Page 68 of Dedicated

Evan, what drew you to Les’s music?

Evan:The first show I ever saw live was Ben Folds. The venue was tiny, and we were all crammed in close to the stage. I could almost hear the sound of his breathing, and he had this quirky presence about him. Great fucking musician, and when he sang, I felt the words. It’s hard to explain, but I went to plenty of shows afterwards where it was just a band playing or someone singing and there wasn’t anything extraordinary about it.

Anyway, I’d heard about this college dude, Les Graves, who was making the rounds, so I went to catch his show on a random Wednesday and… it was one of the few times since that Ben Folds show that I got the shivers. I could feel the lyrics like they were hanging in the air in front of me. There was this immediacy to his music that hooked me. What?

Les:I don’t think you’ve ever told me I got to you the way Ben Folds did. Damn, you’ve been holding out on me. I’d like to request my own tour bus now, since I’m clearly a precious commodity.

Evan:[laughing] That’s exactly why I’ve never told you.

Chapter 38

“I’ve been hearing some rumors,” Leigh said when I answered her call.

“Yeah, what else is new? I’m nothing but rumors at this point.” I tucked the phone against my shoulder, balancing a stack of mail under my arm and shifting my guitar case around as I fit my key in the lock and opened the back door to my house. Rita tipped me an upnod as I came in, then rushed to take the mail from my hands.

“Meant to get that on the way in and forgot,” she muttered. Rita had been my PA for going on two years. It felt weird to call her a housekeeper—which was what I’d originally hired her for—because she did so much else, like handling my mail and bills while I was gone, so I just called her my PA.

I told Leigh to hang on and set my guitar case down. “Anything important I need to know?” I asked Rita, muffling the receiver.

“It’s hot as hell outside and you’re wearing jeans.” She grinned, the thick wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening.

“Yep, thanks for that,” I deadpanned, and she waved me off with a wink.

“I’m fixing to do the bathrooms and kitchen, then head out for the day.”

I nodded and headed into the spare room I used as an office.

“Sorry about that,” I said to Leigh. “So, rumors. Rumors you want corrected, or…?” I hadn’t spoken to Leigh since her phone call to me at the cabin the first time the shit hit the fan.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s none of my business. But I have something I want to show you. If you’ll be around later, I could stop by?”

I dropped into my desk chair and sprawled, lifting my T-shirt up to the top of my chest to cool off. Jeans really had been a bad idea. Just the walk from the driveway to inside had me dripping sweat.

“Sure,” I answered. I didn’t have anything else going on. I’d been practicing some with Amanda but was pretty certain I couldn’t work with her as a long-term replacement for Les. She’d been cool about it, or seemed to be, and said the only way she’d sign with MGD was if it was with me. But I just… I just couldn’t fucking do it. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I was leaning heavily toward doing my own thing and letting the label package me as a solo artist. I didn’t feel great about that choice, either, but it was all I had at the moment.

Leigh said she’d stop by around five, and when I ended the call, I tossed the phone onto the desk and leaned back in the chair, commencing a stare-down with the contents of a manila folder that had arrived yesterday. It contained a single sheet of lined notebook paper littered with ballpoint scrawl, the frenetic penmanship unmistakable. The top of the paper was dated and time-stamped, 3:00 a.m. The night after the hookup with Ella that felt like eons ago now. The song, “Blue.” Through the lens of verse and choruses that didn’t make it into the clean copy Les had presented me with, his longing was evident. He’d passed the song off as being about an old girlfriend, and any telling clues had been swept clean in the final copy, but in the original it was clear who he was writing about. Looking at his scrawl made me ache in ways I didn’t think I could. At the bottom, he’d attached a yellow sticky note:It was real for me, and it always has been. Whatever else you doubt about me, please don’t ever doubt that.

It was amazing—scary, even—how a handwritten note like that could take all my anger and crush it in a fist of regret until all I was left with was a sad kind of emptiness.

I gaveLeigh a tentative smile as I opened the door, but the warmth of hers erased my hesitation as she leaned in for an embrace. It was good to see her again, and though I’d initially been upset, all things considered it had been one of the easier breakups in my life. Whether it was because we’d been friends long before dating, I wasn’t sure, but I was glad there didn’t appear to be any lingering animosity on her part.

“Well, youlookgood,” she said as I greeted her and ushered her in.

I snorted and led her into the kitchen, where she eyed the pot on the stove skeptically. “Don’t tell me you’re cooking just for me.”

“Technically I made myself dinner, and I’m inviting you to share it.” I wasn’t very domestic, but I knew how to cook. My mom had insisted that everyone needed to know how to make at least five things: spaghetti, meatloaf, pot roast, chicken and dumplings, and dressing. Tonight I’d gone for spaghetti.

“How generous.” She grinned and slid onto one of the stools at the island, dropping her shoulder bag on the floor and removing a large, thick envelope that I eyed warily. I was starting to distrust envelopes. What came in them besides bills and reminders of my own mistakes?

“Some photos,” she explained, when she noticed my cautious survey.

“I guessed that part. Of what?” I turned back to the stove and flipped the burner off, then stirred the sauce and let it sit while I pulled two bowls down from the cabinet.

I heard her fiddling with the envelope while I scooped noodles and sauce into the bowls, and when I turned around again, I froze. Spread over the island were dozens of photos of Les and me. I hadn’t seen his face in weeks, had all but forced his name from my mind for just as long, so the sight of him multiplying across the countertop was a visual assault that stabbed into my lungs and left me breathless.

I brought the bowls with me to the island and set them down absently as I grumbled, “Could’ve used a little warning.”

“That bad, huh?”