Page 99 of August Lane
Emma:
[laughs] Okay, I guess I asked for it.
Jojo:
[laughs] You kind of did. Asking why I got blamed for Luke’s lie means you think there’s something logical in their argument, that those people are really concerned with the integrity of that institution. If you can’t see the mental laziness of their bigotry, how they’ll grab any excuse to hate? Maybe you weren’t the best person to write that article.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
2023
August had learned that Silas was in recovery for opioid addiction when she was twelve. A kid in her class had called him a junkie, and she’d defended her uncle’s honor so vehemently that she’d been sent to detention for disrupting the lesson. After school, Silas sat her down and explained that he’d used heroin to cope with being incarcerated and couldn’t stop once he got out. “That was a long time ago,” he’d said. “But it’s still something I live with.”
She’d bombarded him with questions, afraid that the sickness he called a use disorder would eventually take him from her. He answered them all honestly, including how staying sober meant changing his entire approach to life. “I hated being a King. Hated my father. My brother. They were monsters, so I thought I’d become a monster, too. But that hate was the only monstrous thing about me, so I let it go. Started doing good things, making the world better ’cause I’m in it.” That was why he held the Delta Blue Showcase. To help young musicians. He also started the only local twelve-step program and volunteered as a sponsor.
Luke fixed things. Birdie’s house was freshly painted. Scarlet roses were planted along one side. The grass was cut. The walkway was weed free. Inside, every room had been deep cleaned to a level of spotlessness it hadn’t seen in decades.
He was focused on rebuilding, not tearing things down like she’d been lately. Last night, August had done some soul searching, questioning whether her plan was worth putting his comeback in jeopardy. There were other ways to start a career—slower, more ethical paths used by others who ultimately made it. But those had eluded Black countryartists for years. Most likely, she’d end up waiting for a chance that would never come.
August couldn’t wait anymore. She’d been waiting her whole life.
Sacrificing Luke on that altar wasn’t the answer, either. She’d landed on a solution that wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the scorched-earth approach she’d used before. Now she had to get Luke on board. They had five weeks, enough time to iron things out with Jojo and convince her to allow Luke to debut his new single during her show.
Cool air spiced with sandalwood incense greeted August when she walked inside Birdie’s house. Luke was playing the latest War and Treaty album and singing along while he cleaned the living room. He didn’t mimic their vocals. Instead he harmonized in a key that slid perfectly inside theirs. He used to do the same with August, use that immaculate ear to hook into her chaotic runs, as if he could see them coming.
The music cut off abruptly. The smile he gave her was quick and easy, unlike anything she’d seen since he returned. Luke unburdened was a sensory assault. It turned his eyes to bronzed light, his skin to amber honey. He even moved differently, with the grace of a lion who’d captured his prey.
August sat down. “I’ve been thinking.”
He joined her at the table. “All right.”
“Forbidding you from singing with Jojo was shortsighted. I hate the idea of that duet, but it’s a means to an end.”
He was quiet for a moment. “What end is that?”
“Launching your new album. We’ll announce that we’re working together, maybe ask David to help with a press release. It’s a good opportunity to clear up the rumors about our affair—”
“August—”
“—but not make ittooclear. We want to make everyone curious, right? Enough to watch the show once it’s streaming and then—”
“I have a different idea.” He raised his voice to speak over her. “But I need you to answer a question first. And be honest with me.”
That made her nervous. What did he think she would lie about? “Okay.”
Luke leaned in and seemed to look past her eyes, to where her secrets were buried. “Why’d you stop singing?”
He was right. She didn’t want to answer that. “I sing in the choir every Sunday.”
