I spin on Max. “And I told you not to call me Lucky.”
“Fine,” he says, his glare nearly slicing Tro in half. He backs away, then turns and disappears into the back of the bus.
“Didn’t mean to cause a problem,” Tro says low, just for me.
“You didn’t.” I shoo him down the stairs and follow. “And don’t get used to coming to my rescue, because I don’t need your help.”
He huffs a laugh. “I’m past thinking you do.” He holds up the roll of paper in his hand. “I actually need yours.”
“Is it a present?” I ask.
He smiles a little. “Think of it however you want: a present, a peace offering. I’ve got the bones of something I think would really work for you.”
I slip it out of his fingers and pull off the ribbon. It’s music, scratched out by hand onto a piece of hotel notepaper. And the title is “Lucky’s Song.”
Chapter 11
Tro
We get to her bus and it’s only as we stand here, where she kissed Max the other night, that I realize I didn’t really think this through. I want to play what I’ve written for her, but I’m not sure I can be trusted if she invites me inside.
She holds the paper up in the direction of the streetlight¸ but it’s too dim for her to get a clear look. When she reaches for the door and pulls it open, my gut knots.
“You know,” I say when she starts up the stairs. “You can just let me know what you think after you’ve had a chance to play it a few times.”
“I want to hear it now,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me, irritated.
“Okay…go ahead.” Then I see the solution. “Read it over, then Skype me so I can hear you play it. We can tweak whatever you think. I’m Fingers12345.”
“Skype?” she asks with raised eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Just do it,” I say, turning for the road. I feel her watching after me, but I don’t look back. Because if I do, there’s every chance I’m going to cross a line I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I hop in a cab and I’m not even halfway back to the hotel when there’s an alert on my phone. StageRat292 wants to connect on Skype. I laugh and accept. A second later, there’s another alert that StageRat292 is calling. I hit the video icon and Lucky’s face appears on my screen.
“It’s incredible.” She holds up the paper. “You wrote this?”
“It sort of wrote itself.” I try to come off like it’s no big thing, but that electricity is pulsing through my veins and I don’t think I’m able to keep it out of my voice. “Play it for me. I want to hear you do it.”
She sets the phone down and I can only see her left arm and the neck of the guitar as she fingers the strings. But when she starts on the lyrics, and her voice comes through the line, I want to climb right through the cyber and kiss the living fuck out of her.
Which is exactly the reason I couldn’t stay. For once in my sorry life, I made the right call.
She finishes and picks the phone back up so I can see her face.
“So…” I say. “You like?”
Her eyes go wide. “Jesus, Tro. What do you think?”
“Um…”
“I love it. It’s fucking amazing.”
I slouch deeper into the backseat of the cab. “That’s the kind of stuff you should be recording.”
She blows out a derisive laugh. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“Have you thought any more about jumping labels?” I ask.
She lowers her gaze. “Not really. Billie says we’re close to a new contract with Universal. They’re giving percentages and escalating royalties. She says we’re not going to do better anywhere else.”
“First of all, that’s bullshit, and second of all, even if it wasn’t, if you record the music you were meant to record, the money will follow.”
Her face pulls into a skeptical squint. “That’s seriously what you’re going with?”
I shrug. “It worked for me.”
“Yeah, because you willing to say anything and take off your clothes anywhere.”
My turn to laugh. “So you’re saying my success has nothing to do with my music?”
She drops the phone and the screen goes black. For a second I think she’s gone, but then the phone lifts and I see her cynical expression. “Did you hear me say those words? I just meant that your music is only part of what made you so huge.”
“You say you’ve got a friend who writes?” I say, to derail the in-depth analysis of how I got where I am.
“My best friend, Lilah,” she says with a nod. “She’s the reason I’m here.”
The cab driver pulls up to the curb in front of my hotel and I toss some cash over the seat before getting out. “Let me hear something she wrote.”