Page 137 of Spark

“So, are you finally ready to do it now?” Reed asks with a smirk.

I look at him funny. “Do what?”

“Admit me not pulling Cooper’s song?—”

“This again?”

“—was a blessing in disguise.”

“Give it a rest, Reed.”

“Admit it. That song was the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I burst out laughing, and Reed joins me. In fact, he laughs so damned hard, he gets tears in his eyes to match mine.

I haven’t thought about Cooper Constantino in years. I mean, yes, whenever his song comes on while I’m at the grocery store or in a bank or whatever, he pops into my mind, briefly. That can’t be helped. But it’s like remembering a movie or a silly story someone once told me. A memory that’s not even my own. That’s how removed I feel from Cooper’s song, at this point; how removed I feel from the woman who wailedand screamed about being called Ruby Tuesday in a pop-punk song that would soon become known as a one-hit wonder, when all APM’s next offerings fell flat and quickly disappeared. Looking back, I truly can’t believe I let the whole fiasco bother me in the slightest.

“What’s so funny?” Kendrick asks, coming to a stop next to me.

“Once again, Reed is insisting I admit Cooper’s song is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. A blessing in disguise.”

To my surprise, Kendrick doesn’t laugh like Reed and I did a moment ago. On the contrary, my husband simply shrugs and says, “I’d say so. Fuck yeah, it is.”

I’m shocked. He said that like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But before either Reed or I can react to Kendrick’s nonchalance, he adds, “Frankly, I thank Cooper Constantino every day of my life for calling me the brother she wanted to fuck. God knows where I’d be today if he hadn’t gotten the ball rolling for us like that.”

Forus.

He means for him and me.

As in, our marriage.

Our life together.

I gasp and instinctively clutch my baby bump, having an epiphany.

I’ve never looked at things that way. I’ve always thought about Reed’s “blessing in disguise” comment in terms of my professional aspirations and opportunities. Me getting ontoSing Your Heart Out, for example. Which then propelled sales of our next single and put me in mind when a whole bunch of artists sat down to write their next hit song.

But Kendrick’s absolutely right. If it wasn’t for Cooper’s song, and specifically, the lyrics about him forcing some long-overdue honesty between us, would I be standing herenow with Kendrick Cook as my husband and Kyrie Cook happily making mud pies in the sand with that gaggle of little ones over there? Would Kendrick’s daughter be growing inside me—her name as yet unknown—making me lose the contents of my stomach every single day for a very worthy cause?

It’s impossible to know for sure what might have happened if Cooper’s lyrics hadn’t come along to force the issue, but I’m guessing without his revelations forcefully pushing us together and making me do the unthinkable—kissing Kendrick at his birthday party five years ago—none of the other dominoes likely would have fallen thereafter.

When I emerge from my spiraling thoughts, I discover Reed leveling me with dark, amused eyes. “So?” he asks. “Got anything to say to me, now that Kendrick’s clearly on my side?”

“You’re relentless, Reed.”

“You have no idea, Ruby.”

We share a smile.

“You know what?” I say. “Yeah, I do have something to say to you.”

“Oh boy,” he says, gearing up for whatever tongue-lashing he thinks is coming.

“Thank you, Reed.You were right. You notpulling that song was the best thing that’s ever happened in my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that decision of yours, even though you did it to benefit you and your greed, and nothing else, and you really didn’t give two shits about me at the time. Thank you, Reed. I’m eternally grateful.”

He bursts out laughing. “That was you being grateful?”

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