"Then make your own music on your own terms," I suggested. "You're a talented musician, and you're passionate. That has to be more than a lot of people already working in the industry even have."
"You really think I could do it?" he asked. I nodded vigorously. He smiled. "I was talking to my dad a while ago, and he was telling me something similar."
"You should take his advice," I said.
"He said I needed to take this time off to think about what I wanted but I think I've known what I wanted all along."
I sighed a little. Time off, he said. That was what this was for him. He was going back at some point. A desperate thought flashed through my head, a frantic what if. What if he could stay? No, Abby, I thought. Get a grip; he had a life before he came here, and it's waiting for him back in LA.
"You want a solo career?" I asked, snapping out of my fantasy.
"I want to write my own stuff. If I collaborate, I want to do it with people I trust, who aren't fucking leeches trying to make as much money as they can on worthless noise."
"You've always wanted to make music, haven't you?" I asked. He smiled like he was remembering something.
"My first memories of being alive involve music. Music was the way my mom and I used to bond. It was the thing I felt was mine. All the best times of my life were set to music. Notes and melodies just made sense to me," he said.
I could hear the passion in his voice. I couldn't imagine how fulfilling making music was for him, but I was happy there was something that shone so bright in his life.
That was why he had to go back to LA. He would be miserable any other way. I would be miserable without him, but some things in life were replaceable. Others weren't. I fought what I was feeling to be happy for him.
"Guess your dad was right then," I said lightly.
"Guess he was."
I made sandwiches for us to eat at dinner and we ended up turning in fairly early. He was asleep before I was, pressed into my back with his arm around my waist. I laced our fingers together and snuggled harder into him.
How much longer would I be able to do that? I had to remind myself every day to focus on the present with Nate, but with the end in sight, it was getting harder and harder to do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nate
My phone was ringing. What fucking time was it? It was so early in the morning. I opened my eyes and saw Abby's sleeping body beside mine. I turned and looked at the bedside table where my phone was, next to the lamp. I slid out of the bed so I didn't wake her and went to the bathroom. Today was one of those rare mornings I seemed to be up first.
I squinted at the number, but didn't know whose it was. I put the phone to my ear, closing the bathroom door.
"Hello?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Nate Stone?" the person asked. I frowned.
"Yeah?"
"My name is Wes Barry. I've been trying to reach you for weeks. I'm a producer here in LA." I narrowed my eyes.
"Well, you found me. What do you want?"
"I know some of the guys who worked on your last record," he said. "I was wondering if we could talk."
"What the fuck about?" I asked, running the water and splashing some on my face. I heard Wes Barry laugh over the phone.
"Everyone's talking about you, Nate. You wouldn't believe the rumors they're telling about you."
"If the rumor is that I ran away to Hawai'i to join a cult and I'm never coming back, they're true."
"I wanted to hear it from you, Nate. Are you ever going back to Remus?" he asked.
"Why do you care?"