Each word he spoke felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
“I’m writing plenty of new music,” I lied.
Nate didn’t say anything at first. “Is that so? Because last I heard, you were having trouble writing.”
“No, you didn’t,” I replied, knowing no one who knew about my writer’s block would dare talk to Nate about it. Mostly because Rayven was the only person who knew, and she hated Nate.
My cousin disliked most men, but she openly despised Nate since long before we broke up.
He chuckled. “You caught me in a lie there.”
“Not the first time that has happened.”
He pushed out a heavy breath. “I told you a hundred fucking times, that girl was a one-time thing.”
“Okay, Nate. If you say so.”
“I say so. You’re lucky that after you flew off the handle, I was nice enough not to press charges against you.”
I squeezed the phone in my hand, willing myself not to throw it across the room. I’d just gotten it a few weeks ago.
“Gee, am I supposed to thank you for that?”
“You should. Hell, you burned up my entire sneaker collection,” he answered. “Including all of my custom Nikes. Do you know how expensive those Air 90s were to get made?”
With a roll of my eyes, I answered, “Considering I was the one who bought and had the artist design them for you, I’d say, yeah, I know how much they cost.”
He sucked his teeth. “It’s not about the money.” He paused, pushing out a frustrated breath. “Look, all that other bullshit aside, you can’t deny we make a great team. I know you haven’t sought out a new manager yet or even consulted with a new label.”
“How do you know that?” I demanded.
“I’ve got connections everywhere, Lena. Why don’t you quit playing games? Put the pettiness aside, and re-sign with my label, like we talked about before all of this bullshit.”
By bullshit, I assumed he meant me burning his clothes, and our very messy breakup splashed across the internet.
Something between a laugh and a grunt pushed through my lips. “You really must be out of your mind.”
“So, what? You’re going to manage yourself?” he taunted. “We both know you don’t have a head for business. Or production. You need to stick with what you know. Let me take care of the rest.”
“Good-bye, Nate,” I said before hanging up on him.
I balled my fists and paced back and forth in the kitchen, letting his words play out on repeat in my head. I hated how true they sounded.
When I stepped back into the living room, my heart sank even more at the crumpled pieces of paper on the floor. The one thing that I was good—no, great at, I couldn’t do.
Before Nate’s words could send me completely spiraling, Rayven walked through the door, her hands full of groceries.
I quickly bottled up my feelings and threw a smile on my face.
“Did you get anything good?”
Rayven eyed the scraps of papers on the floor before looking up at me. “Few things,” she said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“What’s up?” I asked as she placed the bags onto the wooden table in the dining room, off the side of the living room.
I began pulling out the groceries to place them in the fridge.
“I need to go back to New York.”
