Page 12 of Fa-La La-La Land
But I don’t want to think about that now. I’d rather think about how Stella’s big cardigan kept slipping off her shoulder this morning, showing that tiny dimple in her collarbone I couldn’t stop staring at. What kind of bloke obsesses over a collarbone? Apparently, the kind who’s seen Stella Sparks in a top with straps thin enough to make that little hollow between her neck and shoulder impossible to ignore.
I reckon every woman’s got the same hollow, but on Stella, it’s something else.
And despite what an idiot I made of myself this morning, thinking about her makes me smile.
My smile grows when, as I turn onto the Pacific Coast Highway, my phone rings, and Stella’s name flashes on the screen. I didn’t think I’d hear from her again this soon, so I do my best to sound casual when I answer.
“Hi. Couldn’t wait to talk again?”
I wince the second the words are out of my mouth.Brilliant, mate. Whoever ends up uncovering the “real Rhys” should know he’s absolute rubbish at talking to Stella Sparks. Idon’t know why my brain completely loses connection with my mouth the moment I try to say something halfway clever to her. Or at least, something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot.
At least on the phone, I can get actual words out, even if I regret them seconds later. In person, I’m hopeless. My mind just blanks, and I can barely string two syllables together. Kind of ironic, considering words are supposed to be my job.
Stella humors me with a small laugh. “Hey, I’ve been thinking about it, and you need to be in this meeting with Danny. I’m not going unless you do.”
My pulse kicks up, not only because I’m talking to her. “He didn’t ask me to be in that meeting. I can’t just show up.”
“Why not?” she asks. “We’re talking about you. Your life. Your story. You should be there. I’m not taking any arguments. You want me to manage your socials? I’ll see you at VibeHouse at three.”
She hangs up before I can even think of an argument. Probably for the best.
I doubt I would’ve managed to get a word out anyway. I’m so thrown, I nearly rear-end the car in front of me. I slam on the brakes, then laugh under my breath. Stella hasn’t left me much of a choice. Guess I’m going to a meeting at three.
Not keen on seeing Danny, but very keen on seeing Stella again.
At two-thirty, I’m sitting in my car in the concrete parking garage outside VibeHouse, kicking myself. I didn’t mean to get here before Stella, but I left home too early. Typical. Danny and I have been on rocky terms since the blow-up at Lumen Field, and I’d rather not face him alone. He’s more polite when there’s an audience. At the very least, he won’t start shouting.
I scroll through TikTok for a bit, but after the third “Rhys James meltdown” clip pops up, I close the app. When the urgeto Google my name starts creeping in, I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and reach for the book Mum gave me.
After the Seattle disaster, I’d spent days holed up in bed, refusing to do anything but watch trash TV and sleep. One morning, I woke up and saw a brown-wrapped package sitting on my bedside table. I knew straightaway it was from Mum. Music isn’t the only thing she’s shared with me. I figured it was another self-help read, so I ignored it for a few days before curiosity finally got the better of me.
Instead of some version ofHow to Get Your Arse Out of Bed When You Don’t Want To,the book was a signed copy of the first in Brandon Sanderson’sStormlight Archiveseries,The Way of Kings—something I didn’t even know existed until that moment.
On the inside cover, Mum had written:Take a break from the real world with something that will inspire you to step back into it.
The page count intimidated me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually read a book, but once I started reading, I got sucked in.Couldn’t put it down. As soon as I finished, I went straight to the second, then the third. I’m on the fourth now, trying to pace myself because the next one isn’t out yet, but it’s torture every time I have to set it aside.
I’m properly nerding out, following online forums, reading fan fiction, diving into debates about the characters. Everyone’s obsessed with Kaladin, but for me, it’s Shallan. The way she hides behind different identities—how they’re both her trauma and her strength—gets under my skin. Her story feels like my own. Mum was right about the series being the perfect escape from the real world.
I’m still waiting, though, for the books to inspire me to step back into it.
Truth is, this meeting with Danny and Stella is thefirst time I’ve dipped my toes back into real life since Seattle, and I’m not sure I’m ready.
So I spend the next twenty minutes in Roshar instead, losing myself in descriptions of stormlight and surgebinding until it’s two minutes to three. I glance at my watch, swear softly, and toss the book onto the passenger seat before half-jogging out of the concrete car park toward the glass doors and marble foyer of VibeHouse Records.
In the elevator, my reflection looks back at me—hat shoved on, hair a mess, shirt rumpled. I look more like I’m heading to the beach than a meeting that could decide my career. When the doors open on the twelfth floor, I step into a hallway lined with gold records…including mine. It should feel like an accomplishment. It doesn’t.
I nod to the receptionist and head straight for Danny’s corner office. I’m five minutes late. Stella’s already there, chatting with Danny like they’ve known each other for years.
I’m not surprised to see Stella laughing and smiling—that’s just who she is.
But Danny? Seeing him grinning like that is a shock. Usually, the only thing that makes him smile is a dollar sign followed by six or seven zeroes.
He hasn’t smiled at me in at least two years, not since my sales started slipping.
“There he is!” Danny exclaims, grabbing my hand like he’s about to shake it but dragging me into a bro hug instead. “You were right,” he whispers, slapping my back a little too hard. “She’s perfect. Don’t junk this up!”
I step out of his grip with a smile. He’s saidDon’t junk this up—or something like it—so often that smiling’s a reflex now. Not a genuine smile, though. It’s a costume, same as I wear on stage.
