“On the other hand, if he wants to be with her, he could try trusting her,” says Grandma.
And Nash hesitates. He fucking hesitates. Which is answer enough for me.
“Can you get your lawyer to send it to me, please?” I ask.
“June,” he says. But that’s all he says.
I give him my best forced smile. “Ask them to send it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Seems the only time the brothers aren’t bickering is when they’re making music. We’re gathered around the firepit at Nash’s that night. My ass is slightly numb thanks to sitting in the wooden Adirondack chairs for hours. The combination of cold bottles of beer, stars up high in the sky, and the whisper of the nearby river more than make up for it. Life is good.
There’s absolutely no need for me to be fixating on contracts or the past or whatever. And yet my brain won’t leave it alone. At least I don’t know what’s happening online. People are no doubt still having big feelings about us. My worthiness to stand at his side and sleep in his bed, etcetera. Living according to other people’s opinions doesn’t make sense to me. Seems best to stay right the hell away.
Charlie plucks at a banjo while the brothers both play acoustic guitars. And it’s obvious they did just this for years because they sound amazing. Then Nash sings…
She found the light switch and lead the way,
And I don’t want to slow her down, but I think she should stay,
Cause I know about nothing and everything and that’s what’s inside.
When you close your eyes are your dreams like mine,
Are you lost and wandering and left behind,
Do you think you could be my compass and my map and my reason why.
I said sharpen your teeth on me, if you need to,
But she doesn’t work that way, and we can see through,
Times good and bad, and the best we ever had, is right here.
“I want to work on the intro some more,” says Nash.
Angus nods. “Good idea. Though the basic riff is solid.”
“Yeah.”
“The lyrics sound a bit codependent really, don’t they?” asks Grandma, with the last of her gin and tonic in hand. Charlie raises a brow and she shrugs. “Just an opinion.”
Nash’s frown is fierce. “It’s my art, Audrey.”
“Yes. Of course. But is the song modeling a healthy relationship?”
“I just want to make music. You can’t hold me responsible for how random people might interpret things.”
Grandma cocks her head. “You don’t think so? Interesting.”
“Stop messing with him, Grandma, before you break his brain,” I say with a smile. “It’s a beautiful song.”
“You like it?” asks Nash.
And I nod. The smile is so wide it doesn’t feel like it fits on my face.
Which is when Charlie gets to his feet and cracks his neck and says, “Must be about time for bed.”
