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Chapter Thirty-Six
“There was a contract too, in the back. For a royalty percentage. A good one, honestly, given how much of the song has changed for the album version,” Remy said flatly. “I guess she figured that’s what I wanted. Or something.”
“Well, I mean, that’s great. Awesome,” Val said stiffly.
“Pretty decent of her, considering,” Celeste added, nodding. “I mean, would’ve been nice for her to get that to youbeforeannouncing the release of a song you cowrote without your permission…”
Remy leaned his head against the crumbling brick, inhaling air full of figs and lemons and salt. It was late afternoon, the warmest part of the day, and the sun was low enough that it was blurry and flickering through the leaves of the neighbors’ orange trees. Celeste and Val were sitting in metal patio chairs—they’d only bought two for the little bistro table, and despite Val’s attempts to give up his seat, Remy had slumped against the wall of the house.
“I guess I should just sign the contract and send it back to her,” Remy said.
“The book? Or just the contract?” Val asked.
“Both. The contract. I don’t know,” Remy said, sighing. “I don’t want to keep the book. I don’t want to know it’s there because I don’t think I’ll be able to just stop looking at it, you know?”
“We could burn it,” Val said, frowning.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Celeste snapped and shoved him on the arm hard enough that Val winced.
“What? He won’t be able to read it then! I was just saying,” Val griped, rubbing his arm.
“You don’t torch a book of love songs, idiot. And you of all people should know better than to torch someone else’s music,” Celeste said.
Val looked ashamed—clearly, he hadn’t thought about the music-murder aspect of lighting the book on fire. This didn’t surprise Remy but rather comforted him. His older brother, threatening to beat up the book that was hurting his sibling.
But no. “I can’t just burn it. But I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to do with any of it,” Remy said. “I wish she hadn’t sent it.”
Celeste gave him a hopeful look. “But then you wouldn’t know. I mean, you’d just go on thinking it hadn’t been real. So that’s sort of great, right? That you know…well…that you know it was real…and…”
“And that it’s over? Thanks,” Remy said, rolling his eyes.
“Well, it’s still nice to know she loved you,” Celeste said, folding her arms. “But fine, whatever, burn the book, then.”
Val reached over and, before Remy could think to stop him, grabbed the Moleskine from where it’d been lying on the patio table between the three of them, like a poisonous snake or forbidden idol. It took Remy a beat to realize what his brother was doing—Val reached into his pocket and produced a vintage silver lighter, flicked it open, and—
“The fuck?” Remy said and scrambled to his feet. Celeste yelped. Val froze with the flame beside the pages—
“What?” Val asked, startled. “What?”
“Don’t!” Remy and Celeste both screeched in a harmony they’d never be able to duplicate on a record.
The flame from the lighter swished in the breeze. Val’s eyes opened a bit wider. “You want to keep this?”
“I don’t want to burn it! Put the lighter down, asshole,” Remy snapped.
“You literally just said you don’t want to look at it—”
“I don’t want to look at pictures of people’s newborns either, but that doesn’t mean I want them destroyed!”
“The pictures or the newborns? That’s dark,” Val said thoughtfully.
Celeste swooped in and knocked the lighter from Val’s hand; he whined at her, giving Remy a moment to snatch the book from his other hand. Remy glowered.
Val grinned. “Calm down, I wasn’t going to actually burn the book,” he said. “I was trying to make a point.”
“That Remy doesn’t actually want it destroyed? We’d already made that point,” Celeste said. She looked eager to make Val pay for all this later.
“No—that you, brother, don’t destroy the things you love. Even when they’re hurting you, you find a way to hang on to them in some tiny little way. When they’re me, or our parents, or our sister, or Celeste, or even when they’re Vivi Swan. You’re not going to burn this book up because you still love her. I’m no expert in romance or anything—”
