Page 95 of Perfect Composition

My head whips back and forth between them in shock. And a wave of realization washes over me. I’m going to be thirty-seven years old and I’m about to be truly free to start my life for the first time. All the energy I spent on trying to keep a copasetic relationship with my father can be expended on the people who truly matter. My brothers, Austyn, and maybe, just maybe, Beckett.

But most importantly, I can give it back to myself.

And that’s why I squeeze both of their hands and declare, “I’ll think about it.”

Austyn and Beckett have the same reaction. They hold their hands up, waiting for the other to slap it. Then they look at the other in confusion. So, I do the deed and pronounce them both “Goofballs. Now, who’s hungry? I suddenly just got an appetite.”

Austyn leaps off the couch to start pulling leftovers out for dinner, but Beckett lingers behind. He cups my face, tattooed fingers tracing my features gently. “You’re not just saying it? You really are going to consider coming to New York?”

“Yes.”

He wraps me up tightly in his strong arms. And until Austyn calls us, that’s how we stay. Just like we’d stand for hours in the field near the heart of my ancestors.

BECKETT

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Beckett Miller is reportedly going to be a performing artist at this year’s Grammy Awards. Though the gorgeous bachelor has been MIA for the last few weeks, we can only imagine that’s due to the holidays. We can’t wait to see what’s in store for music’s greatest night of the year!

— Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger

“When the hell are you coming back?” Carys demands.

“I don’t know. Frankly, what the hell does it matter? You’d think you’d be happier without me there.”

“For the most part, I am,” she returns without hesitation. I grin. Then she goes on. “But I will admit—just this one time—it was much more convenient when you used to drop in so I could handle your legal issues.”

I sit up with a snap from where I’m lazing on a lounge chair with Paige. “Tell me someone hasn’t broken into my place again.”

She tugs on the sleeve of my shirt and frowns up at me. I shake my head and stroke my hand down her arm until our fingers twist together. Pulling her hand onto my lap, I brace for Carys’s next words.

“No, it’s just you’re you, Becks. People want you for things, though God knows why.”

“Because I’m wantable,” I shoot back with my normal arrogance.

Two women’s laughter echo in my ears—one through the phone, one from the body next to me. I grin with unrestrained happiness, something I haven’t felt since I was last lying next to this woman. “So, what’s on the table?” I ask Carys. I squeeze Paige’s hand and am comforted by her return of the simple affection.

God, if I let myself, the resurgence of fury toward her father could come back so easily for stripping us of all these years. What would it have been like to have shared my first gold record with her? My first platinum? The first red carpet? My mind wanders back when I think about what I bought with my first million. The first time I shuffled into Bristol Brogan-Houde’s office at UBS with practically every dollar I’d ever made, begging her to turn it into more. Would we have had a couple of kids then instead of just Austyn?My breath catches at the very idea of watching Paige grow round over and over with my seed growing inside her belly.

I growl, which Carys must take as a sign to continue. Thank God. “ASCAP reached out. Your songs are wanted for a ridiculous number of commercials.”

I shrug before realizing Carys can’t see me. “That’s nothing new.”

“No, but—” She drops the name of the luxury carmaker that I happen to own. “They don’t just want the song; they want you.”

“Now, thatisinteresting,” I admit. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“No can do.” I shoot it down immediately. I’m not leaving Paige this soon.

“Yes, you are,” Carys declares.

I throw my legs off the lounger and shove to my feet. “What the hell gives you the right—”

“The Grammys contacted Wildfire. Kris and I spoke earlier in the week. He wants you to agree to present Best Album of the Year, since you’re not nominated for it.”

“That’s in early February this year.” I immediately discount the argument.