Page 36 of Beautiful Storm

“Close enough.” I smile.

We spend the next few minutes catching up on life. Preston tells me about his bandmates since I was quite close to them at one point, and I fill him in on my mom, though it doesn’t take long to figure out that's pointless since he knows most of what I tell him. If our stilted small talk proves anything, it’s that I never really had my own life before leaving Preston. I have no friends I can tell him about—he never got to know Hayley—and other than my new job, I have nothing else to say. It’s like I’m two different people. The woman I waswithPreston versus the woman I amwithout. And I much prefer the latter.

When our conversation dries up, I get to the point of why I’m here. “We should talk about the divorce.”

“I told you; I’ll agree to anything.”

“If I give you my ideas.”

“Come on, Ames. You owe me that much. You left and—”

“Stop. I’m not giving you my ideas. That’s ridiculous. That’s not how the world works. And even if it was, I wouldn’t be handing them over.”

“Then why are you here?” he snaps, the stress obvious behind his reaction, making me pause.

“What’s going on, Preston? That voicemail…that wasn’t you.”

Preston stares at me for what feels like a lifetime, but just when I think he’s going to argue, his entire body deflates.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he whispers, his voice choked with so much emotion that my chest tightens. A sea of memories floods my mind of all the times we supported each other, but I try hard to block them out. Yes, we had our good times, but toward the end, it was all about Preston and his music. What I wanted no longer mattered, and I can’t forget that. Not that I have the same feelings for him anymore, but I shouldn’t feel anything for him. Even sorry. He did this. He broke us.

“I can’t—”

“I’m creatively blocked,” he cuts in, speaking louder this time. “And without my muse…”

“Don’t. You’ve written plenty of songs without me.”

“But they all suck and you know it. The new label we signed with continues to make changes to our style, and I can’t keep up. I can’t sing what they want me to sing.”

“So don’t.”

“Come on, Amelia. You know it doesn’t work that way. I’m a puppet. Do your cast members get to do what they want? Make their own rules?”

I know one that wishes he could, but in general… “No. They don’t. But you must have known the control they had before you signed.”

“Someone huge wanted to sign us. As if we could say no.”

Ugh. I huff out a slow breath. I know he’s right. I love football. Always have. But I never imagined my big break would be directing a football series. Only…As if I was going to say no.

“I get it. But that aside, I don’t see how my ideas are going to help. Especially if you’re not releasing those songs.”

“They found us because of your ‘Sideways’ video. Our producer said it evoked an emotion in him that he hadn’t felt from anyone else with a similar style. That it was unique.”

“Okay.” I speak plainly but inside I’m dying. San Francisco’s biggest label signed Preston’s band because of my video? That blows my mind. I knew I contributed to their success because that first video got millions of views which led to exposure, but I assumed the label had focused on the numbers. “I still don’t—”

“I want to pitch them the ideaswiththe songs. As a package deal.”

“What?”

“Think about it. If I sing one of my songs and then pitch the video idea, they might reconsider.”

So basically, Hayley was right; he wants to pass my ideas off as his own.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. They’re my—”

“Please.” He drops to his knees as he holds his palms together, begging me. “Please, Amelia. Just this one little thing and I’ll sign the papers.”

Onelittlething. He’s delusional.

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