Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gabby
Spending more than half my Christmas break with Jonathan is the stuff dreams are made of. First, him getting along with my parents, and my dad in particular, is huge. By the time Christmas Day rolls around and we exchange presents, he’s won them over entirely. He exclaims over the quilt my mom made him, admiring the colors she chose, mostly variations of dark blue and gray, with pops of jewel tones every so often. It reminds me of the ocean on a stormy day.
Jonathan got nice watches for my dad and my brother and a spa day for my mom, Marissa, Abby, and me before Lance and Abby go back to Spokane and we rejoin the tour.
And getting to spend time on tour with him, perform with him, feel the energy of the crowd, the vibrations of their applause in my bones … Nothing I’ve done has ever compared to that.
After that first concert, Jonathan insists on a longer intermission, and when we go off stage during the second show, he hurries me back to his dressing room, strips my pants off, drops his own, and pins me to the wall in a frenzy. Even when it felt like all we had were stolen moments, we’ve always taken our time with each other. This is fast and hard. And oh my God. So damn hot.
Seeing him like that—losing control, changing his show just to get inside me—I get turned on thinking about it afterward.
More than that, performing together on stage has brought us closer together than I would’ve thought possible. We were already in tune with each other, vibrating on harmonic frequencies. But now? Now it’s like we’re on the exact same sound wave.
And it’s amazing.
He’s started writing new songs. And he wants more of them to feature me, so that means I’m writing more songs too. When I questioned him about writing again so soon after releasing an album, he just shrugged and said, “You want me to stop? Why? It’s flowing. May as well ride the wave while it lasts.”
And how can I argue with that?
I can’t.
But the spring semester is starting, and I’m back at Marycliff, back in the dorms.
Lauren barges in the day before classes start as I’m unpacking my suitcase, her eyes narrowed. She lets the heavy door to the outer room slam closed behind her and storms into my room, arms crossed while she stares me down.
“Hi, Lauren. Welcome back.”
She ignores my greeting. “When were you going to tell me?”
I stop halfway between my suitcase and the closet. “Uh, tell you what?”
Rolling her eyes, she drops her arms and flops down on the bed next to my suitcase. “Tell me you write music. You told me you were performing with Jonathan.” She points a finger at me. “You neglected to tell me you wrote the part you were playing. By yourself. Without his input.”
“Oh, well, um …” I hang up the shirt in my hands in my closet to avoid looking at her. “I don’t know. It’s something I started messing around with this summer. And I started playing with countermelodies to Jonathan’s songs when I missed him. It wasn’t something I planned on telling anyone about.”
Moving back to my suitcase, I’m forced to look at her. She raises her brows, her disbelief written all over her face.
I pull out a pair of jeans and head for my dresser, hiding my eye roll from her view when I turn away again. “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. I hadn’t even really planned on telling Jonathan. Or, if I told him, I wasn’t planning on playing them for him.” I shake my head, stuffing the pants in a drawer. “It slipped out while we were at my parents’. And he made me play for him, because that’s how he is. And then he convinced me to play one concert with him.”
“But you’ve played his last like four concerts. How did that happen?”
With my eyes closed, I turn to face her. But I force myself to look her in the face, even though I still feel weird about this whole development. I had no plans to tell anyone about my composing anytime soon. No one here knows. Not even Dr. Paulsen knows the extent of it, despite the fact that he called me into his office after I turned in my mid-term sonata to encourage me to take composition classes next year. I nodded and smiled and told him I’d keep it in mind.
“I told him I’d play at least the one show, and if the fans didn’t like it, then I didn’t have to play any more. But they went crazy. So I’ve played the rest of his shows up to now. And I’ll be playing more throughout the year. We’re still sticking to our every other weekend schedule, but I’ll be going to him more than he’ll come to me. And when he comes here, it’ll be like before, where it’s during the week while the tour travels to the next location and he doesn’t have any shows.”
Lauren’s eyes are wide as she takes me in. “This is so insane.”
I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my lips. “Tell me about it.”
“My roommate isn’t just dating a popstar. She’s becoming one.” Her voice is full of awe.
When I start to splutter a protest, she cuts me off by shoving my suitcase farther down the bed and pulling me down next to her. “Whatever. It’s true. Don’t bother to deny it.” She waves one hand in dismissal, her other still clutching my wrist. “Now. Tell me what it was like. Tell me how it felt to perform on stage in front of all those people.”
I bite my lip while I try to formulate the words to describe it all. “It’s … insane. I mean, you know what it’s like to perform in Strings Seminar or like in little studio recitals and stuff, right? Where you’re playing, maybe just you, or maybe with a piano, but it’s just one song. One piece. Ten minutes max.” I wait for her nod.
“Yeah. Of course. I started playing in second grade. My Suzuki teacher gave studio recitals twice a year. I did my first one when I’d only been playing for a couple of months. I squeaked out Twinkle Twinkle and thought I was the most awesome thing to ever hit the stage.” She laughs at the memory, and I smile along with her.
“Right. So, remember how it felt for everyone to clap for you and make you feel like you were so awesome?” She nods slowly. “It was like that, times about a million.” I look all around the room, trying to come up with another way to describe it. “It was the biggest rush. I was so nervous the first time. I seriously thought I was going to puke before I went out on stage. I could only see the first few rows, but oh my God, the amount of sound produced by a crowd that size is unbelievable. I wore in-ear monitors that block a lot of the sound—you know, so it doesn’t damage your hearing—but even with that, I could still hear them. And the stage literally vibrated under my feet. More than hearing them, I could feel their applause.”
Lauren’s hand clenches around my wrist. “Holy shit.”
“Exactly.”
She releases my wrist, sitting back and propping herself up with her hands behind her. “I’ve been to a lot of orchestra concerts. Ones with soloists. Really amazing performers. And never have I experienced an audience like that.”
“I know. Me too. I mean, I’ve been to Jonathan’s shows before. I know how loud they can get, especially in a sold out arena. But it’s different watching from the wings and being on stage. Having them clap and cheer and scream like that for me. For something I wrote. It was …” I spread my hands, palms up, “amazing. Absolutely, mind-blowingly amazing.” I let my hands fall back in my lap.
Silence stretches between us as Lauren studies me. Then she says, “I kind of hate you right now. Just,” she holds up one hand, her thumb and forefinger pinched together, leaving only a sliver of space between them, “a teeny tiny bit.”
I frown. “Don’t be like that. I’m worried enough about this semester as it is. I was hoping you’d be on my side, at least.”
She throws her arms around me and squeezes tight. “I am on your side. I’m always on your side. Even if you run off and leave me here to go be a famous rock star.”
“I’m not—“
“Uh-huh. Whatever. But can you blame me for being jealous? You’ve just had the most awesome thing ever happen. I don’t want to take it away from you. But damn. I want something like that for me too.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and squeeze her back. “Something amazing will happen for you too. I know it.”
With a short laugh, she releases me. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be awesome violinists and composers who happen to be dating the world’s hottest popstar. What are you even doing here?”
Sitting back, I stare at her for a second. “Don’t you want me here?”
“Pssh. Of course I do. Don’t be dumb. But, I mean, if it were me, I’m not sure I’d come back. Why? What’s here for you after that?”
Staring at my hands, I pick at my cuticles. “This was the plan. I’d finish school. Get my degree. Learn music. Study with Clara. Be part of an orchestra. I thought …”
“Yeah, but what then? You get your degree and start auditioning places. Then you’ll be there. And Jonathan will be … where? Still leaving to go on tour an awful lot, I’d imagine. Is that really what you want? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you guys seem pretty serious. I can’t imagine either of you ending it. But do you really want to do the long-distance thing forever?”
My head snaps up, and I meet her gaze. Her questions hit home, like a punch in the throat, for all they were asked in a gentle, curious tone of voice. Swallowing hard again, I look back at my hands. “But it was always my dream to play for an orchestra.”
“Is it still?”
I open my mouth to answer, to say, “Yes,” but I don’t. I can’t. Instead I say, “I don’t know.”
The two weeks until I get to see Jonathan again drag by. I’ve never been so annoyed to be in school. I’ve loved my time at Marycliff. My professors, for the most part, are awesome. I’ve made good friends. I get to immerse myself in music almost all day. What’s not to like?
Jonathan’s not here, for one. And people are writing on his Facebook page and Instagram and Tweeting at him almost every day, asking what shows I’m going to be at. Wanting to know when we’re going to record those songs and release them for everyone to have. Violinists of all levels asking for sheet music.
It’s blown up and become even crazier.
I’ve had to meet with the Dean of Students and the head of campus police about security. They’re still managing to keep the paparazzi from invading, but I have to stay on campus when I’m not with Jonathan if I don’t want my picture taken. It’s not as bad as after that video went viral last year, but it’s still a thing.
Jonathan’s PR team is now handling my PR as well. The fact that I need a PR team still boggles my mind. I have interviews coming up with Teen Girl Magazine, which was one of the ones I loved as a middle schooler. Teen Vogue is also wanting to talk to me. And I just got an email today that Billboard wants to chat with me for fifteen minutes for a short piece on their website.
And to think that a few short weeks ago, I hadn’t even told Jonathan about what I’d been doing.
Now I’m talking to sheet music publishers, agents, PR teams, the works. And in the middle of all this I’m supposed to be doing homework, going to class, practicing, and pretending to be a normal college student.
I don’t even know what to think about all this. I feel so far out of my depth. The only thing that makes me feel like I can do this is Jonathan. He’s helping me navigate all of this. And has put me in touch with my own agent to work with all the people who now want a piece of me.
After the way Angela treated me this summer, I had no interest in working with her. Jonathan’s even talked to his mom about who would be the best person to represent me. Even though she has nothing to do with his career this time around, she’s renewed all her contacts in the industry. Which seems weird and like a ploy to creep back into his life. But in this instance, it’s been helpful. My agent, Roman, specializes in the kinds of deals I’m currently getting involved in. He was Shannon’s top recommendation. I’d hesitated before calling Roman because of the source of the recommendation, but after talking to him, I’m glad I did it.
Colt and another guy I don’t recognize meet me at the terminal in Miami. I can tell from the way he holds himself that the other guy is part of the security team. It’s weird needing security again after flying under the radar for so long. But if I’m part of the tour, even if only some of the time, I guess I need it.
And with photographers following me around any time I leave campus now, plus the upcoming interviews, my picture is going to get around more, making me more recognizable.
Colt greets me with a quick hug and takes my backpack. “How was your flight?” he asks as he leads the way to the baggage claim. Even though I’m only here for a couple of days, I still checked a bag. I can’t fit all my clothes and homework into a tiny rolling suitcase, and my violin counts as my “personal item.”
“Uneventful. The weather cooperated so we weren’t delayed getting out. And I caught my connections without any problems. No one even batted an eye at the violin.”
He gives me a speculative look. “Do you normally get hassled about it?”
With a shrug I stop to look at the baggage carousels, trying to figure out which one is mine. “Not so much when I carry it on my shoulder so it’s sort of hidden by my body. If I’m carrying it by the handle, it’s more obvious how long it is. I’ve learned not to do that when checking my bag or boarding. It’s not worth the hassle.”
“Hmm,” is his only response. “Your usual purple suitcase?”
I grin. “You know it.”
We stand in companionable silence while waiting. I like Colt. We’ve developed an easy friendship since the tour started. Even though he gives Jonathan shit about being his assistant, the affection between the two is clear.
But I’m antsy waiting for my bag to appear. I want to get to Jonathan. And I know he’s probably pacing his hotel room waiting for me, chafing at the fact that he can’t come get me himself. Even though I merit security now, having him here to greet me is risking some kind of mob.
With his fame growing more and more, I know he’s planning on chartering a private plane the next time he comes to see me. From the speculative look Colt gave me when I mentioned having trouble traveling with my violin, he’s probably going to tell Jonathan to do the same the next time I have to fly to him.
My suitcase finally appears, tumbling down to spin around and around the carousel. I step forward to grab it, but Colt quickly passes me, his long legs eating up the ground as he tosses a look over his shoulder that says, Nice try.
I laugh. This has been a thing with us since the first time he had to pick me up from an airport. I’d try to get my bag. He’d beat me and say something like, “Right. Like I’m going to let you get your own bag. Pssh.” I always wait for the “as if,” at the end, but it never comes. Always left unspoken. Oh well.
My backpack on his shoulder and my purple suitcase dragging behind him, Colt lifts his chin to the security guy, and the three of us head for the parking lot.
In less than an hour I’ll be with Jonathan again.
We have a black SUV this time, instead of a dark gray sedan like usual. I ride in back with my violin, the security guy drives, and Colt rides shotgun. He turns in his seat and gives me a grin. “So you ready for this weekend?”
This concert is part of a big event that lasts all day Saturday. Jonathan’s only playing one shortened set, and I’m in half of it. It’s a fundraiser for disaster relief after this year’s hurricanes.
I grin and shrug. “Ready as I ever am. It’s the same stuff I’ve played a million times. But it’s a little intimidating to have so many other big names there. Charlie’s already emailed and said she couldn’t wait to watch us perform live.”
Nerves make my stomach roil just thinking about it. Charlotte James has been one of my favorite performers for years. The fact that I actually know her now still seems crazy to me. She’s been friends with Jonathan since Brash toured with her when he was sixteen.
Colt’s grin gets bigger. “Yeah, I’ve heard her berating Jonathan for ‘hiding you away’ until after Christmas. She accused him of trying to keep you out of the spotlight for his own nefarious purposes.”
“Wait, what? When was this? Why would she think that?”
He chuckles and turns back to face the front. “After you went back to school, they were on a call, and he had her on speaker. She wasn’t being serious. Well, not about the nefarious purposes thing. But she was miffed that he hadn’t told her he was going to add you to his shows.”
I chew on my lip while I contemplate that.
“She saw the videos of your first concert on YouTube,” Colt continues. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you this or not, but she might try to convince you to help with her next album.”
That makes me blink a few times, and my mouth drops open. That is not something I ever would’ve expected.
Colt turns to look at me again when I don’t say anything. “Hey. Don’t freak out. This is a good thing. And you already have an agent, so it’s not like you couldn’t do something like this if you want. But you can say no.”
“Yeah.” I have to clear my throat to get my voice to work right. “I know. It’s just—holy shit. I was just messing around in the practice room last semester. I never expected it to turn into this.”
Colt grins. “Crazy, right? I remember what that’s like. We were just three kids messing around with covers. Suddenly, everything exploded, and we were recording an album and going on tour. Kinda like what happened with Jonathan last year. You’ll adjust. Don’t worry. Hopefully it’s not over before you can blink like it was for us. But even if it is, you’ll be set for life. You’re already accruing royalties from Jonathan’s album since you get a songwriting credit. And you get a percent of the ticket sales on the concerts you play. If you guys record the songs with you playing, you’ll get even more. And if you start working with other bands … who knows? This is just the beginning. Go with it, and see where it takes you.”
“Yeah …” Too many thoughts are flying through my head. I want to spit them all out so I can organize them, but not with Colt. I want to talk to Jonathan. So I don’t say anything else.
The money stuff isn’t new information. Not entirely. Jonathan told me about the royalties on his album sales months ago. And the cut of the shows. But my percentage is so small that it didn’t seem like a big deal. Maybe some extra spending money. I haven’t even thought about it recently. Jonathan set up an account for me to have everything deposited, but I haven’t checked the balance. My parents are still helping with school, and I haven’t burned through the money I made over the summer yet, not with Jonathan insisting on buying so much for me when we’re together. My new wardrobe for the concerts came out of the tour budget, but Jonathan insisted I take the clothes home. Even though I said I could bring them back this time, he told me the other night that the stylist pulled a whole new set of outfits for my next series of concerts.
So for Colt to say I’m already set for life is news to me. I guess I haven’t paid attention to record and ticket sales. And a small percentage of a huge chunk of money, is still a lot of money, potentially.
Maybe I should check that bank account after all.