“It’s good to see you too, Avery.” She looks me up and down before pursing her lips. “I must say, you look different. Is it something in the air here or a certain cowboy that has put that glow on your face?”
I ignore her question and fold my arms over my chest. “I told you when I left that I needed space, Pen. Tracking me down for whatever it is that you need is not giving me that.”
My stomach flips as I watch her slip into business mode with ease, her polished composure reminding me of exactly why I’ve always been a little afraid of her. “I gave you plenty of space, Avery. It’s time for you to come back to Nashville.”
Shifting on my feet, I swallow around the panic clawing at my throat. “I’m not coming back yet. We had a deal.”
Penelope lets out a laugh of disbelief, the sound harsh and brittle on my nerves. “No.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I’m not sure how to respond. She lifts her gaze to mine, all pretense of friendliness gone. “You have commitments, and there isn’t space or time for you to be gallivanting around with some hot cowboy who’s only ever tried to drag you back to this place. There are contracts, Avery. Rehearsals. Sponsors. Millions of dollars tied up in shows with your name on them and songs that you need to get in the studio to record before the tour starts.”
Ignoring her comment about Grayson—for now—because what the heck, my mind scrambles to figure out a way that everyone wins, but I come up empty. “And I said I would be there. Just not right now.” We haven’t had time to figure out how to make us work when there’s nearly two thousand miles between us.
“We don’t always get what we want. You’re coming back with me in the morning because there isn’t ‘a way’ for you to get that extra week. I don’t care what you’ve got going on here, Avery. We—yes, you and I—are on the hook for over a million dollars if you don’t attend rehearsals and get those tracks laid down.”
More than a million dollars?
My ears ring so loudly I almost miss the rest of what she’s saying. I’ve done well in my career, but not well enough to have that kind of money lying around. When I can finally form words, I stutter out, “A mil-million?”
She straightens her blazer before inspecting her nails, like this is an everyday conversation. “Did you not read any of the contracts I’ve sent you? Yes. People still have to be paid, and tickets will need to be refunded if you don’t turn up for the tour, or worse yet, you put on a show that’s not worth the money being charged.”
Suddenly, I feel so out of place in my velvet black dress. I’d picked this outfit because I knew Gray would love it, but now? Now my past decisions are ruining us. I turn away from Penelope, nausea rushing through me. This can’t be happening. I don’t wanna leave, not now that things are good between me and Grayson, and certainly not before we’ve had time to talk about our future, but what choice do I have? I don’t have a million dollars sitting in a bank account somewhere that I can throw at this problem to give me more time with the man I love. Most of my money has gone to my label, marketing my album, paying my management team, and keeping a roof over my head.
Opening my mouth to argue, I quickly close it again, the words dying on my tongue. I want to tell her that we will have to figure something else out because I’m not the same person I was when I left.
I want to scream that I haven’t had enough time and beg her to just leave. But the words won’t come because I don’t have a choice. Not really.
Turning to face Penelope, I blow out a heavy, defeated breath. “When do I need to leave?”
31
GRAYSON
My heart has been hammering in my chest so hard it feels like it’s bruised. In the quiet of Avery’s apartment, the tick of the clock in the kitchen has felt like a countdown to something I’m not quite ready to face. I knew the second I saw her manager on the sidewalk that our time was up, that she was leaving before we’d had time to figure us out. I just didn’t want to believe it.
It feels like an eternity since I left them on the sidewalk, and I’m seconds away from leaving, from going back downstairs and asking—no, begging—for whatever Penelope is here for to disappear. I imagine myself dropping to my knees on the sidewalk and pleading for her to give us just a little more time.
I’m pacing in the living room when Avery finally walks through the front door. A quiet tension fills the room as she closes it behind herself. The click as the lock falls into place is as loud as a gunshot.
She looks defeated, a sorrow filling her gaze as she leans back against the door and looks up at me with glassy eyes. I know what she’s going to say before she utters the words.
Even though I know it’s different now, that we’re both different now, I’m hit with a flashback from the last time we did this. She’s standing on my porch, her suitcase packed in her truck, and a million sorrys on her lips. She had the same look on her face then that she has now.
“I have to go back to Nashville tomorrow.” She chokes out the words like they’re being pulled from her.
They land heavy between us, and my whole body tenses.Have to. I allow the spark of hope that she doesn’t want this as much as I selfishly don’t want her to go to build. But deep down, I know Avery’s love for her fans will always outweigh her own desires. She’s selfless like that.
“I’m so sorry, Gray,” she whispers. Her face crumples, and tears fall from her eyes, tumbling down her cheeks unchecked.
She said those same words to me over a decade ago. But this time, I don’t know what she’s sorry for. I cross the room and pull her into my arms, holding her close as I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ave. We knew this was coming, right?” I lean back, holding her biceps as I bend my knees to look in her eyes.
She nods, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Yeah, but I thought we’d have more time.”
Me too.
I pull her back against my chest, hoping she’ll soothe the ache that’s forming. My throat feels thick, but I force the words out. “When do you leave?”
Avery pulls out of my hold, leaving me to deal with the loss of her. She walks further into the room, her head down, before she collapses onto the couch. “First thing in the morning.”
