The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

“I was driving.” I pulled out my phone and glanced at it.

Bill: Just checked the schedule. We’re putting in a header on Tuesday. Can you take off Thursday instead?

Irritation tightened the muscles in my back, and I sighed loudly. My mother was just as involved in the business as my stepfather, if not more. She was the one who helped order things and schedule deliveries.

“No,” I said, assuming she knew what the text was about. “I can’t come in on Tuesday.” I thumbed out the same response to him.

“Why not?” she asked.

Because I have an audition to open for Stella Mills.

Technically for her team, who’d package the auditions and present them to her and her fans—but the artist had final say. Not that I could tell my mom any of that. Always the realist, she’d lose her freaking mind and be a buzzkill of epic proportions.

“I’ve got a business thing all day at the gym,” I lied.

“Can you do it some other time? We can’t risk Bill helping install it. You know how bad his back is right now.”

She pulled her usual routine of looking distraught. It worked on her husband, but not as well on me. My stepfather’s company made good money. Either one of them could hire more workers, but I was cheap and reliable labor. Plus, they had me over a fucking barrel. I lived rent free, and I was sure that would change the instant I stopped “helping” out at the family business.

It was a steady paycheck, but hard work I hated, and I didn’t want to end up with a fucked-up back like Bill had. I’d gone to college to train athletes and prevent injuries. Instead, I had to grit my teeth every day and hope I didn’t end up with one myself.

I enjoyed the few clients I worked with at the gym, but they were hard to find and it wasn’t anywhere near enough income for me to afford my own place. And a few performances a month wasn’t netting me much cash either.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to dream of anything bigger when it came to music. Erika was incredibly talented, far more than I was . . . but she never ‘made’ it. What hope did I have?

So, I never expected performing to be more than just a hobby. And I tried not to think about how the audition could change all that.

My tone was firm. “I can’t push it. It’s scheduled for Tuesday.”

“Troy, this is important. The Tanner project is huge, and we’re already behind schedule. We really need you. I’m sure if you talk to the gym, they’ll understand.”

It came out more forceful than I’d meant it to. “No.”

My mom’s shoulders pulled back. “We don’t ask much of you, you know. You’ve got a pretty sweet deal here. We paid for your college and the Jeep. We let you live here, where you’ve got your own space, with free utilities and rent. You can come and go whenever you please.” She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “We even gave you a job while you search for something you want, so I think we have been more than understanding. It feels like you’re being ungrateful.”

Maybe I was, but— “Don’t act like you’re doing me a huge favor by giving me that job. We both know that isn’t the case.” They needed me just as much as I needed them, if not more.

“What are you talking about?” She frowned. “You make good money when you work for Bill—a lot more than you do at the gym, I might add. At least with Bill it could lead somewhere.” Her posture straightened and she lifted her chin. It was what she did right before saying something important. “He built his company from scratch, but you know he doesn’t want to do it forever. He’d much rather hand it down to you than sell it off.”

I pressed my palms to my forehead. I’d suspected this for the last year, but it’d never been said out loud before, and my stomach flipped over. I filled my lungs with air and picked through words in my mind, trying to find the right thing to say. It put me in a tough spot.

But in the end, I went with the plain truth.

My tone was quiet and sad. “I don’t want it.”

Bill had been more of a father to me than my biological dad, who had walked out on my mom and me back when I was a toddler. My stepfather was kind and loving and funny. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to become part of our family. We didn’t share blood or a last name, but I was happy to be his son.

The problem was I was his only child.

His company meant the world to him, second only to our family, so I had to tread carefully. Bill was sensitive. If I turned it down, it was likely he’d see this as my rejection of him as a father, rather than what it simply was—a business I had zero fucking interest in running.