“Anything you want to tell me, Taev?” my dad asks me later that evening as he comes into the kitchen where I’ve got my back to him as I finish fixing dinner. My stomach sinks to the floor with unease and I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing my foolish heart.
Shoot. Why did I think he wouldn’t find out?
Trying to play it cool, I set the wooden spoon in my hand down. Turning to face him, I aim for denial. “No, should I?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” His blank face in combination with his cool tone doesn’t give anything away. I’m not sure what to make of it. If he knew I ran off, got hitched, and got a tattoo after, I think he’d be far more upset with me.
When I don’t respond with anything he sighs and finally says, “There wasn’t any parental supervision at the Fourth of July cabin, was there?”
Oh, thank the Lord. That was a close one.
Doing my best to muster up that I’d been caught doing the very worst thing I’ve ever done, I stammer out an apology. “No, there wasn’t. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Dad.”
“Did you know before asking me to go that there wouldn’t be parents there?” he presses.
I pause to consider my options here. On the one hand, if I tell him the truth, I’ll likely be grounded for the rest of summer. On the other hand, if I lie and he catches me in a second lie, I’ll likely be grounded for the rest of my life.
I decide to go with, “I didn’t. But Jackson’s older brother, who is already in the NHL and very responsible, was there the whole weekend.”
My father narrows his gaze on me, the way he does when he’s trying to detect a lie. I must be getting better at selling a convincing white lie because he nods his head once and takes his hands off his hips. Guilt nags at my conscience, but before I can reflect on it, the doorbell rings.
“Are we expecting anyone?” my dad asks.
I shake my head at him. “Yes, Dad. You’re the one who invited Jackson to dinner.”
He clears his throat. “Oh, yes. That’s right.”
Cleaning off my hands on a dishtowel, I tell him, “I’ll get the door. But, Dad, please be nice.”
That earns me a gruff response. “I’m nice enough.”
I wait until my back is turned before I roll my eyes. When I open the door, I’m barely able to see Jax behind the enormous bouquet he’s holding in his hands. I gasp as I take in the beautiful floral arrangement filled with red roses, pink peonies and white hydrangeas.
“Jax! They’re so beautiful!” I squeal, taking them from his hands, and as I do my fingers brush against his and my eyes widen in panic. Peeking at him from behind the arrangement, I whisper-hiss, “You’re still wearing your ring.”
Jax winces in realization. “Sorry, baby. I’ll go put it in my truck so I don’t lose it.”
“Okay, I’ll go set these down,” I tell him. As I’m about to turn, he leans in and presses a chaste kiss on my lips.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers before jogging to his truck.
I may have picked my sundress with him in mind. Okay, who am I kidding? I pick almost everything I wear these days with him in mind.
Just as I place the flowers in a vase, my phone rings. It’s not a number I have saved in my phone, and typically I wouldn’t answer it, but I question whether it could be my new roommate I was assigned from Berklee.
Swiping, I do my best for a cheerful greeting. “Hello!”
“Good evening, am I speaking with Taevin Gray?” a man on the other end of the line asks.
I hesitate a moment before answering. “Yes, this is she.”
“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if I had the correct number. My name is Kyle Blackwood, I’m a talent manager out of Nashville.” My heart rate picks up as he continues. “I happened to stumble across a video of you performing at a county fair last month. I’ve been looking to add another artist to my roster for a few months now, and I’ve got to be honest with you, no one has impressedme the way you did from that two-minute clip. I’d love to hear more of your work if you have an EP.”
It takes me a few moments to snap out of the shock and answer him. “I-I don’t have anything recorded. That was only like my second time performing in front of an audience.” I snap my mouth closed, frustrated with myself for admitting that. I’m guessing talent managers aren’t looking for someone as green to the music industry as I am. This sort of phone call wasn’t supposed to come until after I’d had a degree from Berklee under my belt, if ever.
“Well that’s alright. I’ve worked with a breadth of artists that range from having years of experience to diamonds in the rough looking for their big break. Is that you, Taevin? Are you the diamond in the rough I’ve been searching for? Because I think you just might be.” Without giving me a chance to answer, he adds, “Of course, after seeing that initial video of you, I did some digging. I found a video of you performing the national anthem at a hockey game where you easily captivated the crowd. That was something else, truly spectacular.”
I’m at a loss for words. I need someone to pinch me because what is real life right now?
