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I nodded. I had known that Finn and Alistair’s mother was long gone, but I had never connected it with my own situation. I dropped my gaze to the counter. “I feel like my life would have been different if I’d had a dad around. Like I would have been a different person.”
“I feel the same.” His voice was soft. “I got into music as a kid because I was lonely and wanted attention.”
“Me too.” I gave him a wry smile. “Except it was a different kind of music.”
“I don’t even know what I would be like if I had never discovered music. Or maybe I would have discovered it anyway, even if she had stayed.” He shook his head. “Dad was a truck mechanic raising two boys by himself. He worked extra shifts to pay for my voice and dance lessons, because I wanted it and because all of my instructors said I had talent. Dad wasn’t some Hollywood parent who knew what he was getting into. When my career took off, it was so fast. We were both in over our heads.”
“He let you pretend to date those models.” I couldn’t help saying it, because it was on my mind. “You were so young.”
Finn ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain. They made it sound so reasonable, like it wasn’t a big deal, like everyone does it. There was so much money at stake, and if I let everyone down, people would lose their jobs. It was like being behind the wheel of a car that had no brakes.” He dropped his hand. “After it was all over, when Dad was sick and living here with me, we talked about it. We had a lot of long conversations, about everything. He only ever wanted what was best for me. It was just that, for a time, he had no idea what that was, and neither did I.”
Did Mom want what was best for me? Was that why she had fought me for every step of my music career? Did Vicki want what was best for me? I had been so determined to defy both of them, to defy everyone. My reasons seemed now to have more to do with Dad than they ever had with Mom and Vicki.
“Everyone says I’m just like Dad,” I said, my voice trembling more than I intended.
It was Finn’s turn to cross his arms. “That’s because they don’t see you. Not really.”
I swallowed hard, and then I looked up at the ceiling. “Some of that might be my fault. I’m not exactly good at sharing. Only some of it, mind. The rest is all on them.”
Finn smiled. “Take a shower. Then—it pains me to say this—put clothes on. We’re going out.”
“Where?” I asked him.
He held his arms out from his sides in an expansive gesture. “We’re in the wilds of Washington, and I have a dog. We’re going walking.”
NINETEEN
Finn
I had been dramatic when I’d said I lived in the wilds of Washington. I lived, in fact, on a piece of property just large enough to give me privacy, but not so large that I could disappear. I could walk long enough along the damp, rocky paths of my property until Gary got tired, and then I could turn around and go home. I couldn’t see any other homes from my windows, but in twenty minutes of driving I’d be in the parking lot of Costco.
Still, as I took Juliet walking with me, it felt like we were briefly in the middle of nowhere, away from everything and everyone else. I was used to solitude, but one of the things I was reluctant to admit was that in the years since Dad died, my life had become lonely. I was a lighthouse keeper on the end of a jut of rocks, looking out at the ocean. This morning felt different.
Juliet wore the jeans and sneakers she’d arrived in yesterday. She’d swapped yesterday’s T-shirt for a different one, and she’d put on one of my lined flannel jackets to keep out the chill. It was too big on her, but of course she pulled it off. Juliet had the rock star’s ability to wear literally anything and make it look like she was about to take the stage.
She complained only briefly about our enforced outdoor exercise, and then she warmed to it. The walk was good for her baseline of restless energy. Gary trotted beside us on the leash I held, doing his usual routine of digging his nose into wet mounds of earth and pretending that he might chase squirrels and birds.
I took the earbuds out of my ears. Juliet had played me a rough recording from the take in which she’d sung backup for Denver. I put the earbuds into their case and slid the case into my pocket.
Juliet put her phone away, but she didn’t look at me. She kept her gaze straight ahead. I could practically see her struggling with herself, trying not to ask me out loud what I thought of it. Everything was always an argument with her, especially when she argued with herself.
“It’s really good,” I said when I realized she was never going to ask. “It adds more emotional depth to the song. I think when you rehearse it, you should play around with the key of your harmony. Different keys will give different moods. It could sound darker or lighter, depending on what you’re going for. If you want, when we get home I can import it into my mixing program and show you what I mean.”
Her cheeks were red, partly from the exertion and partly, I thought, from pleasure. I’d said something right. I didn’t think it was as simple as Juliet wanting my approval of her musical talent—she’d never needed it before, and she didn’t need it now. But her skin suffused with color, and she didn’t look at me.
“You can do that?” she asked. “Change the sound?”
“Very roughly, yes,” I said. “I can split the tracks out and edit them. It won’t sound polished—more like a sketch. But it will give you an idea of what you can try.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” she said, still arguing more with herself than with me. “Just because I slept with you doesn’t mean you get to take over my music.”
I was more amused than annoyed. “Have you ever tried making things easier for yourself?” I asked her. “I recommend it.”
She gave me a fiery glare. “You don’t have all the answers, Finn.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” I agreed. “What I have, as you’ve told me, is a lot of spare time because I have no career.”
Juliet stopped walking and turned to look at me. Her brows drew down. “Wait. Did I actually say that?”
