Chapter Twelve
Damian lay in bed thinking about how Kendall had got up on that stage and sung her heart out that night despite the glares and overly loud whispered comments. The old Kendall, the one Damian had fallen in love with and married, would have crawled up into his lap and cried. Or just plain run away. She’d spent the whole of her time in town running from bullies, including her own grandmother. This Kendall was different. This Kendall stood up to her hecklers that night and got up on that stage with her head held high before belting out songs that had everyone jumping to their feet in appreciation.
For some reason that felt like someone had ripped out his dusty old heart and replaced it with another one. His old one.
Damian wasn’t sure yet if he liked it. In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t. And when she looked at him with her eyes wide and her lips parted in expectation it made his old heart beat a little too hard and feel a little too big in his chest.
“I need to tell you something, Damian,” she said quietly, running her slender fingers over his chest. Back and forth in a soothing, almost hypnotic pattern. “Actually I need to tell you a couple things.”
He pulled himself up and settled against the headboard, pretending his newly revived heart hadn’t dropped down into his stomach.
“The first thing is that no matter what happens moving forward, I need you to know how much this time together has meant to me.” She took a deep breath. “I know you think my decision to leave was wrong. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I should have fought back and not been such a coward.” She pressed her fingers to his lips when he started to interrupt her. “No let me finish.”
He had to tell her what she meant to him. That he thought he’d forgiven her. Or he could. Maybe he had. But she had more she wanted to say and he had to let her.
“I never stopped thinking about you, Damian. Never stopped loving you. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I swear I did. I know you don’t agree, but do you at least understand what I tried to do?”
He nodded, despite the reservations he still had about moving forward, and nipped at her fingertips. He was beginning to believe that maybe she’d needed to leave, needed to be out on her own in order to realize what she had at home.
“Stop it,” she said with such a stern look on her face.
“But you’re so sexy when you’re all contrite and stuff.” He kissed her nose.
“Shut up and let me finish.” She smiled but didn’t laugh. “It’s okay if you don’t feel like I do. But I love you. I’ve never not loved you.”
His stomach clenched and his breath stopped for a beat. He hadn’t expected this: that she would just come out and say the words that seemed stuck in his chest. But there was something else, something she hadn’t said, and it hung in the air like ash after a firestorm.
“But…” And there it was. She shifted and her hand stopped moving on his chest. Move your damn hand, Kendall. Don’t stop…just don’t stop.
“Does this have anything to do with that call?” he prompted. Just get it over with, darlin’. One swing of the axe and we’ll be done.
She nodded. “The rep from my label called. They know what Ben did and they want me to come to LA and discuss my options.” Her smile was weak, and her eyes were shiny but she held her chin high and held his gaze.
“And what does that mean?” He could feel her already moving away from him. The distance was growing and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. She didn’t say anything, just stared at him and swallowed. “You have to leave? Again?”
Kendall bit her lip, closed her eyes, and leaned back on the headboard. “Yes.”
That clenching in his stomach changed, shifted, spread through his body until he could barely breathe. “What are your options?” he asked, a little hope still fighting for air in the room. What if she wanted to stay? What if he could get her to? Of course, maybe she didn’t want to. She’d always hated this town and had never felt part of it. Fuck. What kind of man would ask the woman he loved to stay in a place she despised? What kind of man would keep the woman he loved from pursuing her dreams?
Not him. Not this time. He took a deep breath and resolved to let her go. If that’s what she really wanted, he would love her enough to let her go. The idea of her leaving him again, this time for good, made his heart hurt along with his gut. But he would do it. For her.
“They want to talk in person so I don’t know yet what their angle is, but there’s no way to get around the money I owe them. It’s not the label’s fault Ben took the money. It’s mine.”
“Have they considered going after him legally?”
She shrugged one naked, pale shoulder. “They gave the advance to me. I gave it to him to manage. I’m the one at fault.” She had a point. Unfortunately. “There are only a couple ways this can go. They want the money back immediately. Or they make me work for it.”
“What does that look like it? Working for it, I mean.”
A bleak, sad look fluttered across her face making him want to reach out and cradle her head in his hands. But they had to get through this conversation first. Then they could talk about the future. However that looked.
“I make another record and then go back on the road to support it. Money is made on the road now. Merch and tickets.”
“What do you want to do?” Stay here with me. Where you belong. How could it feel so right for her to be here if this wasn’t where she was supposed to be?
“I want to go back in time and never have left you, if I’m being honest.” Her voice was quiet, but there was steel behind her fragility. She was trying to right her wrongs—he could see that. And she was doing it bravely. “And I want to talk to your mom about what my grandmother said about my mom.”
“Well, I’m going to vote for honesty right now. I told you I’d buy you out. You can pay them back and then decide what you want to do.”
“I don’t want your money anymore. Now that I know what you could do with this farm and that money. I’ve already taken enough,” she bit out, like the words cut coming out her mouth.
“So you want to leave? Go back on the road?”
“No, Damian, I don’t.” She shifted on the bed, pulling the sheet tight across her chest.
“But you don’t want to stay here either.”
“I don’t know what I want. Tonight. The last couple weeks. I’m so confused.”
The anger and tension he’d been holding back with sheer will floated to the top. Hell, it swam to the top with the ferocity of a great white shark. And it wanted blood. He was tired of these back and forth games with her. Tired of not knowing how she felt or if she’d ever want to stay. Of course she’d go back on the road if the opportunity presented itself. What a classic fool he was.
“Once again, you’re leaving. When?”
“Damian…” Her tone turned placating and her face paled.
“When, Kendall?” he demanded, his anger growing along with his need to escape this conversation and its inevitable conclusion.
“Tomorrow morning. Ten.” Her answer couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d delivered it with a slap. She was leaving in the morning, just a few short hours from now.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. A week?”
“You planning on coming back?”
“I want to…” And there was his answer in the words she didn’t say. She wanted to but she just didn’t know how she could do both: be the punk rock cowgirl and the farmer’s wife.
“What the fuck does that mean, Kendall? Are you coming back or not? I need to know this time. Because I’m not pining after you anymore. I want to get on with my life.”
“With me or without me?” she asked, her face waxen.
“Well, I guess that depends on you, sweetheart. Doesn’t it?”
“Does it, Damian? Or are you already pushing me away because you’re afraid of loving me again?” Yeah, he probably was. But maybe this time he wanted to head the pain off at the pass and perhaps dole out a little of his own. He was sick of being the only casualty of this marriage.
“I’m not afraid of loving you, Kendall. I’m afraid of betting on the wrong horse.”
Clearly he’d said the worst of all the horrible things since her face turned a dark shade of red and she jumped from the bed and moved straight into the closet. He wanted to go to her and soothe her with his body, with the words he couldn’t quite get out. And he wanted her to feel just a tiny a bit of the pain he’d carried around for years. So he didn’t go to her. He stayed on the bed, frozen. By anger. By betrayal. By an age-old bitterness that he couldn’t quite let go of.
When she emerged from the closet she was wearing yoga pants that he shouldn’t notice molded to her curves, and a gray hoodie. His gray hoodie. God, he loved when she wore his clothes. He should tell her that. Tell her how he really felt, but the words just wouldn’t form on his tongue.
She stared at him for a moment, not moving. Then asked, “Do you love me, Damian?”
All he could manage was a terse, “Where are you going?” And terror and ache and want and everything he’d been holding back with his stupid walls broke free and flooded his chest. But he still couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell her the truth. She was finally being honest and he couldn’t get past his own fear.
“Fuck you, Damian Sloane. You are a coward and we both deserve better.” Was the last thing he heard as he stood naked in front of his living room window watching the love of his life stomp across his yard and onto the back porch of her grandmother’s house.
*
Kendall found herself up the next morning before the sun even dared peek its angry head over the hills surrounding the valley Kelly Family Farms rested in. She had packed the night before and since she’d turned in her rental car the week before, the shuttle she’d scheduled the previous afternoon rolled up right on time and just before Damian would be up to let the goats out and start his work day.
And though she never looked back as the small minivan pulled down the driveway and out onto the main road she could feel him watching as she left. Her eyes burned from the endless tears she’d shed during the night, but they were thankfully dry now. She was grateful, at least, for that.
“Up kind of early, aren’t you, ma’am?” said the driver as he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. He had kind eyes. But then again her judgment of character had been sucky at best. For all she knew he could be a serial killer.
“Yep. Early flight.”
The man nodded and looked forward, taking the hint that she was not feeling chatty. Kendall stared out the window at the gorgeous landscape of Blackberry Cove unfurling against the stunning colors of dawn. Normally this was when she’d be happy to be leaving the dirt patch that had been nothing but misery for her.
But everything had changed, turned upside down. She hadn’t really hated Blackberry Cove, had she? She’d been unloved by her family and Damian’s family sure, but had the town really been so awful? She had favorite teachers and a best friend and she’d had Damian. But that hadn’t been enough for her, had it? She’d demanded more and more and more until no one had anything left to give.
So she’d left. Take that, everyone! And thumbed her nose on her way out. Then played the martyr for four years. Hating her life on the road, the demands of music people, the fans, the late nights, and parties. She’d been overwhelmed from the beginning, longing for some semblance of quiet and routine. The erratic demands of tour life and the unpredictable hours were brutal. She’d lamented the loss of her love, playing the tragic heroine in her own ridiculous tragedy.
But she hadn’t given anyone, least of all her husband, the opportunity to fight for her. For them. Instead she’d blamed them all for her life, but never taken responsibility. Running, running, running.
The realization struck her like a thunderbolt. Blackberry Cove was home. Was where she belonged all along. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d needed to take this road to discover it led directly back to where she’d started. Kelly Family Farms. But it was all too late, wasn’t it? She’d finally come clean and admitted everything, but he hadn’t done the same. He’d been frozen there with that stricken look on his face like he was about to say it, like he wanted to. But he hadn’t and that had said more than anything.
This time though she wasn’t running. She was fixing her mess and then she was going to make him see they really were meant to be together.
No matter what happened with the label executives she would call Damian afterward and discuss their requests. She would tell him she loved him yet again and that she trusted him and that she wanted nothing more than to be back on the farm…farming. Being his wife. Playing with her goats, loving that big dog and that mean old donkey. If he could accept her the way she was, she would stop running. Stop pretending she was something she wasn’t. Even if it meant starting over and dating her own husband. Because she needed him. Loved him. And intended to try and keep him.
Forever.
“We’re here,” the driver said as he pulled up to the one terminal. She handed him some cash and he got out to grab her bags. “Whatever put that sadness in your eyes, I hope it gets better.”
“Thank you. I hope so too. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it does.” She smiled at him and went to check in.
Her flight went quickly and she thought it a good sign they’d booked her for first class, even though the small plane didn’t actually boast first class service. They’d also reserved a lovely hotel room for her just outside of Hollywood for an indefinite span of time, which was helpful since she’d given up her apartment in West Hollywood and shoved what few belongings she’d had into a small storage unit before making her way to Blackberry Cove.
After checking in to her hotel room, she threw herself on the bed. And stared at her phone for a good ten minutes before clicking on Damian’s name in her contacts. He would be out working and wouldn’t hear his phone even if the call actually went through—hard to know if it would with their dodgy service out on the farm. It rang five times before she heard his voice message. Her heart stopped for a moment and her chest hurt. How could his recorded voice have such an impact on her?
Damian Sloane of Kelly Family Farms. You know what to do.
“Damian, it’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I love you and I want us to work this out. I already miss you. Please call me as soon as you can,” but before hanging up she paused and then added, “I wish you were here.”
Well if that wasn’t being honest and spelling it out, Kendall didn’t know what was. And now it was recorded. No going back from I love you and I want us to work this out. There was only going forward. With this meeting. With her career. But most importantly with her life and with Damian. If she had to cut another album and go on the road, she would. She was done being spoiled. She would be glad for the opportunity to repay her debt and create some art while she was doing it. She would be glad for the chance to go home, eventually, to the man she loved. And hopefully he still loved her, though he hadn’t said the words yet.
No matter, she thought as she pulled on a black pantsuit and topped it off with a pair of black rhinestones boots, she was taking responsibility for her life and her love.
The ride to the label offices was quick and didn’t give her much time to balk at her new resolve or talk herself out of it. Almost too swiftly she was ushered into a conference room with her rep, two other men, and a woman in casual but expensive clothing. Conversation stopped and they all stood when she entered and each one introduced themselves before sitting.
The woman was the head of sponsorship. The older man was her rep’s boss and the other man the deputy head of the country division. All bigwigs, which she found interesting. Did that mean they were here to intimidate her into repaying the advance or convince her to go back on the road? It was hard tell from their enigmatic looks which direction the meeting was going to take.
Since Ben had acted as her agent from the beginning of her career when he’d found her singing in a small restaurant after hours to a crowd of approximately three people, she’d never actually sat at the conference table without representation, without someone who had a vested interest in her career, and her resolve flagged slightly. Who was she to think she could go up against the management of her label and win?
Nobody. That’s who she was. Just a poor little unwanted orphan from a pothole in middle of California. She took a deep breath to fortify herself, shore up her flagging supports, and said, “What’s the agenda for this meeting? I feel like I’m the only one here without a directive?” She laughed a deep chuckle, going for warm and mature, not self-deprecating.
Her faux confidence seemed to do the trick and the tension in the room thinned.
Mary Wells, the head of sponsorship, spoke first. “We want to say how happy we are to have you with Reckless Media. It’s unfortunate that we’ve come to this point and even more so that you’ve had so many…issues with your management team.” Kendall wasn’t clear how much they had known coming into the meeting. They had canceled her record after she had said she didn’t want to tour for at least twelve months and record for at least six. Strike while the iron is hot, they’d said. Building momentum is the key, they’d repeatedly told her, as her sales began to drop. But she’d been so weary. So exhausted from everything having to do with music. She’d just wanted out. So they’d agreed to take her advance back and let her out of the rest of her contract. But the money had been gone along with her business manager so she’d asked for more time.
And time had run out.
“Previously we agreed to release you from your contract in exchange for repayment of your advance. We’ve since learned it’s unlikely you’ll be able to do so because of your business manager,” Mary continued with a grin that seemed neither warm, nor remotely genuine. In fact, it lent her classically pretty face a cold, almost wizened air. “We’d like to discuss your options and come to a resolution based on your input.” What the hell did that even mean? Based on her input sounded like they would decide her future regardless of her input.
That wasn’t happening. Maybe when she left Los Angeles nearly three weeks before she would have perhaps rolled over and let them see her belly almost immediately. But something had changed. Hell, who was she kidding? Everything had changed. However, before she went off or said something impulsive she only nodded, wordlessly requesting Mary continue with her spiel.
The meeting went on for over three painful hours. The label executives took turns praising her before they dug their nails into her skin. They ruthlessly provided a list of every bad review, every unsold-out show, every negative article on her fake relationships, and then the coup de grace of them all: her naive dependence on a known music business con man.
Near the end of the third hour, she politely cut into the latest diatribe from her rep, Morgan Bales. “Morgan, pardon me. While I appreciate all the background information, I was there. This is my career. I’m fully aware of what has or hasn’t happened. And I know what needs to change, should I continue recording and touring. But what we haven’t addressed is what exactly my options are.” Morgan was clearly surprised by her words and opened his mouth to respond before the division head cleared his throat, effectively shutting down everyone else in the room.
The man in charge of the country music division, Robert Smith, who had sat quietly and watched the discussions—ha, more like lectures, but okay—placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of him, and then finally spoke. “Ms. Kelly, we’re in the business of making music, but more importantly we’re in the business of making stars, building lifelong careers for young entertainers like yourself.” He paused for effect, Kendall was sure. Everything about the attractive older man was calculated and practiced. You didn’t reach his level of success and stay there for two decades by being impulsive and friendly. But instead of letting him finish his little speech Kendall chuckled. Not on purpose, truth be told. She’d behaved and played by their rules for hours, but their pomposity and carefully disguised condescension had about reached the limit on her bullshit meter.
Besides the wide-eyed surprise on Smith’s face was worth all of it. Heck even if she had to go back on the road as essentially a modern-day indentured servant, it would be worth it. And, really, she wasn’t childish enough to believe that being a music star and having fans was anything less than amazing. She would deal with the anxiety and pressure. She would make the best of it by making good music and sharing it with the world. And when she was done she could go back home and fight for her marriage and her place on their farm.
Because that’s what the farm and Blackberry Cove were…they were home. And Damian—he was the center of it. She missed him so much, and for a moment she was struck by just how very much she wished he were there by her side. His tall strong body sitting beside her right then would go a long way toward shoring up her flagging confidence. And loneliness.
“Reckless is in business to make money. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I got to be part of that for a while. But I’m a product. I know that. The way I see it is that I have one of two options. Option one I pay you the money I owe for the advance and you let me out of my contract. The other option is I record another album and go on tour to support it therefore providing me the opportunity to earn the advance back.” She looked around the table at a group of faces that were seconds away from calling her new tough-guy bluff and demanding the money before showing her to the door.
“At this point, Ms. Kelly, we’d prefer you to record another album and then support it.”
“I appreciate your honesty. However, that means I go on the road and do interviews and media spots.”
“Correct.”
“What if I would prefer to not do that and just pay back the advance and call it a day?” she asked noticing they had omitted that possibility.
“That’s no longer an option,” Mr. Smith said, attempting to close the door on her walking away.
Her hands grew clammy in her lap and she resisted the almost overwhelming urge to rub them on her clothes. Instead she kept her fingers flat on her legs, even keeping herself from tapping her finger on her wrist. Fidgeting would be tantamount to showing her fear and then they’d go in for the kill.
“It is though. I have the amendment to my contract in writing, therefore it remains an option.” She could tell they hadn’t expected her to fight back or, at least, explore all the possibilities when they all stared at their notebooks and flipped pages. Their assumption had been that she’d gratefully do what they requested. That was the behavior her rep had seen from her time and time again. And, of course, it probably didn’t matter because she didn’t have the money, but she did want to know what was possible going forward.
“We’re prepared to offer you extended points for recording and touring in addition to clearing your advance.” And they showed their hand right then and there. They wanted her on the road. They wanted new music from her.
“That’s very generous, however, I’m not quite sure I want to go back on the road.” That had been fine before, but now they looked apoplectic as if she’d turned down a ten-carat diamond engagement ring. “I’d like to take the rest of the day to think about it. Can we reconvene tomorrow morning?”
“Of course. Although can you give us a feel for what you’re thinking and your direction moving forward?” Mr. Smith asked.
“No, I can’t.” And that was the truth. Kendall Kelly knew what she wanted, but had no idea what she was going to do or how to get it. She suspected what she really wanted was too far out of reach and wasn’t hers to claim any longer and that thought had her ending the meeting and running for the bathroom where she promptly dry heaved the sandwich they’d had brought in for lunch.