Did something happen?Did he lose the rights?
Is he planning an acoustic rerelease?He HAS to bring it back!!
My heart slams against my ribs.
He really stopped.
He really meant it.
I stare at the letter in my hands, fingers trembling.
The sound of the front door opening shatters the silence.
My body jolts so hard I nearly knock my laptop off my desk.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Joel’s home.
My pulse kicks up, panic slamming through me as I scramble to shove everything back into the envelope.
The check, the contract, the lyrics, the letter—all of it.
I shove the envelope back into the drawer, slamming it shut just as his footsteps hit the hallway.
My hands are too hot.
The paper lingers on my fingertips, phantom-weighted, like it’s burned itself into my skin.I flex my fingers, pressing my palms flat against my desk, trying to force the feeling to go away.
I barely have a second to school my features, to erase every single emotion clawing up my throat before he appears in the doorway.
I amcalm.I amnormal.I am totallyfine.
I force my shoulders to relax, casually reaching for my laptop like I wasn’t just on the verge of a full-blown existential crisis.
Joel leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze too sharp, too knowing as it sweeps over me.
Something is different.
I can feel it before he even speaks.
I don’t like it.
Ireallydon’t like it.
But I pretend not to notice.
Instead, I lift my chin, blinking at him with forced disinterest.“You’re back early.Not enough groupies tonight?”
Joel doesn’t answer right away.
His gaze flicks to the desk—to the drawer.
My stomach clenches.
Oh god, does he know?