“But you work for him, right?”
Boone looks disgusted. “Why do you have to put it like that?”
I laugh as I sit on the edge of the bed. “Hell, I love Portland. I’d go with you if I didn’t have to keep my head down.”
“How long do you have to lie low?”
“Until Meadow tells me I can come up for air.” Frustration sweeps over me. “It’s a bunch of bullshit. Why do I have to hide like I did something wrong when Willa broke our contract? She fucked this up, not me. Yet I’m being punished for it.”
Stress pulls across the back of my neck, and I grab it with my hand.
How did this go so wrong?
I was supposed to be in Nashville this weekend. Larissa’s boyfriend, Hollis, was coming up, and we were going to work on some new music for my new album. It was going to be his first time in a studio, and he was pumped. I was pumped. The creativity was flowing.
Now it’s not. Because apparently continuing with your life—including being at home and writing new material—means I’m a soul-sucking ex-boyfriend from hell, and the tabloids are just waiting to expound upon that.
I sigh.
“Well, it is bullshit when you put it like that,” Boone admits. “You know that you’re the one everyone is going to blame for Willa’s breakdown. But, dude, why the hell did she have to meltdown on Sunset Boulevard? She could’ve chosen a more private spot.”
“Yeah, you think?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked myself a hundred times.
A part of me feels like this thing with Willa is a setup—that this month’s public demonstration of our “relationship” was in Los Angeles so Willa could make a show of having her so-called heart broken. Why else did she realize her feelings weren’t reciprocated on one of the most visible spots in all of California—feelings that I’m pretty freaking sure don’t exist in the first place?
I don’t want to believe that. But I kind of do. It makes a whole lot of sense.
“That’s the price you pay for fame, right?” Boone shrugs.
“I guess. I just don’t need this bullshit right now. Meadow just worked out my contract with the label for my next two albums, and I need to be collaborating. Creating. I need to be in the damn zone, Boone. Not in my parents’ house.”
He senses my foul mood and changes the subject.
“What are you going to do while you’re waiting to get back to your life?” Boone asks. “Just hang out with Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know. Write music, if I can.” I stretch my arms overhead and yawn. “I need to see if Hollis is coming down here this weekend now that the Nashville trip is canceled.”
Boone nods. “Larissa is head over fucking heels for him.”
“She could’ve done worse.”
“That’s for damn sure. Division One football player who treats her like gold—”
“And who can write lyrics like people write grocery lists.” I shake my head. “Never thought I’d like one of Riss’s boyfriends but here we are.”
Boone’s phone chirps, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He laughs as his fingers fly across the screen.
“Speaking of the devil,” he says. “It’s Larissa. I don’t think Bellamy threatened to break her legs over you being home, but threats were made.”
I grin. “You can’t call Bellamy uncommitted.”
Boone laughs again, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “Bellamy is the most uncommitted woman I’ve ever met.”
My ears perk up.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Bellamy has commitment phobia. I told her that I was buying her a cat for her birthday so she can get started on her old cat lady routine because that girl’s going to be alone for the rest of her life—by choice.”
I try not to look interested because I’m not. Not for any reason other than I’m nosy.
Sure, I get tidbits of Bellamy’s life from Boone and Larissa here and there, but it’s nothing I poke around about much. I’m too busy for that shit. And the last text I got from her told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business. But being home—and seeing her—makes me curious about what’s been going on with her. I want to catch up. And I definitely want to see her smile, even if it’s while she’s telling me to fuck off.
Besides, what else do I have to do?
“What does she do these days, anyway?” I ask as casually as I can.
“She’s a nanny, which I find hysterical because I don’t think she really even likes kids. She dates a lot, if you can call it that. Hangs out with Riss. She quit her job and moved to her dad’s guest house once he got sick. She doesn’t want to get too far from him.”
On reflex, my attention skips to the building behind the Davenport’s home next door.