Page 28 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“Of course I’m interested.” He gets distracted momentarily by someone off-camera, makes a motion like a shutting door. “Thanks, Sherri. Leave it in my box. Sorry, Kai. What was I saying?”

“You were asking about my love life. For totally friendly reasons.”

“Yes!” Peter points at the camera. “I don’t knowhow this happened to the single most fame-avoidant player I know, but you and Sterling are magic. That’s a very clever tactic you guys are taking, by the way—avoiding the paparazzi. Leaving them wanting more. I don’t know who told you to do it, but give them my appreciation. I really think all this positive spin is going to translate into dollar signs come the post-season.”

Almost choking on your bite of fruit, you shake your head. “Nuh-uh. We’re not playing that game. My personal life is my personal life. I’m not using any ‘tactics.’ Honestly, I just wish the press would leave us alone. I don’t give a shit about what it does for my contract. I’m not interested in all that smoke.”

Peter laughs dryly. “Well, interested or not, my friend, it’s happening. And I’d say that the press leaving you alone is a pipe dream. You made the choice to date the most famous singer in the Western world, Kaius. You might as well lean into the hype, because it’s going to follow you with or without your approval.”

You grit your teeth, hating that you know he’s right. Hating this whole conversation. Honestly, why are you cursed with an agent who likes to call you to have conversations like this?

It isn’t until he laughs that you realize you said that last part out loud.

“I love you too, Kai,” he says. “Someone has to tell you these things.”

Just then, your phone vibrates where it is laying face-down on the edge of your desk. You flip it over.

“I gotta go, Pete,” you say, happy to be interrupted.

“Who’s more important than me?” he jokes.

“The most famous singer in the Western world,” you deadpan, even as you click the button to connect Sterling’s call.

Pete blows you an obnoxious kiss as Sterling’s handsome face fills the screen.

***

Sterling is writing an album.

To be specific, Sterling is almostdonewriting an album. He’s been working on it since before you two met, but it’s only recently that he’s folded you into the circle of trust regarding the subject. You understand why: a new Sterling Grayson album is abig fucking deal.Everyone who even hears about its existence—not the title, and not even a single guitar lick from a single track—gets hit with the lawyer-stick. NDAs everywhere. You ask, only half-jokingly, if you need to sign yet another contract to be sworn to secrecy about the project. Dead-serious, Sterling asks if he should contactFrancis. It isn’t until Maeve starts snorting that Sterling’s facade breaks, and he tells you that he trusts you. It means a lot.

He’s in New York, bouncing between workouts and rehearsals for tour—there’s just under two weeks until Stockholm, now, writing sessions, and recording at his favorite studio. The Graylings have caught onto his routine, unfortunately, and now it includes Cal and at least one of Sterling’s other bodyguards physically framing him as he pushes through screaming crowds to navigate the narrow span of sidewalk between his car and the front door of the studio.

It looks intimidating, and you tell him so, lying in bed as you guys talk about your day. This is one of your favorite ways to experience Sterling: surrounded by the white sheets he favors for all his beds in all his homes, at least one dog snoring on his lap—tonight it’s Artemis, who you still haven’t met in person—bare to the waist. Tonight, he’s wearing glasses, and you remark that you haven’t seen him in them before.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “I don’t like wearing them. I only need them for reading and writing. I’ve had LASIK, but they couldn’t quite get my near-vision perfect.”

“How dare they,” you joke. “Didn’t they know who they were dealing with?”

He shakes his head and scritches Artemis under her floppy ear. In her sleep, the pup snuffles and turns her big, square head. “You could at least tell me how dashing they make me look.”

“You look like a nerd,” you tell him honestly. “Luckily for you, nerds rev my engine.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

You de-escalate the conversation with a silly joke, because FaceTime sex is another one of Sterling’s boundaries. He’s forever paranoid about the possibility of someone hacking the connection to his phone, which… yeah, okay. You don’t even know if the technology’s there, but you can imagine why someone of Sterling’s stature would worry about it. Personally, you’ve got bigger worries than some hackers seeing your O-face, but you know enough about Sterling by now to understand what a violation that would be. To have a stranger make tens of millions off the invasion of his privacy. It would be horrible for anyone, but for a person as introverted as Sterling? Nightmare fuel.

You don’t know how someone as inherently private as Sterling managed to becomeso fucking famous, but the contrast between the face he puts on for the world and the person he is naturally is stunning. Outrageous, even. You feel like you’ve only begun to scratch the surface on Sterling’sinner life, and you’ve been dating for over a month. He’s very used to the stratospheric level of celebrity, but that doesn’t mean he embraces it. He sings his songs like he’s opening the pages of his diary, but even spilling his deepest thoughts on life, love, and sex to hundreds of millions of adoring fans, he keeps so much locked away. That’s the Sterling that you are starting to get, and it kind of bowls you over.

“Tell me something about the album,” you say impulsively, because you can. (Because hetrustsyou.)

“Umm.” He sounds surprised. “Other than what you know already? Remind me what you know?”

“It’s calledGolden,” you recite. “It’s going to have thirteen tracks. Sixteen on the Target-exclusive deluxe variant. It’s coming out some time early in the new year.”

He nods. “Very good. Umm. Zhavia and Graham have commented separately that they think it’s my most personal album to date. Zhay told me just today that she thinks it’s intimate.”

You’ve heard a lot about his two producers, although you haven’t met them. Zhavia and Graham are fixtures in Sterling’s life. They each bring something different to the table, musically: Zhay gravitates towards the more sensual, rhythmic tracks, while Graham is thegenius behind the “bangers” that have become some of Sterling’s best-known singles. There are other producers, of course. Writers, too, although Sterling is the first-credited author of both music and lyrics on each track.

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