Page 39 of For One Night Only

“We can work with your schedule, if that’s the problem,” Gina says, eyes lighting up like she’s caught us.

“No problem here.” Wade clears his throat. “We’ve already said there will be no album.”

“But if there were, you’d record it at Label, right?” Mom asks.

The color is draining from Caleb’s face, and my stomach starts to twist. This isn’t what he wants. It’s not what any of us wants. We need to do this concert and move on with our lives.

“Alright, you’ve made your request. Everyone out. I need to talk to my band,” Wade says.

There are a few protests—the loudest of which comes from my mom—but finally Wade manages to clear the room.

“Fuck them,” Keeley says, as soon as we’re all alone.

“They’re very pushy. Do you think they called in your mom to influence us?” Jane asks.

“Absolutely. She gets a cut from that first contract, so I’m sure she’s hoping that we make another album so she can book a trip to Fiji,” I say. “Sometimes it feels like she signed those contracts in my blood.”

Wade winces sympathetically. “Our legal department checked out the contracts Tonya delivered when you signed with me. The royalty rate is criminal—any real manager would have steered you far away from a 360—but it’s all aboveboard.” Something about that doesn’t settle. I never realized it was my mom who sent the contracts to Ortega Management. I always assumed they would have gotten anything they needed from Label directly.

I’m probably just paranoid. I shake my head and tune back in to Wade’s pep talk.

“Regardless, I want to make it clear to all of you that I won’tallow Label or anyone else to pressure you into a third album. You showed really incredible work today, Glitter Bats. I’m so proud to return for your final bows.”

And with that, my eyes sting. At least Wade has our backs. If he didn’t, I’d have fallen apart by now. Even after all this time, I’m surer than ever that the only people I can trust are standing in this room.

12

Caleb

When I head back to my room after the showcase, there’s an idea I can’t shake.

I have no desire to record a new album. That hasn’t changed. But the moment I’m alone, I start to rifle through my songwriting journals, knowing it’s here somewhere. Originally, I wasn’t going to bring them all to LA, but I tossed them in my suitcase last minute.

They’re so full of ink that it bleeds through the pages. Some are discarded or unfinished drafts from old writing sessions with the band, and some are my own two a.m. thoughts about almosts and could-have-beens. In one of the most battered books, I find the old collaborations, Valerie’s messy scrawl in her favorite purple ink mingled with my neater hand in blue.

I can’t stop thinking about them as I shower and change. Once I’ve cleaned up, I knock on the adjoining door to Valerie’s room.

After what feels like an eternity, it opens. She’s changed into an oversized white T-shirt and barely-there shorts. Her eyes are soft, her fading pink hair mussed, and I laugh.

“Were you asleep?”

She covers a yawn with her fist. “Just a power nap. Had to recover from today. What’s up?”

I wanted to present this in a very specific way, but I just blurt it out. “ ‘Daydreams Like This.’ ”

Her eyes widen, and she straightens a little, as if that woke her up. “What?”

“We should finish it.”

“Are you serious?” I know what she’s thinking—that’s the song we were working on right before we broke up. It’s not the reason for the breakup, and it didn’t ruin the band, but it’s part of all those tangled-up emotions surrounding our past.

And it’s also something I never forgave myself for leaving unfinished.

“We could see what happens, finish it just for us,” I say. “It’s a great melody.”

Valerie bites her lip, frowning. “Caleb. It’s a love song.”

I clear my throat. “I’m very aware of that.”

---