Page 137 of Stage Smart

They weren’t even home since they had bowling league practice this morning (or so Val thought), and I finally managed to persuade him with an eloquent, carefully constructed verbal argument. It’s possible the birthday lingerie I put on and mercilessly flaunted also played a role, but there’s no way to be sure.

Then we got him out of the way by sending him with Dad to do father-son bonding stuff like “hunting.” Since neither of them wanted to kill anything or fire a gun, I’m not exactly sure what that entailed. The only update has been a picture of Dad standing proudly beside a taxidermy buck in a sporting goods store. Val’s accompanying text confirmed my suspicion:

Success! Just “bagged” my first ever 2-for-1 deal on swim trunks. We’re about to go “fishing” for thermal socks next. Wish me luck!

And now they’re on their way back. Time for the real fun. (Well, second real fun. Birthday sex is pretty fun, even when your boyfriend keeps pausing to whisper, “Wait! Did you hear that? How long is bowling practice again?”)

“I’m so nervous!” Chad whisper-shouts beside me. His entire body is vibrating like he really might be. In his defense, I didn’t invite him until yesterday out of concern for his ability to keep a secret. It was a risk even telling him at all, but I couldn’t imagine celebrating Val’s birthday without his “tour bestie.” Chad booked the first flight he could get—and brought his girlfriend, who I’m not entirely sure knows she’s his girlfriend.

Speaking of tour besties, the infamous joint tour is officially wrapped. All parties involved in the scandal agreed to complete the tour for the sake of the fans and sever official ties after the final show. Lakebend has been surprisingly amenable to my demands in exchange for my willingness to keep the mountain of evidence we have against them to ourselves. Not only could we prove all the awful things they were planning, we could have made their lives miserable for a very long time. They gave me my unreleased songs, waived any remaining provisions in my contract, and even sent a gift basket thanking me for being a valued artist and wishing me luck.

Jarvis isn’t faring as well navigating his crushed reputation, however. In a head-scratching move, he still went ahead with releasing the “breakup song,” but apparently singing about your heartbreak boots doesn’t have the same effect when the world knows you’re the reason you’re stuck walking around in them. Guess he got his precious cheating scandal after all.

The best part? His song hasn’t come close to Val’s and my hit “Third Last Kiss” which made several charts and even got a Hot Rat Track stamp from The Tattletale Review. (It’s a good thing, trust me.) Our new label is thrilled, as is Jarvis’ former assistant, Mallory, who I hired to replace Steve who decided he needed to replace Sage and Coriander. So now it’s Steve following me around sipping iced coffee and telling me how great I look in everything. I don’t mind. At least I like having him around and I know he cares about me. As for Sage and Coriander… I don’t know, actually. I don’t follow their vlog. I also haven’t seen a single Cagelicious light fixture for sale, so I guess that dream died.

My phone lights up with a text from Dad letting me know they’re pulling in.

Eek! It’s happening!

Also, Nash is right. Val will hate this, but he’ll forgive me because he forgives me everything. Then, once he reflects on it, he’ll love it, and that’s the moment I live for: when his cloud slips and frees a ray of the sunlight hidden inside him. It’s been happening more and more over these past few months, and I’m dying for a glimpse of it today.

Everyone is deathly quiet at the scrape of the latch on the fence leading to the backyard. Will Val think it’s weird Dad’s taking him through the yard instead of the house? Probably, but oh well.

The gate swings open and…

“Happy birthday!”

“Surprise!”

“Val!”

“It’s your birthday!”

“Hey yo!”

“Hi!”

“Woot!”

“Happy Labor Day!”

Crap. I guess I should have locked in a script for this part. Val’s utter confusion kind of makes it work, though.

His wide eyes scan the crowd, the tote from shopping with my dad swinging loosely at his side.

I step forward, and his gaze snaps to me.

“Did you… what… I don’t…”

My grin stretches my cheeks as I slide my arms around him.

“Surprise, baby,” I say, squeezing tight. “Happy birthday.”

“This is for me?”

I lean back and search his bewildered expression. “Of course it is.”

His gaze lifts to survey the guests again, and I see the moment he recognizes each one.

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