He nods. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, Paige. But youwrote so many beautiful songs this summer. Why didn’t you mention them?”
His tone is confused, disoriented. He walks slowly to the edge of the bed, and my hands go to his shoulders, his to my hips.
“It doesn’t feel right to sell them to some other artist,” I admit to him. “To sell the songs I wrote while I fell in love with you. Then or now.”
His nod is slow, eyes chasmic. “Because you feel like those songs are ours.”
“And that’s how they’re going to stay,” I agree. “I can write more songs in the future that I don’t feel so protective of. I already have ideas.”
His eyes rake across my face, like the solution is obvious, staring at me hard. “Paige. Why don’t you record more than three?”
My defense is immediate. “Anything more than three is too close to an EP. Andallof them could very well be a whole album.”
“But they’re beautiful.” He grips my waist tighter. “They’re—Paige, those songs are our love story. Yours and mine. You gave our story a medium that could live on forever.”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly, agreeing.
Some line of reasoning is working itself out behind Liam’s eyes. One of his hands travels up my waist to my cheek. “Record all of them,” he whispers.
I drop my hands from his body and settle onto my heels, gazing up. I’m shaking. “I thought you understood me when I said I didn’t want to be a performer.”
“I did,” he promises. “But lots of songs are never played for an audience. Lots of singers never cross a stage. I know you know that, even better than I do.”
“Well,” I say, wringing my hands, “maybe so, but commodifying those songs would cheapen what this summer meant.”
“Stop,” he says, voice soft. “Don’t say that.” Liam rubs at hischest like something inside of it is too tight. “Don’t act like I don’t knowexactlywhat’s been going on between us all summer. I’vebeenhere, Paige. I know what’s between us is real. Those songs existing isn’t going to cheapen anything.” He swallows. “I actually feel the opposite about it.”
My head cocks, and I ask, “Are you saying you think producing the songs would make our relationshipmorereal?”
“In the sense that it would prove I don’t have some weird hold or ownership overyourmusic, yeah,” Liam says. “I want you to stop making yourself smaller on my behalf.”
Liam steps backward. “Your talent is extraordinary, Paige. Your impact could be huge. Yes, those songs are ours now, and yes, I want them to exist in your voice, because I’m only mortal, and selfishly, I want a piece of them to stay ours forever. But they’re also beautiful fucking love songs that are going to make people feel things. Feeleverything. How can you sit on that? How can you entertain not sharing what your heart looks like with more people than just me?”
“Because you matter more!” I say.
He shakes his head. “My impact is always going to be small. But yours could be—” He exhales. “Everywhere. Your impact could be everywhere.”
“Now who’s cutting himself off at the knees?”
“It’s just the truth!” Liam says, voice raising. “It’s just the honest fucking truth! I’m a washed-up has-been with a job that can only take me so far. I will love you for my entire life if you let me, but I can’t let you stoop to my level when you have so much to give.” He smiles at me sadly. “It would be far too selfish to allow.”
Tears well in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks immediately. “Stoop to your level? Are you serious, Liam? You—youdesignedme. Youinventedme. I swear, it feels like you fuckingwroteme into existence, which means anything I’ve ever written belongs to you anyway. If I have any kind of impact at all it’s because of you. How can you think so little of yourself?”
“Most of my own family doesn’t evenlikeme, Paige,” he says, tone deadened, eyes glistening. “How could I think otherwise?”
I feel the edge in my words before they leave me. “Maybe you put all your worth into your ability to throw a baseball, and when you stopped,theystopped knowing how to talk to you. Did you ever consider that you presented yourself like you only had one redeeming quality and when it was taken from you, there was nothing redeemable left? Do you think they bought it, Liam?”
He’s silent, breathing heavy.
“Because that’s what it feels like you’re doing tome,” I whisper.
His face seems to crack. “I would love you even if you never picked up an instrument again.”
“Would you?” I ask, hand over my heart as it rockets. “Would you genuinely love the person I became if music wasn’t a part of me anymore?”
“Ofcourse,” he says, voice like gravel.
“Would you think of me as smaller? Less worthy of you? On a level you’d need to stoop to?”
