“This is not me acquiescing,” I said, more to Sawyer than to Terrence, “but is there any way to adjust the set list? I’m telling you, Terr, I’d have to do it seated, and my voice will be shredded by the end of the first concert.”
The long pause on the line was not encouraging, and Sawyer was already shaking his head, not liking this one bit. Seeing his protective side was doing all sorts of things to my heart, but I had to stay focused.
“Look,” Terrence said, finally breaking the silence. “I’ve done a lot of contract negotiations, worked with a lot of asshole millionaire types, but I’ve never seen a group of people less willing to give even an inch on a contract. These folks want your blood. And I think they’re going to get it from you one way or another.”
I dropped my chin to my chest, knowing he was telling the truth.
Sawyer kissed my temple, then asked, “What options do we have?”
“As far as the money goes, it’s not a bad deal. We can have a vocal cord specialist examine you, and we could force them back maybe a month. But these concerts are going to happen, and pretty soon. It’s the only way they’ll ever let you go.”
I couldn’t stand the idea of Dick DeWitt making another penny off my hard work. It wasn’t just about making him wealthier—it was about what he did with that wealth. He had hishand in Texas’s regressive politics, and our current legislature was especially focused on going after queer and gender-nonconforming kids. The thought that my music and lyrics helped fund any of that made my stomach turn in on itself.
“How much do I stand to lose if I simply refuse to perform?”
“They’ll sue you for the full amount of the contract, and they’ll get it.”
I hissed. I’d done well for myself, and the money manager that Ozzie had hooked me up with was really good. But that would wipe me out.
“Okay,” I said, feeling defeated. “Give me a few days, and I’ll get back to you.”
“You don’t have much time,” he said. “If you don’t respond within two business days, their lawyers will consider you in breach of contract.”
“Thosemotherfuckers. Let me talk this over with Sawyer. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Talk to you then.”
I ended the call and spun around in Sawyer’s lap. “What do you think?” I asked, hoping he had thought of something I’d overlooked.
“I need to see the contract before I can give you any advice. Though I have to say, it sounds like Terrence has done what he could,” he said, running his fingers through my hair, his expression pinched. “We might have to get creative.”
Fuck. This was bad. This was really bad.
“Also,” he continued, “I agree that you should see a throat specialist to get an idea of what is and isn’t possible for you, physically.”
I bit my lip, hating everything about this. I should have gone to a specialist a long time ago, but I couldn’t face it.
“Hey,” he said, lifting my chin until his sharp blue eyes bored into mine. “You’re not alone in this, okay? If these assholes want to play dirty, then we’ll play dirty. There’s no use following the rules if they aren’t going to.”
I scoffed. “I doubt you’ve ever intentionally broken a rule in your life.”
“For you, I would,” he said, his expression dark.
“Why?” I asked. “I know that you’d do a lot for the Lost Boys, but?—”
He silently cut me off with a tilt of his head.
I gasped at the certainty in his eyes. Maybe it was shit timing, but I was never one to put off a conversation that needed to be had. And we needed a conversation, big-time.
Might as well fucking dive in.
“I’m not just any Lost Boy to you, am I?”
Blinking, he inhaled sharply, taking in the look on my face. He must’ve seen what he needed to. “No,” he said quietly.
“Is it because of my tight, perfectly bleached asshole?” I asked, putting on a fake grin.
He snorted.Nope.
