“Okay,” she says, sounding disappointed.
“I’m staying at the Four Seasons. The spare hotel key is in my jacket pocket in my dressing room. 304. Wait for me?”
She smiles. “Of course. I’ll be there. Good luck.”
When I lean in to kiss her, I expect it to be tentative. There’s tension between us that won’t unravel without a deeper conversation. But the longer I linger, the more she starts to melt into me, and the harder it becomes to pull away. It’s reassurance for the both of us that we’re going to be okay.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, before a group of security guards escorts me away from her and out of a discreet service entrance to a black SUV. When I duck inside, Todd is already in the vehicle.
We apologize at the exact same time.
“No, I should have seen it.” Todd stares at the roof of the car, shaking his head. “Every time I’d talk to you, and you’d ask me to repeat what I said. The quiet dressing room request. The stage.”
“No. Come on, man. You couldn’t have known. This is on me. I should have trusted you with the information. I’ve put everyone through a lot in the last few months. All I can do now is be honest and see where things land.”
He barks out a laugh. “That’s your big plan with the label? No wonder you hired me.”
“I hired you to stand by my side at this meeting as a middleman for my career. But I want you there as my friend. I couldn’t have done any part of this without you, and I don’t want to start now. Don’t give up on me, okay?”
“You think I’d walk away? I’m your biggest advocate. You know that, right?”
I nod.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to start byexplaining to me what you need from them. And then, you’re going to leave the talking part up to me.”
I cringe, knowing this request is a lot to ask after already signing a new contract. If I’m going to move forward, I need them to understand my daughter takes priority over my music.
“First, I need to be flown back to Idaho after next Friday’s tour date. Quinn has a talent show, and I’ve agreed to sing with her at it. I imagine the school would be open to having our performance filmed if that sways the label toward good publicity.”
He only responds with one question. “Can I come?”
I give him my answer in the form of a smile.
“What else?” he asks.
We spend the rest of the drive prepping a list of important rider requests moving forward. Most of the time, that consists of me explaining why I need what I do. When we’re in the silence of the hotel’s conference room, Todd launches the video call.
A group of label executives seated at a rectangular table are projected on an empty wall. Wallace, the executive head of the label, starts the conversation. “Gentlemen, thanks for meeting with us on such short notice. Rhett, it’s good to have you back.”
The positive lilt to his voice is a good start. I try not to roll back my shoulders to appear put together. There’s no pretending. The line between Rhett and Everett has merged. I’m an imperfect person who will need all the help I can get moving forward.
“You can call me Everett, and thank you. It’s good to be back.”
“Listen, Everett, it’s about time we address the elephant in the room. We’re here to back you as an artist, and I’m sorry if you haven’t felt that from the beginning, but we just have one question.”
I swallow. “I figured.”
“How can we support you?”
Todd and I share a look of surprise before he screen-shares the new rider with the group. I’ll either fly or die with this list of demands. But this time, I’ll do it as me.
It’s past midnight before I make it up to my hotel room. Summer’s asleep in the king-sized bed, sprawled out like a starfish in a pair of shorts and a tank top. I don’t want to wake her, but I can’t stand being away from her another minute either. Not touching her and making sure she’s real and still here. I strip down to my boxers and pull the covers over us. She stirs with the dip of the mattress and scrunches into the fetal position. I slip an arm around her waist, spooning her. She lets out a sigh but doesn’t wake. My world feels right again.
Fatigue seeps into my limbs but evades my mind. That part of me is racing with thoughts of everything that transpired today.
I did it. After years of hiding and coping and struggling and trying… I accepted it. In front of an arena full of people, I learned that APD doesn’t define me.
33
