Chapter 14

Evan heard the blasted grandfather clock downstairs start to sing, and annoyance rang through him. He couldn’t help counting the chimes, and while Riley had teased him about not being able to count, he certainly could in that moment.

Nine. Nine chimes.

And Riley still hadn’t shown up.

“She said she’d come,” Evan said, looking into his full suitcase. He’d finished his laundry and packing about five minutes ago, but he couldn’t face going out into the rest of the house alone. Carl was surely sitting at the kitchen table, their flight itineraries printed in front of him, though Evan had everything he needed on his phone.

He’d been telling himself for two hours not to text her. But she’d probably be upset he hadn’t. Evan wasn’t sure how to win with Riley, and he really wanted to.

So he picked up his phone and tapped out a quick message to her. Finished packing. Want to grab a shaved ice or something?

Aren’t you leaving early in the morning? The speed with which her text came in after his brought him little comfort.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead, he said. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come pick you up. His text was fairly demanding, and he erased the last sentence.

Instead of getting another text from Riley, he got a phone call. Surprise moved through him, rendering him a little slow to answer the call. “Hey,” she said. “I’ve been outside in my car for oh, I don’t know. A while.”

Evan was already moving toward his bedroom door. “You have? Why didn’t you come in?”

“I don’t know.”

Evan went past the stairs and to the front door, pulling it open as if he’d rip it off the hinges. A few more steps, and he stood on the edge of the porch, Riley’s car in sight. She got out and hung up the phone at the same time.

Their eyes met across the distance, and Evan pocketed his phone and jaunted down the steps to meet her. “There you are.” he said, a little surprised at how relieved he was that she’d come. She wore that same edge of panic in her eyes now as she had hours ago.

“Sorry,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t want to tell you to go, but I’m not happy you’re going.”

“It’s just a work thing,” he said, trying to understand her perspective.

Riley stepped into his arms and held onto him. They just breathed together, and Evan didn’t want to scare her away or ruin the moment. But he couldn’t help saying, “Help me understand.”

“I…it’s just that I know you’re not permanent here, and I was kind of hoping you would be.”

“No matter where I live, I’m always going to travel,” he said as gently as he could. “That’s what a band does, Riley.”

She nodded and stepped back, pulling her T-shirt down. “I know. But you just finished a tour, right?”

“Right.”

“And it’ll be a couple of years before you have another one.” She looked at him with so much hope in those green eyes.

“Probably,” he said. “But we get asked to do stuff all the time. Play at awards shows. Concerts for charities. Fireworks shows.” He could go on and on. And Georgia Panic always took the gigs they got offered. They hadn’t been featured at the Superbowl yet, and that was on Evan’s bucket list.

“Are you trying to get me to break up with you?” she asked.

“No,” he said simply. “Can we play this by ear? I’m just going to LA for a few meetings. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Sure,” Riley said in a semi-false tone. He knew she didn’t want to play anything by ear. And that he wouldn’t be back before she knew it. But Evan wasn’t sure what else he could say or do. He’d been a member of Georgia Panic for two decades, and this was his life.

DJ had a girlfriend who just traveled everywhere with him. Maybe Riley could do that. She was great with people and paperwork, and she could be the band’s public relations manager. Or she could just be with him.

“Okay.” Evan said, trying to get his thoughts to align. “So is that a no to the shaved ice?”

Riley giggled, and Evan hoped it was the beginning of her softening up a little bit. Relaxing. He wished she knew she didn’t need to have everything worked out right now.

“I’ll take a shaved ice,” she said. “And I know just the place. Have you been to that rainbow place?”

“Not unless you’ve taken me there, sweetheart,” he said. “I don’t do a whole lot without you.”

She scoffed and took her hand in his. “Yeah, right. I’ll drive, because I don’t feel like flirting with death tonight.”

Evan shook his head, his smile coming easily. “All right. Take me to the rainbow snow. I’m parched.”

She drove, and the conversation between them focused on her job and his songwriting. She didn’t ask him what he’d be doing in Los Angeles, and he didn’t tell her when he’d be back. They enjoyed their sweet treat as the sun went down, and when Riley dropped him off back at his house, he took her fully into his arms and kissed her.

“I’ll call you tomorrow when I get there, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, touching her mouth to his once more. Evan went up the stairs and into the house, the tingling sensation in his lips a sure reason that he’d be returning to Getaway Bay. Riley Randall had turned his life upside down with an email about his watch, and he was so glad he’d lost that timepiece.

***

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said into his phone as he walked off the plane. “You’re talking way too fast, DJ. Start again. They want what?” Evan could feel people staring at him, recognizing him, but he didn’t care. He mashed his ball cap lower over his eyes and got out of the stream of traffic as DJ started talking again.

“They want us to sign a deal where we only release singles,” he said, much slower this time and with far fewer curse words. “No album, Evan.”

“No album?” Those words didn’t make sense. “But we’ve been with them for twelve years, and our last album went double platinum.”

“It’s a new model, John says.”

Evan didn’t care what John said. “I can’t believe TriCities doesn’t want an album. We were their number one selling album last year.” Georgia Panic had won the People’s Choice Award, for crying out loud. They sold out stadiums from coast to coast.

And their record label didn’t want another album?

“I know.” DJ exhaled heavily on the other end of the line. “They want us to write the standard album set. Name it. Name the songs. But they don’t want to release them as an album. They want to try a dozen singles, spread out every three or four weeks.”

“This makes no sense,” Evan said, watching a man walk by with a pretty redhead at his side. He thought about Riley, and what she might look like with red hair. “We’d be releasing for a year.”

“Right? It sounds like a stupid plan.”

“Well, we’ll sit down and talk to Greg. See what he has to say.”

“There should be a car for you there at the airport,” DJ said. “Get here fast, would you? I feel like there are sharks circling.”

The call ended, but Evan didn’t move away from the wall. “Sharks,” he repeated to himself. Great.

Not that the band hadn’t dealt with people trying to take advantage of them in the past. But Evan just wasn’t feeling up to the task today. He mourned the loss of the Hawaii beach he’d just left—and the woman he’d met there.

Pull yourself together, he told himself as he finally joined the fray of people streaming toward the baggage claim area. Riley will be there when you get back.

He hadn’t left permanently, and while it took a long time to fly to Getaway Bay and back, he could do it.

“Everything okay?” Carl asked, and Evan cut a glance at him.

“I guess we’ll see.” They found their driver and collected their bags before heading for downtown LA. Carl kept his eyes glued to his phone as the car maneuvered closer and closer to a tall office building where the agent for the band, Greg Stone, worked.

Evan had been in Greg’s office dozens of times, including when the band had signed one of the most lucrative deals in the music industry. John Feehan at TriCities Records had secured cool digital artists for their album covers, and since making the move to TriCities and away from Lionshead, Georgia Panic’s popularity and income had swelled and swelled and swelled.

Evan was on the brink of becoming a billionaire, and apparently the rich and powerful men and women on the island of Getaway Bay knew that. He shook the billionaire brunch he’d attended on the island out of his head. He couldn’t be thinking about things hundreds of miles away.

He needed his focus here, now. The car pulled up to the building and Carl got out first. Evan didn’t travel with security, though his brother wanted him to. He said, “All right,” and Evan got out too. They went into the building together and Carl gave their names to the guard at the front desk.

He cleared them through to the elevators, where they went up to the sixteenth floor. Greg was part of a larger talent agency, but Syd still sat at the front desk.

“Carl,” she said, a smile brightening her face. “Evan. Greg is expecting you. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” Carl said, shooting the brunette a smile. She hurried off to fetch water, and Carl watched her go. Evan smothered a smile as he stepped over to the fish tank against the wall. Sharks circling ran through his mind, but there were no sharks in this tank.

“Here you go,” Syd said, handing them each a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” they said in unison, and then Evan started past Syd’s desk. The sooner they could get to a room where the door closed, the better.

DJ, Hank, Dan, and Peter were already there. Brett was in Georgia, and he hadn’t made the trip today. Carl had assured Evan that Brett would be in town tomorrow.

“Hey, guys,” Evan said, a complete sense of belonging flowing over him. These were his bandmates. His best friends. Whatever Greg said, they could weather.

“Greg,” he said, shaking his agent’s hand. “I hope I’m not too late. I took the first flight off the island.”

“Not too late,” Greg said, tugging on the end of his sleeves before he sat down. “We’ve gotten in a new proposal from TriCities.”

Their last contract had just been fulfilled, what with the six solid months of touring, of sleeping in a trailer, of performing in front of thousands of screaming fans. Greg had told them a new contract would come as soon as the tour wrapped up, and it seemed like it had.

“They want two more albums.” He smiled around at the members of the group.

“Really?” DJ asked. “In album form?” He glanced at Evan, but just because he was the front man on stage didn’t mean he led the group in everything they did.

“They do want to try a new distribution method,” Greg admitted. “But I’ve been over the contract and over it. I gave it to my mentor for him to go over. The label wants twenty-eight songs from you, grouped into two albums, but they might release single after single until the whole album is out. Then they’ll produce the album at a later date.”

That was slightly different than what DJ had said on the phone. Evan felt like he was taking risks left and right. First, with his heart and Riley. Second, when he said, “Sounds great, Greg. Where do we sign?”

He counted—and reminded himself to tell Riley that he’d done so—to five, and then chaos erupted.

“Wait a second,” DJ said. “You can’t just decide for all of us.”

“I think a new distribution model is a bad idea,” Peter said.

Carl said something too, but Evan wasn’t sure what because Hank was yelling and so was Dan. No one in the band looked happy, and at least now Evan knew where they all stood.

With him. They all stood with him.

Now they just needed to figure out what game TriCities was playing—and whether or not Georgia Panic wanted to join in.