He gives me a look. “You’re not a villain. You’re just a guy with a fucked-up family tree and a guitar.”
“Try telling that to the internet.”
He shrugs. “Screw the internet. What about Nora?”
The words knock the wind out of me. I glance away, rubbing the back of my neck. “I need to talk to her,” I say. “But she’s with Emily tonight. I’ll call her later.”
“You think she saw it?”
“Of course she did. It’severywhere.”
Lucas takes a slow sip, then says, “So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. Part of me wants to disappear for a week. Hole up somewhere. Avoid the fallout.”
“And the other part?”
“Wants to face this head-on. Talk to him. Now that everything’s out in the open.”
Lucas leans back, tossing a chip into his mouth. “You know, I always figured there was something different about you. Turns out, it’s daddy issues wrapped in a trust fund scandal.”
“Bite me.”
“Only emotionally.”
***
Lucas and I keep chatting about the upcoming tour, new song ideas, and his latest love interest.
A ding breaks in—it’s my email.
I open the app.
Subject: An Invitation to Talk
From: [email protected]
My stomach drops. I don’t even click it at first. Just stare at it like it’s radioactive. Like if I open it, something inside me might detonate.
Melody jumps onto the table, knocking a pen to the floor. I barely register it. My entire focus zeroes in on the screen.
I click.
Maxwell,
I trust you’ve seen the article by now.
I want to speak with you. In person. Privately.
You may not believe this, but I’ve followed your career from a distance for years. It would be great to get to know you after all this time. I think I missed out on a lot.
Let’s talk.
If you’re willing, my assistant can set up a meeting. No cameras. No public record. Just a father and son catching up on a couple decades.
I’ll wait for your reply.
—Lawrence Westwood
