Page 16 of We Redeemed the Rain

“What?”

“I want to know what he meant by ‘little girl’s artist.’”

“It was a roundabout way of saying my music isn’t about sex or parties or drinking or getting high or anything like that.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, they’re thinking about sales. And I get it. My songs aren’tselling anymore, which is the whole reason I even agreed to meet with him.” I dreaded telling him the next part. “And the worst part is…if I signed the contract, I’d probably have to move to Nashville where they are headquartered, or I’d atleasthave to travel there a lot. It would be worth it to have a second apartment there. I’d make enough to afford it.”

Of course, he didn’t let his personal feelings play into his response. “How do you feel about being away?”

“Ihatethe idea. I don’t want to live that far from you all. Starting a life somewhere all alone sounds so hard.”

Dad shifted the phone upward so I could see the concern in his blue eyes. “So, basically, accepting the deal would mean making some compromises, big and small.”

I let out a slow exhale. “Yeah, definitely.”

“I was hoping this agent would see everything that you are and take your music further, not change you and make you leave home.”

I fluffed a few pillows on the bed and leaned against them. “Maybe being changed is what I need though. Clearly what I’m doing now isn’t working.”

The eight week tour with Adrienne Bell, my friend in the music industry, should’ve caused my numbers to soar. It didn’t. My fans were more disengaged than ever. I visited twenty cities, sang until my voice ached and played until my fingers felt broken. And we barely sold enough tickets to cover the cost of the tour. Profit was nonexistent.

The expressionstarving artistwas hitting hard.

As my sales, download statistics, and follower count dwindled…I felt my dreams spinning down the drain. And I wanted to walk away from everything I’d worked for. I pinched the bridge of my nose as everything I’d held back stormed my face.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

The words eked out of my throat. “Should—I just quit?”

“No, no, Bea. You should not quit. Everything worth having is worth fighting for. This is going to be a blip on the radar eventually, you’ll see.”

“But I can’t do more than I’m already doing.”

“Maybe your upcoming album will change things.”

I averted my gaze from the phone.

“What?”

“I’m rash and stupid sometimes.”

He slightly laughed then backpedaled. “I know you’re rash, but you’ve never been stupid.”

“Then Ididsomething stupid. Do you remember that kind of cush, high-end studio I told you about in the downtown Denver area?”

“Yeah, I remember you mentioned that. You said it gets a lot of coverage and social media action.”

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that lifted my lips. My dad was a perfect listener.

“Yes. Recording there is great exposure. The problem is I paid in advance to reserve a time slot there. I'm supposed to show up and record in September.” I counted weeks in my head. “In seven-ish weeks. And—I don’t have any songs ready.”

“None?”

“None. Every time I sit down to write, I come up with nothing.”

He hummed in thought. “How much did it cost you?”

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