Page 70 of Heart Strings
“Worked on four of your top five favorite albums.”
Aidan’s eyes widen.
I nudge him affectionately. “You never shut up about his genius.”
His modest smile widens now, too.
“Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”
“Nigel is making his first public appearance in years. He’s usually untouchable, unreachable. Real desert-island stuff. But here’s my chance to meet him. Maybe I can convince him to produce my next album. He records out of London, so that would work out well before I come back to Galway.”
Sharing a stage with his heroes, bringing a crowd to their feet, rubbing elbows with the most talented musicians of our time. It sounds like his dream come true, even before the possibility of working with the famed producer.
“I need to make a good impression, but I’ll probably forget the words to my own songs if he’s watching.”
This isn’t the right time to tell Aidan about the sketchy lab results and the tiny hole that will be drilled into my hip for a biopsy. He needs to focus. If it is cancer, I’ll decide when to tell him once I’ve come to grips with it.
I’ve always known that having a boyfriend would be distracting as a med student. I’d never thought about the toll apartner could take on a performer. No matter what he’s feeling inside, he plays what the crowd wants to hear. Even if it doesn’t fit the soundtrack of his heart. As it is, he worries about his family and his friends and the kids at the hospital. My inconclusive test results would only add to the mix—and for what? Anxiety isn’t going to help him. Or me.
“Lo?” His smile drops slightly. “Did I lose you?”
My thoughts must’ve shown on my face. “It’s just been a long day. But this is important to you, so it’s important to me. I want to know. Why does it matter so much to get him right now?”
I take his hand, tracing from the ends of his fingertips to the creases in his palm. Aidan has the most beautiful hands, made even more beautiful by the music he creates with them.
“I have to get this second album recorded by the end of October and I’m afraid of disappointing everyone. What if I’ve only got one decent one in me?”
“Your talent isn’t finite. But even musical geniuses can’t please everyone.”
“Did you just call me a genius?”
“All you can do is make something genuine. Same as you’ve been doing all this time.”
“If only it was that easy.” Aidan sighs. “The label hasn’t been impressed with my newer stuff. The last demo I sent was better than anything I’ve written in two years, but they’ve already decided they want to go in a new direction. Getting someone like Nigel on board would restore their faith in me.”
“A ‘new direction’? What does that mean?”
Grimacing, he keeps his eye on the bay. “Ever heard of Neon Joy? They’re set to produce.”
The pop band isn’t bad, but I don’t see the connectionbetween their dance anthems and Aidan’s intimate ballads. “Tell those record company people to forget it.”
“I can’t refuse without consequence. I’d be penalized for breach of contract, on top of recoupment on the advance and what they’ve invested in me. Meaning I’d be stuck with massive debt and a non-compete clause that prevents me from releasing anything for a year. And they’ll still own all the master recordings.”
I deflate. With Aidan’s background in law, I believe him if he says the contract is airtight.
He points to his bared teeth. “Speaking of genuine: I’m sure you noticed. My manager and the label insisted.”
“It looks nice.” It’s true. What had unsettled me about the perfect row of white teeth was their unfamiliarity, reinforcing my misconception of Aidan. But I was wrong. He’s still the same man. “There was nothing wrong with your smile before. It’s always been beautiful. But do you feel better now? That’s what’s important.”
He shrugs. “Fionn used to say ‘mind the gap’ and other shite, as brothers do, but I didn’t really care about it either way. Now there’s a team of people concerned about my image. They even asked me to go out with that actress Emma Kinnane to stoke rumors, make a point to be seen in the posh side of London nightlife. I’m sure she’s lovely, but…”
I don’t love the idea of a PR stunt with a beautiful actress, either.
“It’s never been about fame,” Aidan says. “I just want to write songs that make people feel something. I don’t need anyone sending me a pre-selected wardrobe and scheduling spray tans.”
“I knew it!”
Aidan extends his arm. The color’s back to normal now. “Christ. Is it that obvious?”
