”

“See? That’s what I mean. I don’t want you poking at her like that when she gets here. She’s already dealing with people questioning whether she’s earned this award.”

“Will she actually show up, though? I mean, the woman couldn’t be bothered to come back for her mother’s funeral. It’s hard to believe she’ll show up to sing with Luke Randall, of all people. Why would she bother?”

David pulled out his phone and opened his Spotify account. August watched him search for “Another Love Song” with her heart hammering at her ribs. She didn’t want to hear it.

“Look at this.” He started scrolling, showing her a list of covers by other artists. “What do you see?”

“Questionable choices.”

“Fair. But what else?”

She stared at the tiny icons, then focused on the names attached to them. “They’re all white. More famous than him.”

“Why do you think that is?” He stuffed the phone into his pocket.

“None are better singers. Half of them don’t even record anymore.

Just a bunch of no ones with silly hats and lots of airplay.

And the more of them that cover Luke’s song, the deeper they bury the guy who wrote it.

Pretty soon, no one will remember it was him. ”

She forced a shrug. “Happens all the time.”

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t. Not when everyone’s claiming that today’s a new, more inclusive day. He should be the face of his own music. Every artist deserves that.”

He couldn’t know. No one knew. But it still felt like a well-placed dagger. “You’re right,” August said, focusing on the billboard again. There was a streak of bird shit on Jojo’s hat. It made her smile. “Too bad he won’t be singing it.”

Four hours later, August could tell by the rapid cop knock on her apartment door that Luke knew what she’d done.

She ignored him. Telling David that Luke planned to pitch new music had been risky, but she didn’t regret it.

Luke was a Band-Aid picker who would have inched toward breaking the news until the very last second, then claimed it was too late to change the set list. August ripped her bandages off as soon as possible, sometimes before the wound had time to heal.

With the show less than two months away, it was better to face the fallout now.

“Open the door!” Luke pounded again. She touched the doorknob, took a deep breath, and yanked it open.

His eyes seemed darker than usual, like his pupils were devouring the irises.

Her body reacted instantly, a hot quickening she tried to ignore.

She was always that way with beautiful men.

Hungry for poison. Ready to wreck herself for a taste.

“What did you do?” Luke shouldered his way inside before she could answer. She closed the door and immediately regretted it. He was big and warm, while her apartment, with its sputtering window air conditioner, was uncomfortably small.

“Hi, August,” she said in a singsong voice. “May I come in? Why, sure, Luke. But keep your dirty shoes off my carpet.” She gave his feet a pointed look. He shuffled, wavering, and she knew it took all his strength not to comply. Even when he was mad, the man was polite to his core.

“Don’t change the subject.” He was stubborn for thirty seconds before muttering “Goddammit” and bending down to yank at his laces. August watched him take his shoes off with a tight throat. This would be easier if he weren’t still himself.

“I know you’re mad—”

“You think!” He straightened and pulled out his phone.

“David accused me of sabotage. He thinks I’m working with Charlotte on some elaborate revenge scheme.

” He showed her his screen. Instead of reading the texts, she stared at his bare fingers.

She’d never thought of him as the type of husband who wouldn’t wear a ring.

August forced herself to focus on his phone. Besides threatening legal action, David accused Luke of lying about having new material. There are better ways to impress a pretty girl. Signed divorce papers would be a start.

August laughed, which made Luke’s eye twitch. “None of this is funny.”

She pointed to the text. “That’s a little funny.”

“This is serious. David never wanted to hire me. He’s itching to replace my duet with one of the other openers.”

“No, he isn’t. He was curious when I told him you were working on something new. I could tell.” She waved away the phone. “All of that is because I wouldn’t give him any details.”

“Because there aren’t any. You can’t bullshit a man like this, August.”

“You did. You should have heard him going on about you getting credit for your song. ‘Jojo wants to uplift Black voices.’ Made my teeth ache.”

He studied her long enough to make her squirm. “Is that why you did this? To get back at Jojo?”

Of course he’d think that. Easier to brush off a petty revenge plot instead of taking responsibility for his actions. “This isn’t about her.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t understand you. Why would you try to get me fired? I thought you wanted this.”

His words felt like a jab to the throat. He’d been gone for nearly half their lives. He didn’t know her anymore. “I think I want it more than you,” she said.

He blinked. “What does that mean?”

“You’re terrified.” She let her worst suspicions bubble to the surface. “Is it because you know people will see the real you? They’re already writing think pieces about Luke Randall embracing his roots by working with Jojo. It’ll only get worse if you sing something I wrote.”

Luke’s eyes went dark again. “What the fuck are you asking me?”