Page 23 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Freddie

Six months.

That’s how long I have left with Ivy. Long enough for the album to come out and for her to train her replacement.

I won’t lie and pretend like our conversation last night wasn’t a complete and total gut punch.

It was bad enough knowing she wants to move out as soon as we get back to Nashville.

But when she said she wanted to work for my label instead of me, a hollowness settled into my chest, and I’m not sure anything is going to fill it.

It doesn’t even matter that I know she’d be great working for Voltage, helping an entire roster of artists rather than giving all her attention to me. That logic only gets me so far. I still feel like I’m losing her—like she’s slipping out of my grasp for good.

But maybe she won’t find her own place after all. At least for the time being. Not sure how we’d spin that to the press if she’s seen moving out when we’re supposed to be in a happy relationship.

“What do you think?” Kat says. “All sound agreeable?”

I’ve been so preoccupied thinking about Ivy, I actually have no idea what my publicist has been saying for the past five minutes, but I’m not about to tell her that, so I just nod. “Good,” I say. “Great.”

She purses her lips, leaning forward so her face fills up the entirety of my phone screen.

Kat Michaels lives in New York, but she’s surprisingly effective at working over FaceTime and Zoom, and our current phone call is no exception.

I’ve only met her in person a handful of times, but her work speaks for itself.

She’s as relentless as Sloane, with the same sense of uncompromising integrity that makes me like working with her.

She’s not above faking a relationship for a little bit of PR—that’s just spin, her words, not mine—but she made it clear she will not move forward with the plan if Ivy isn’t on board.

“And you’re sure Ivy isn’t going to change her mind?”

“I can’t promise that,” I say. “We’re asking a lot of her, Kat. If she wants to end things at any moment, I won’t stop her or try to convince her not to.”

Kat smiles tightly. “Generous of you,” she says. “But please don’t stop thinking about how much harder you’ll make my job if this gets messy.”

“It’s already messy, isn’t it?” I say. “The relationship isn’t real, and we’re pretending it is.”

“We aren’t going to say anything that isn’t true,” she argues.

“Ivy means a lot to you. You’d consider her a close friend, wouldn’t you?

All we’re doing is presenting a relationship to the public and letting them decide what to think.

That relationship could be something romantic, but it could also be something more like friendship. ”

“I thought you said we’re doing a press release acknowledging the relationship,” I say.

“We are, but it will be artfully vague. No lies, just the very intentional power of suggestion. As long as you and Ivy know where you both stand, I think you’ll come through all right in the end.”

A valid point, except Ivy and I don’t know where we stand.

I haven’t told Ivy that when I kissed her, I felt a glimmer of something real.

More than a glimmer—if I’m being honest. Or that when I think about her moving on, working for someone else, I’m overwhelmed with a sort of desperate, preemptive loneliness.

So Ivy and I are pretending, letting the world think we’re in love, but I’m pretending with Ivy too.

And I guess I’m also pretending with Kat, since I’m not being honest with her either.

But I can’t be honest with anyone if I have no idea how to make sense of my own feelings, and so far, the only thing I know for sure is how confused I am.

“Artfully vague, huh?”

“It’s my specialty,” Kat says. “Just trust me to handle this.”

Across the room, Wayne stands and motions toward the door. “Time to go,” he mouths.

I sigh and stand so I can follow Wayne to the open hotel room door. “Fine. I get it. Just let us read the press release first, all right?”

“I already sent it to Ivy,” she says. “Review it together, then let me know when you’re ready to launch.”

“I gotta go,” I say. “We’re headed to the arena.”

“Break a leg,” Kat says. “Oh, and Freddie, if you wanted to hold your assistant’s hand on your way into the concert, I wouldn’t be mad about it.”

I wouldn’t be mad about holding Ivy’s hand, but a part of me still bristles at the thought of doing it just because Kat suggested it.

Ivy is already in the car when Wayne and I reach the black SUV that will drive us two blocks to the concert venue.

I climb into the seat beside her, and a sudden yearning fills my chest, a desire to be close to her that takes me by surprise.

It takes all my willpower to resist the impulse to shift across the bench seat so we’re side by side.

Ivy’s phone is up to her ear, but she pulls it away long enough to turn it to face me. Her Mom’s picture fills the screen, and I nod my understanding as she returns her attention to the call.

Wayne climbs into the front seat of the SUV and looks at me over his shoulder. “Good to go?”

I nod, even as Ivy starts talking into the phone.

“I promise she’s good,” she says. “A little hungover. But she’s young.

She’ll bounce back quick. I really think you should call her.

” She’s quiet for a beat before she adds, “I do think she’ll answer.

She told me she would.” Another pause. “Same phone number. You won’t be interrupting anything.

I left her in the hotel room with a pizza and the five-hour version of Pride and Prejudice .

But she can pause that long enough to talk.

” After another beat of silence, Ivy rolls her eyes.

“Seriously? Fine, fine. Hang on.” She puts the phone on speaker and looks pointedly at me. “She wants to say hi.”

I grin. “Hi, Mrs. Conway.”

“Hi, Freddie. I hope you’re taking good care of my daughter.”

I meet Ivy’s gaze and lift my eyebrows .

She gives her head a quick shake, a silent answer to my question. She has not told her mom the truth.

Interesting.

I clear my throat. “I’m doing my best,” I say.

“You’ll have to come out to the farm when you’re back in Tennessee. Stay a few days. We’d love to see you. We’ll have a new baby in a couple weeks. That’d be a great time to come.”

“Donkey,” Ivy silently mouths. “Baby donkey.”

“I’d love that,” I say. “Will I be able to meet Pirate? He’s the donkey with one eye, right?” I’ve heard a lot about the tree farm where Ivy grew up, and she’s shown me dozens of pictures. But I’ve never been there in person.

Honestly, it feels weird I haven’t been there in person, and I have a sudden desire to see Ivy’s childhood home.

“Pirate and all the others,” Mom says. “I might even have a few baby goats, though that rescue is still up in the air. Not sure they’ll need me. But there’s always something to see, with or without the goats.”

“Sounds amazing,” I say. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Of course! You have a great show tonight. And y’all be good to each other.”

Ivy’s gaze shifts to mine, and we stare for a long moment, her mother’s words hanging between us. But then Ivy gives her head a little shake, and she looks back at the phone.

“Bye, Mom,” she says.

“Bye,” she calls back. “Love you lots.”

“Um, I definitely want to meet the new baby donkey,” I say as Ivy drops her phone in her lap.

“You’ll never escape,” Ivy says. “Mom will want to keep you. She’ll also tell you you’re too skinny and you need to eat more of her fried chicken, which, honestly, that’s not a mistake. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

That same yearning from before fills my chest. I do not have the kind of family who fosters much sense of belonging. The idea of Ivy’s mom wanting to keep me sounds nice.

Silence settles between us as the SUV turns at the next intersection and the arena comes into view.

Fans are already lined up outside the building, filling the sidewalk and clustering around the merch tents set up outside.

One woman in a Midnight Rush t-shirt points at the SUV, then nudges her friend.

The windows are too dark for them to see who’s inside, but it still makes my skin prickle with awareness that all those people out there are here to see me.

“So, you didn’t tell your mom, then,” I say, turning my attention back to Ivy.

“I will eventually. But—I didn’t want to complicate things. My dad won’t really understand the PR side of this.”

I nod, wondering if I should have a conversation with my parents. They don’t exactly follow me online—they find the fame side of what I do utterly baffling. But telling them still feels like the courteous thing to do.

“I should?—”

“Call your parents?” Ivy finishes for me. “I thought you might want to. You’ll have about fifteen minutes after soundcheck. Maybe you could call them then?”

“Perfect.”

“After that, I thought we could review the press release Kat sent over. While you’re eating. Does that work?”

Ivy has shifted into work mode, which…of course she has. The hours immediately before a concert are busy for us both. But it still feels odd for her to be focusing on her re gular job while I’m sitting here wondering if I should hold her hand when we get out of the SUV.

“Yep. Sounds good,” I agree, swallowing all my other concerns.

She shifts in her seat, making a note on her phone, and I catch the scent of her—something floral and a little fruity. Whatever it is, I really like it.

“You smell good,” I say without really thinking about it. “Is it something new?”

Her cheeks turn the palest shade of pink. “Oh, uh—no. Just not something I wear all that often. It isn’t too much?”