Page 23 of Love Songs (Harmony Lake #3)

“YOUR THROAT HAS healed nicely,” Dr. Okamoto said as he leaned back in his chair. “But the damage to your vocal cords was extensive so you’ll have to make some permanent lifestyle changes.”

“Does that—” Ice slid into my veins, and I felt the blood drain from my face. “Does that mean I won’t be able to sing again?”

“Yes. I mean, no,” he amended quickly, holding up a hand. “You can still sing, but I can’t guarantee your voice will hold up to the demands of touring.”

“What kind of rock band doesn’t tour?” I complained even as relief dulled the edge of panic that I could lose my voice. I mean, the chances were slim. Tons of singers had had vocal surgery and continued their careers with great success, so there was no reason to think I’d be any different.

Except Julie Andrews was never able to sing again , my ever so thoughtful inner voice countered.

Dr. Okamoto shrugged. “You could play pre-recorded songs.”

My mouth dropped open, and I stared at him in disbelief. Did he just suggest . . .?

“Please don’t tell me you mean I should lip sync to my own music?”

“Sure, why not? A lot of artists do that.” He was far too nonchalant in suggesting I deceive my fans with a career-ending move like that.

“Not this one.” I snorted. “Not in a million years. It’s the real deal or it’s no deal.”

“Unfortunately, then,” he said, “I’ll see you back here for another surgery. But you should be aware that any surgery comes with risks, and each subsequent procedure may be less effective.”

I glared at him from my raised viewpoint where I sat on the bed in his small exam office.

“And if I continue taking voice therapy, diligently do my vocal exercises, and stop touring, I can keep singing?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “And avoid irritating your vocal cords with spicy foods, alcohol, and smoking and inhaling other pollutants.”

Other pollutants immediately sent my mind back to Caldwell Crossing and the stage fire—where I’d met Conor. I could still smell the slightly bitter odor of smoke on his silky, tanned skin, and the sweet maple-vanilla aroma in the air as we’d walked the trail at the syrup farm.

After wrapping up and scheduling another follow up appointment, I left Okamoto’s office and called a band meeting at my condo as I climbed into a waiting town car.

None of them were going to be happy with this news, but I really didn’t want to go through another surgery and months of recovery, so something would have to give.

Unfortunately, that something was me.

Part of me wanted to say screw it and keep going. If I followed all the prevention and care protocols, I should be fine. But what if everything wasn’t fine? What if I permanently destroyed my voice and could never sing again at all?

No, the risk of never singing again wasn’t worth it.

Towering buildings and bustling sidewalks of a city that never stopped passed by my window in an abstract slideshow as I replayed my career to this point.

I was thirty-five years old now and had spent the last seventeen years living my dream and rolling through life with little in the way of responsibility.

Always on the move, always another album to record, always another tour, another hotel, faces upon faces of people whose names I’d never had time to learn.

I’d never owned a home of my own. My Greenwich Village condo was a lease.

The house in Lake Placid where I’d recovered from my last surgery was a short-term rental.

The only permanence in my life had been music and my best friend, Kirk.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved what I did, and I knew how fortunate I was to make a career out of music.

Every single show, from the early days when I was a teen, and we’d played in cramped garages, to the massive stadiums we’d played all over the world for the last decade, had been pure joy.

I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

But life had a way of throwing wrenches into the spokes, forcing you to recalibrate.

Like suddenly becoming a single parent to a teenage daughter.

I had no idea how to be a father when Jaylin entered my life—didn’t know if I even could—but now, only a year later, I couldn’t imagine my world without her in it.

My surgery recovery had given me a lot of time to take stock of the direction of my future too, and changes were already happening.

Only I hadn’t fully accepted them until now.

But while music and the band had been my number one priority for more than a decade, Jaylin had shot up to take that number top spot from the word go.

Sure, I was a world-famous musician, but I was also a father.

Watching the light in Jaylin’s eyes return as she learned to deal with the grief of her mother’s passing and her new life with me, to see her bloom into the vibrant young girl she was, had been a thing of beauty.

All I wanted was the best for her. No more touring meant I could be a better dad.

I could always be there for her and give her the stability and love she needed to grow into a strong, confident adult.

Not for the first time this past year, I wondered if my parents disowning me was part of the reason I’d so eagerly embraced my newfound fatherhood after the initial shock.

And then there was a certain firefighter I couldn’t stop thinking about . . .

Yes, another huge life change was on the horizon.

Kirk was already standing at the front entrance of my building when we pulled up to the curb, dragging me from my thoughts.

My bassist Luna, and drummer Arthur, were with him.

They all waved when I stepped out of the vehicle with various expressions of curiosity and expectation on their faces.

A note of anxiety plucked at my nerves. They were expecting an update on my voice and plans for the next album and tour.

Not that I was stepping down and there would never be another tour.

The town car pulled back into traffic and a yellow cab snaked into its empty spot, earning a chorus of honks and one shouted “asshole”.

I shook my head as the taxi door opened, and Brian stepped out with a pinched look on his face.

While I was concerned about how Kirk, Luna, and Arthur would take the news and what they’d do going forward, especially Kirk, Brian hadn’t been with us long enough to rate.

That and I’d had my reservations about him from the start.

He wasn’t ever going to be long term, even if the band continued.

“Hey, everyone,” I greeted while my nerves jangled. “Come on in.”

Once we settled into my apartment, I got right to it.

“What does that mean for the band then?” Kirk asked twenty minutes later as he paced the length of my living room, his leather jacket creaking as he moved. He’d been the most visibly upset when I relayed what was happening and my thoughts for the future. “Are we over? Is this it?”

“As far as the band goes, yes,” I said, my heart hurting for my best friend, but breaking up the band would never change the fact he was, and would always be, like a brother to me.

“I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but my voice won’t hold up.

If you three want to stay together and form a new band, or join other bands, then I’m one hundred percent behind you and will do whatever I can to help, if you want, but I think it’s best we call the Dallas Blade Band quits. ”

That hurt to say, but there was a certain unexpected freedom in those words. A heavy sadness washed through me at ending this soundtrack of my life, but the opening notes of a new song, a fresh soundtrack, countered that weight with the promise of something bigger.

Brian sat in a club chair glaring at me as if I’d personally offended him, and on the couch, Luna looked at me with watery eyes while Arthur stared at the floor.

He’d always been so quiet. I wished I knew what was going on in his head, but I knew he’d land on his feet.

He was an incredible drummer, and any band would be lucky to have him. To have all of them.

Luna rose and approached where I stood by a bay of floor to ceiling windows that revealed a snippet of the New York City skyline. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around me, shocking me immobile for a second. She wasn’t the touchy-feely kind. Ever. I held her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and she shook her head.

“These years with your band have been some of the best.” Luna stepped back and looked up at me with a sad smile. “But my life is on the road. There’s a reason I stopped as a studio session bassist.”

I nodded. “I get it Luna, I really do.”

Arthur walked over and shook my hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s not like you can go to the store and buy new cords.”

“True,” I said through a throat constricting with emotion. Goodbyes sucked.

“Well. I guess that’s that then,” Brian said as he stood, brushing his hands on his slacks as if flicking away dirt. “Good luck in your future endeavors.”

Without another word or even a handshake, he turned and left my apartment.

All three now former bandmates looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Kirk said with a light huff. “He was never going to be more than temporary.”

Arthur and Luna left shortly after, with shiny eyes, best wishes, and promises to keep in touch, but Kirk hung back with a hangdog expression.

“So, what’s next then?” Kirk asked, his voice sounding weary. He pushed his long hair back from his face. I hated seeing him look so down, but there wasn’t much I could do. “Are you done with music completely?”

“No way. Music is in my blood,” I said with conviction, and dropped into a club chair. “I’ll never not have music in my life, but I need to revise how that’s going to look now. Maybe I’ll write for others or produce. Or teach.”

Kirk lifted his eyebrows as he sat back down on the couch across from me. “Teach?”

“Sure, why not?”