Page 101 of Strung Along

“Obviously, we have a lot to catch up on. First order of business is the all clear we received from your doctor last week. We’ve already gone ahead and scheduled recording time here in Nashville. You can talk more with Reggie later to grab the schedule,” Garrison says, making his way down the list on the laptop.

A mousy-looking woman with deep red hair and a face heavy with freckles sits across the table, nodding along in time with him, eyes wide in an “I’m terrified to mess up” kind of way. It’s clear by the heavy stack of disorganized paperwork in front of her that she’s new. If she’s working directly for Garrison, I feel incredibly sorry for her. The apologetic smile I shoot her says exactly that. She offers one back before dropping her stare.

“I’d appreciate a meeting with you as well, Brody. We need to go over a few things regarding the most recent headlines and how we wish to proceed with our response.” This from the head of PR, a middle-aged woman named Janice, with a staggering lack of compassion for anyone.

I bristle, and Garrison shoots me a sharp look before speaking. “Yes, Annalise Heights. I’m sure you’ve seen the media interest. Janice has been dodging calls from a dozen outlets wanting an exclusive. I assume you’re wanting to have a say on what we run with?”

“Yeah, I am. I’d appreciate if we just left it alone,” I say, my tone just as cutting as his.

“That’s not possible, Brody,” Janice cuts in, tapping long nails on the glass table. “They’re dogs with a bone. Especially after the last round of gossip.”

I tighten my jaw. “Give them a piece of kibble, then. Somethin’ just enough to keep them quiet. I don’t want Anna in a spotlight.”

“She’s already in the spotlight,” Garrison smugly points out.

Rita joins the conversation from her place beside the redhead across the table. “We need to send through an NDA at the very least.”

“She doesn’t need to sign an NDA,” I say.

Garrison sighs dramatically. “She does, and she will. Don’t be sensitive about this, Brody. I will only be pushed so far. Have her sign an NDA, and Janice will work on a public statement that will be shared on your social media pages.”

“A statement that says what? I don’t want any sensitive information shared about her. She’s my girlfriend, and that’s that. Nothin’ personal.” I stand firm, Anna’s well-being my top priority.

Silence as Garrison turns over my words before finally saying, “Fine. A carefully worded statement confirming a relationship, then. And an NDA signed and faxed back to Janice by the end of the week.” He scrolls down his screen. “Let’s move on to your tour. We’ve already begun planning a few dates and stops?—”

I interrupt him when rocks fill my stomach. “What tour?”

“Once the album is done, you need to tour it. While you left early, you still played a decent chunk of shows for Killian, and the numbers from your last song are incredible.”

“A large number of questions in your messages online are regarding an upcoming tour. Your fans are engaged and incredibly excited for a chance to see you perform live,” Janice says.

I bounce my leg beneath the table. “When? Soon?”

“If you can get the album finished in a month, we’ll have tickets go on sale in three with the tour starting up in the summer,” Garrison says.

Reggie’s watching me, concern heavy in his features. Not concern for my voice—a month is a slower pace than I was expecting, considering how I wound up with vocal damage in the first place—but because I feel trapped, and I must look it too.

These meetings are always a lot. A lot of voices talking for you instead of with you and expectations set without a thought of if you can actually meet them or if you’ll burn yourself out trying to.

They were bad enough before I met Anna, and now that I’ve fallen in love with her, the pressure has doubled. How will she take the news of me leaving for months on end to go on tour? A month is a long time to be here recording an album while she’s in Cherry Peak. Is she up to visit? Maybe join me on the road?

Do I even want to do any of those things anymore? Fuck, I don’t know if I want to go on tour. I’ve been so happy at home. Will I be happy here now? Music is one of my greatest loves, a passion that I’ve had since I was a little boy listening to old country in the stables with my ma, but is it worth what I have to risk losing to keep it?

I’ll kick myself in the ass later for continuing to push this conversation with Anna from one day to the next until there was no time left before I hopped on a flight here. We need to talk about this soon. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else until I know if she’s ready for all of this.

I clear my throat, waiting until I have the attention of everyone at the table before speaking. “I need some time to think about this. I haven’t even been back for twenty-four hours. This is a lot to take in at once.”

“We’re already short on time, Brody. There isn’t a moment open to hesitate,” Garrison argues.

“I just need a few days.”

“A few days more than we have. You don’t have kids or a wife. This should be an easy yes for you. Are you not serious about this anymore?” Garrison demands answers I don’t have, and I feel like an ass for it.

“We can spare a few days. Take them, Brody,” Reggie speaks up, pinning his son with a look only a father can give his son.

Garrison curls his fingers on the table but doesn’t put up further argument.

The nod I give Reggie is heavy, weighted with an appreciation that I wouldn’t dare verbally give in this room. He gives me one back, and the meeting comes to a standstill.

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