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The fire is still going. My phone is somewhere on the floor and my head feels warm and heavy.
“Finn.”
“Mm.”
“You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
“And whoever’s keeping you warm, when you’re ready to tell me, I want to know.”
“Okay.”
“Is he good to you?”
I close my eyes.
“Yeah, Tay. He’s good to me.”
I wait for him to say something else, but then his breathing evens out.
The fire crackles and the wind blows against the window. I think about Fox at the farm, sleeping in the guestroom, and I think about Bastian in the new cabin he built on the farm for himself, lying awake wondering if Taylen told his best friend they hooked up. I think about Jackson, who would have laughed himself sick at every single one of us.
Then I fall asleep too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FOX
Manhattan in December is on a whole different level of amazing.
We flew in yesterday for a meeting the label sprung on us. They weren’t happy when we announced the hiatus, and none of us knew if we were going to walk out of that boardroom free men or with a two-year touring commitment we didn’t want.
Maybe it was naïve to think we could call the shots on our lives after everything we gave the label and the fans, so when they called the meeting only a week before Christmas, we got worried.
The idea of getting back on a plane, a tour bus, and a stage for another eighteen months was not something any of us could stomach. But against all odds, the meeting this afternoon went as well as it could have.
Hall of Fame is, officially and unofficially, walking away from the label. We spent all day with our agent Daisy and a team of lawyers, working through what a clean release looks like. It’s going to take months, and it’s going to cost money, but for the first time in twenty-five years, we will own ourselves. No label deciding our next tour dates, no album we don’t want to make, no corporate pressure trying to squeeze one more year of profits out of us.
Nikko has been high on this energy since the meeting ended. He’s been talking about his label idea all night, and Stone is asking questions and taking notes. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did it together, especially since Stone is also based in California, so it makes sense for them to partner up.
Nikko hasn’t asked me, but honestly, I don’t know what I want to do.
I still want to make music with the band for sure, but outside of Hall of Fame, I really don’t know. Mik has mentioned writing songs for other singers, and he’s working with his boyfriend Tyler and the charity he runs in Stillwater. Bastian has the farm. I…don’t have anything.
Tonight isn’t the night to figure it out. Tonight, we’re celebrating what we didn’t lose, and Stone has dragged us to a club in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District to do it properly.
The club is packed. It’s just past ten, and a DJ is playing something with too much bass and not enough melody, but the whiskey is good and the booth is dark enough that no one has looked twice at us. Stone picked the place because he knows the owner, which means we can walk in and out of here without a single phone pointed at our faces.
I’m at the end of the booth, nursing my drink with half of my mind in the room while the other half stayed back in Vermont.
Two more days, and I’ll be back in Winterberry just in time for the opening of the Christmas Festival.
I wanted to call Finn tonight, but after the meeting, we went straight to dinner, and then Stone dragged us here. The only one who had a lucky escape is Daisy. She announced to us today that she’s pregnant, which is the best news ever. We’re all so happy for her.
Bastian slides into the seat across from me and lets out a long sigh. He’s got that look on his face he gets when he wants to talk but doesn’t know how to start.
Mik drops into the booth next to him a minute later with a fresh drink. I can tell he immediately senses Bastian’s mood, but unlike me—a coward who’s been avoiding his best friend at all costs—Mik goes for it.
