Reputation (Mason Family 2)

I don’t answer her.

We both know I have to agree to this. I don’t have a choice if I want to sign with the label again. And I do. It gives me access to bigger shows, bigger venues, more publicity. They know I know that, so they have the reins.

But I have the reins with Meadow, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s the best person to negotiate on my behalf. She’s the first agent I ever had—and the best by all accounts—but this incident is making me wonder if that’s true.

Meadow changes tactics.

“Have you been writing?” she asks. “Feeling inspired.”

“Wrote a song tonight about taking out the trash.”

“I hope you’re being facetious.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me.

“You have star power, Coy. You have the talent and energy this label wants. They’re willing to make a big investment in you. We just have to sell you.”

“If that doesn’t make you feel like a prostitute, nothing will.”

She groans. “You’re impossible.”

I pace a little circle next to the trash can and contemplate my choices. I really don’t have any. I have to get on board with whatever the label wants and solidify my place in the music world, or I balk at their demands and potentially find myself bagging groceries next week.

It’s happened to many people before me—people far more talented.

“I have my team working on firing back on your behalf,” she says. “I’m not hanging you out to dry even though it might seem like it.”

“It does.”

“I know it can look that way, but it’s not true. We’ll have a statement out tomorrow, and we’ll try to set the record straight. In the meantime, please don’t add any fuel to the fire. No pictures of you skinny-dipping in hotels or leaving a bar with each arm around a different girl. Or my personal favorite—no using shoe polish on drive-through windows, okay?”

I grin. “I’m not apologizing for the skinny-dipping. And the girls at the bar were just friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But that restaurant deserved it. Not selling tacos to a … maybe slightly inebriated patron after midnight. They were very clearly animals.”

“And all of that is not a look that’s becoming of a country music star. Thank you for making my point for me.”

I hate when she does that.

A part of me wonders if our dynamic would be different had I not signed with her when I was so young and stupid. What does a twenty-year-old know about doing business? Not much. I didn’t know much about shit back then. But I’m wiser now and not the fresh-faced, naïve kid who hired her years ago … and I wonder now, too, if I’m not just an easy paycheck.

“You behave, and I’ll work my magic. Okay?” she asks.

“It’s about time you did something,” I half-joke.

“You’re hilarious. Now relax and write some music. Use this frustration to pen some lyrics.”

“Sure. Call me tomorrow after you talk to the label,” I tell her. “I want to know what they say.”

“Will do. Good night, Coy.”

“Night, Meadow.”

I end the call and then put my phone back in my pocket.

A breeze rattles the leaves on the tree in front of me. The sound reminds me of being a little boy. Boone, Larissa, Bellamy, and I would come out here and play tag or hide-and-seek until it got too dark to see. As teenagers, we would make a fire in the pit in the back and sit around drinking beer we would convince—blackmail—Oliver to buy for us. We always knew something about our second-oldest brother to hold over his head. He’d cooperate as long as we gave him our car keys and promised not to leave.

Life was good back then. Easy. Uncomplicated.

Maybe it’s that way for everyone. Life’s complications might just come with getting older and successful.

“Or, maybe not,” I say out loud.

I wonder what my life would be like here as an adult. Would it still be as fun as I remember? Would it feel as simple as it did back then?

I look at the Davenport house. The light in Bellamy’s old bedroom is off.

Would we still be friends? Could I trust her?

I can’t imagine Bellamy pulling a stunt like Willa. There’s no way I can see her making me wonder about her loyalty like I do with Meadow.

Granted, I’m not exactly friends with Willa and Meadow, but I’m not sure I’m really friends with Bells anymore either.

And that realization stings.

“I want you to know that I hate you.”

I glance at the gate that separates our side yard from theirs. I’m tempted to walk over to it.

“Do you hate me, Bells? Or are you just fucking with me like you usually do?” I ask quietly.

She has to be messing with me. There’s no reason for her to loathe me.

If there’s one thing I’ve never done in my historic career of messing things up, it’s wronging Bellamy. I’d never do it. I’d never hurt her.