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9
After I performthe anthem for a sold-out crowd of rowdy playoff Lakers fans, security helps me back up to the box we have for the night. The second I see all the people I care about, I relax a few notches.
I make my way toward the front, where Annie, Rae, Elle, and Beck are sitting, drinks in their hands.
“You were a little flat at the end,” Elle says.
I rub a hand through my hair, leaning against the back of Annie’s seat. “Blame the sound engineers.”
“Never blame the sound engineers,” Haley calls from where she’s grabbing food.
Beck leans over the front, eagerly scanning the home and visitors’ benches.
“You been to a game before, Beck?” I ask.
He snorts. “I’ve been courtside twice this season. The network started offering me seats, and I accepted.”
“Can’t remember you watching any sports when we roomed together,” I say.
“We didn’t have time, hustling it out. I had to be efficient with my sports consumption.”
“So, you got off to a lot of jock porn,” Rae supplies, and we all laugh.
“What about when you went to school, Haley?” Beck calls. “Who’d you date?”
She joins us, sinking into a seat next to him, her eyes dancing. Even though she’s only a decade older than us, I know she’s seen a lot. “For a while, I had this guy Dale asking me out. He played at the open mic nights I ran on campus. In fact, he was asking me out right up until I left for Jax’s tour the summer after junior year and was ready to pick it up after I got back.”
“What happened?” Rae leans across to grab some popcorn from the bin Beck’s holding.
“Jax showed up.”
Annie’s jaw drops. “Dad went to a campus open mic night?”
“He wasn’t there for the music,” she admits, cutting a look toward her husband.
Jax approaches, looming over us in a dark button-down and jeans. An Astros hat shields his face from any fans looking too closely from nearby seats. “The hell you talking about, Hales?” He folds tatted arms over his chest. “You make it sound as if I chased your ass all over town.”
“You chased me over a lot of towns,” she replies, deadpan.
We all crack up, except Jax, who’s left shaking his head, a look of adoration on his face.
Until he turns to me, motions me aside. “We need to talk.”
Annie glances between us, her smile freezing before she returns to her friends, who’re talking about Beck’s show.
I follow Jax to the bar at the back.
After ordering a bourbon, he says, “We have a problem.”
When the bartender nods to me, I shake my head. “I thought we had a revised estimate on the debt. Lawyers said we’re in the right ballpark now.”
“We are. It’s not Wicked. It’s the artists. Ones with contracts coming up. They’re saying they won’t stick around if the company sells.”
I frown. “But they’re the ones who subsidize the up-and-coming talent.”
He nods. “The label won’t be solvent if we don’t have those existing artists producing hit albums.”
The bartender returns with Jax’s bourbon, and we step away for some privacy, staring out over our friends who’re watching the game.
