Page 74 of Fa-La La-La Land
I try not to sound like I’m delivering an ultimatum, but he’s shaking his head before I finish.
“You know the risks, Stell. VibeHouse will sue for copyright, breach of contract—the whole lot. And they won’t stop there. You’ll lose your shot with any other artist under the label. They can wreck me, sure, but they’ll crush your career before it even starts.”
I reach for his hand, but the frustration in his expression stops me. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I say gently. “You don’t have to protect me. VibeHouse isn’t the only game in town. Don’t use me as an excuse to stay with them.”
Gentleness doesn’t work. Rhys’s face twists with irritation. “Not using you as an excuse, Stella. Just being practical.”
His voice cuts sharp, and for a second, all I can hear is the wind battering the windows before a swell of anger rises in my chest. “Well, quit being practical, Rhys. Just be yourself, the man I saw on stage tonight. Because if you can’t be true to him, then how do I know you’ll be true to me?”
Rhys goes still. His eyes turn a cold, hard blue. “You’re one to talk about being true to yourself, Stella. You let some list you wrote at fourteen tell you when you’ll fall in love. I’m the one sticking my heart out while you’re still deciding if you’ll open yours.”
I stare at him. I don’t know what to say. He’s echoed all myown thoughts, but I don’t like them thrown in my face. I want to defend myself, but I don’t know how.
Rescue comes with a loud buzz of my phone. “I’m sorry,” I say, taking it from my pocket. “I should see if that’s Seb or Mom. If this storm is as bad as everyone’s predicting, they need to know I’m okay.”
Rhys sits back with a frustrated breath.
I unlock my phone and find half a dozen texts. I start with Britta’s. She’s sent me a TikTok, which I’m about to ignore until a message pops up under it with Rhys’s name. My heart drops, but when an Instagram post follows, I feel sick.
I open my other texts, all from friends sending me posts they’ve seen of Rhys’s performance on Tik Tok or Insta. The last one I open is from Liv.
I’m so sorry Stella! Rhys was AMAZING. I had to send to a friend. Had no idea she would post or that it would take off.
A frustrated sigh escapes, and I close my eyes to keep Rhys from seeing the worry that has to be in them.
The timing couldn’t be worse, but I can’t ignore the posts. Knowing what people are posting and saying about Rhys is literally my job. I open the TikTok first and hear Rhys singing his version of “Fa-La La-La Land,” followed by a second clip of him singing “December Dreams.” Someone at the Garden tonight must have posted them.
“What’s that?” I hear the apprehension in his voice before he leans across the table to look at my phone.
“Just a second.” I shield my phone from his eyes. Until I know how bad this is, Rhys can wait.
I read the caption.Rhys James. Best songs yet. The knot in my chest loosens. I scroll through the comments. There are a few negative ones, but most are positive. And the likes arealready in the hundreds. The situation isn’t ideal, obviously, but it could be so much worse.
I slide my phone to him. “Somebody posted your performance. I’m sorry. I should have been watching.”
Rhys snatches up my phone, then watches the video, his face draining of color. “This is bad, Stella.”
“I know. It’s a problem, but one we can work to our advantage. Read the caption…Rhys James showing the love for a snowed-in town.” I stretch to point to the screen.“And look at the comments. People like it—loveit. Not just your music, what you’ve done for Paradise. You’ve already got the views to prove it.”
He pushes the phone back to me. “And when VibeHouse sees it, we’re done. You, me—both of us.” He stands, his grilled cheese untouched. “And I’m stuck here. Can’t even do anything about it.”
“Just give it a second, Rhys. This post is on a trajectory to go viral. If people keep liking it, we can use that to our advantage with VibeHouse.”
Rhys doesn’t listen. Or maybe he doesn’t even hear. The caged-animal energy is back, and he’s halfway to the stairs before he says, “Gotta ring Danny.”
His phone rings before he can. He glances at the name, sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. Pushing away from the table, he’s halfway up the stairs before he answers. “Danny…”
That’s all I hear. Seconds later, the lights go out. The hum of the fridge dies, the heater clicks off, and we’re left with only the wind for company.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rhys
My chest’s already squeezing tight enough to cut off my breath when I answer Danny’s call.
“Rhys!” he says in that tight, friendly voice that makes my chest clamp tighter. “You wanna fill me in on this TikTok I’m watching of you performing a song called ‘Fa-La La-La Land’ that sounds nothing like the copyrighted version?”
Something in his tone reminds me of the one time in grammar school Ricky came after me. He wasn’t much bigger than me, and he wasn’t the brute kind of bully. He was the sly kind—the kind who’d ask nicely for what he wanted while choking you in a headlock that looked like roughhousing to the teachers.
