They look at each other the way people do when someone has to start.
Salem starts. “We fired Quincy. Last night.”
I set the napkin down. “What happened?”
Knox answers. “We have evidence he was colluding with Troy. Pushing him to use a threat to break us up. Calling itgood for the album. He used Troy to steal the masters for the label, so we’ll be suing them too. He said he’s done the breakup thing before when someone ‘clung.’ So, he’s fired. And probably facing criminal prosecution when all of this is said and done.”
My stomach goes tight. “He said that to your faces?”
“Yes,” Houston says. “He said it like it was just business. And then he tried to make me feel bad for him.”
Knox adds, “Oh, and at least some of your death threats were fake.”
I nearly spit my water. “What?”
“He hired a troll farm to scare you into dumping us.”
“Holy shit.” My mouth goes dry. Then I hear Talia in my head, that easy little “mm” when she doesn’t like someone. “Your mother never liked him. She said there was too much math in his smile. If you’re smart, you’ll let her help pick the next one. She’s seen every kind of manager three times.”
“Agreed,” Knox says. “We’ll sit with her this week. No rush hires. Counsel has interim covered for contracts in the meantime.”
“Good.”
They watch me like they’re trying to gauge the hit. I check myself for cracks. I feel steady and angry in an old way. I pour coffee and doctor it like I always do, so I don’t wreck my hands. “I’m glad he’s gone. Not just for me. But for you guys too. That’s fucked up.”
“There’s more,” Salem says, softer. “Police picked Troy up. Extortion and the break-in. We have the file he was waving around. It’s in evidence, but I made a copy.”
“What extortion?”
He swallows. “Troy made a sex tape of you. Threatened to leak it.”
My hand shakes, jiggling my coffee. I set it down with both hands. “Oh.”
“Based on what I saw, it looks like you didn’t know it was being filmed?—”
“I did not. In fact, I told him never to film us.”
“I’m not asking you to deal with it today. Or ever, if you don’t want to. We’ll handle it, and the court will handle it. I’m telling you because I won’t keep things from you.”
I sit still for a beat because I don’t want to vomit information back at him. “Okay. Thank you. I’m not talking about it now. I need to not think about that for a while.”
“Understood.”
We go quiet. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s a block of silence we can stand on. They keep eating. I sip coffee and let my brain sort files.
Quincy is gone. Police have Troy. The studio is ours with new glass. The work is moving. I have the credit I deserve and men I’ll keep trying to deserve because they keep trying to deserve me too.
They start to chatter, and I check out of the conversation a little, even as they keep talking about interim managers and radio spins and rehearsal blocks. I look at the string of choices behind me and the one ahead.
I have what I wanted, and I didn’t notice it arrive: a home. Not a street, not an apartment, not a ring. A place where I can set a pencil down and know it will be there when I reach for it. A place in a family, even if it’s only temporary.
But it doesn’t feel temporary. This feels like the real thing.
I hate that I let a man talk me out of my career once. I hate that I abandoned my career to orbit his. That I liked the feeling of belonging so much that I let him take the rest of me. That I called it love when it was convenience and a way to stop being scared.
Now I have three men who handed me back my hands, my voice. Knox, who shares the load and thinks out loud with me and doesn’t pretend he knows things he doesn’t. He respects me and listens when I say the line is crooked.
Houston, who checks locks and records guide tracks and keeps asking where support turns into weight. He finds the song under whatever noise the day is making and brings me into it without turning me into a prop.
