Page 22 of Hideaway Heart

“It’s not like they’re your kids.”

“Many of them arelikefamily, though. And they count on me. Abandoning people who need you is selfish and disloyal.”

He tilted his head. “Who told you that?”

My father, I thought. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “But I can’t just blow everything up.”

“Then it sounds like the price is giving up your own vision and doing what the label says.” He raised his arms, locking them behind his head. “But I could never do that.”

“You didn’t follow orders in the Navy?” I countered.

“I did, but that was different. I wanted to be an asset to my team.”

I grabbed the chair arms and sat up taller. “What do you think I’msaying? This isn’t just about me! And stop with the whole ‘price of fame’ stuff. I’m not asking for all the pros and none of the cons. I just want my songs to mean as much tomeas they do someone listening. I want the jerks who say I don’t deserve to be where I am to eat their words. I want the producers and executives to stop saying no to all my ideas. I want a place at the table—I don’t want to be the meal.”

“You should be saying all this to them, not me.”

“Gee, thanks.” I shoved my things in my bag. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You don’t have to get mad about it,” he said, infuriatingly calm.

“I’m not mad!” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stomped toward the house.

SEVEN

xander

I watchedher march off in a huff and wondered if she’d revoke my house privileges for hitting a nerve.

I hadn’t meant to piss her off, but if she didn’t like the way her label was treating her, why did she have to stay there? Weren’t there other labels? Wasn’t there such a thing as being indie? Those people who worked for her could find other jobs, couldn’t they?

Itwasadmirable that she felt responsible for people on her team—I liked loyalty. Probably, I should have just kept my mouth shut, like she said. The last thing I wanted was for her to report back to Sully that I’d been a dick to her. When she came back out, I’d apologize.

Inside the house, she rattled around in the kitchen—I could hear plates and glass and silverware clanking through the screens—and I figured she was making lunch. I was hoping she’d come outside to eat, but she didn’t.

Twenty minutes passed. Thirty.

Pretending I had to get something from my car, I wandered past the front windows and saw her seated at the counter. Ambling back to the chairs, I sat down and scrolled through emails and texts. Read the news. Watched some replays from last night’s baseball game.

Still no Kelly.

Fuck. Was she really that upset? Should I go in there? Had I said anythingthat bad? All I’d really done was suggest she tell the people controlling her career what she told me. I wasn’t insinuating it would be easy, just that if she wanted those things, she needed to say them. It was fucking obvious, wasn’t it?

Artistic types could be so sensitive. I made a mental note never to date one.

Instead of going in search of Kelly, I pulled out my phone to call Veronica.

“Hey,” I said when she picked up. “How are things going?”

“Pretty good,” she chirped. “Painters are here. New dishwasher was installed. But I was expecting the electrician today, and he hasn’t shown yet.”

“Dammit,” I muttered. Finding reliable contractors had been a nightmare. “I’ll try to get ahold of him.”

“I also took a look at the applications you sent me and I’ll reply to your email with the ones I thought looked most promising. Do you want me to give a couple of them a call? Set up interviews?”

“Yes, please. And thank you.”

“So how’s it going with Pixie Hart? I saw your picture with her.”