“We are,” Simpson says, standing. “And with the right team behind you, Horizon thinks you can go further than just anEP. But one step at a time. Call me when you’ve secured representation. I’ll hold the timeline for seventy-two hours.”
He shakes each of our hands one by one. His grip is firm. His smile doesn’t have that LA shine I used to hate. It feels real.
When it’s my turn, he squeezes my hand harder, lowering his voice as he says, “You’ve got something, Rafe. Something I don’t see often.”
My chest goes hot. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Do the work.” He nods. We’ll speak soon. I’ve got some calls to make.”
And then he leaves the meeting room.
The door clicks behind him, and there’s silence for a solid three seconds.
Then the room blows up.
“Holyshit!” Eli yells, almost knocking his chair over. “Three weeks?Three fucking weeks?”
“We need an agent,” Miles says, already scrolling. “I’m texting Anthony.”
“Texting?” Drew says. “Call him. Beg him. Offer him—hell, offer him Eli.”
“Hey!” Eli protests. “I’m worth more than one agent!”
I’m sitting very still. Too still. My hands are shaking in my lap, the adrenaline crashing against the exhaustion of last night and the even bigger realization?—
I need to tell Ollie. Except he’s in the air and I’m here, vibrating out of my skin.
“Rafe,” Miles says suddenly, sharp. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” My voice cracks. I swallow. “Nothing. Everything. Fuck, I just need—give me a second.”
They quiet, for once. Drew bumps his shoulder into mine, gentle. “Breathe, dude.”
I do. In. Out. My lungs eventually catch up.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. This is happening.”
Eli smirks. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“I am.”
“It’s convincing me,” Drew says, standing and moving to one of the oversized couches in the meeting room. “Also, we need to celebrate. Shotgun shit. Stupid decisions. Drinks. Something.”
“Speaking of stupid decisions,” Eli says slowly, slyly, and joining Drew on the couch, “can we talk about the fact that our lead singer got”—he lowers his voice dramatically—“married.”
Miles doesn’t even look up from his phone. “To an actual person,” he says. “Not a metaphor. Not a temporary ring. An actual man.”
Drew pinches the bridge of his nose. “At a wedding chapel. At 1:00 a.m. With us as witnesses.”
Eli raises his hand. “And legally binding paperwork.”
My face burns. “Okay, okay, shut the hell up?—”
“We’re not judging,” Eli says sweetly. “We’re just saying. That was the gayest bachelor party none of us asked for.”
“Eli,” Miles says, still scrolling, “shut up. But also… yes.”
I groan into my hands. “None of this leaves this room. I mean it. Not to parents. Not to strangers. Not to anyone in management. Not until Ollie and I figure out… everything.”
