Page 63 of Falls From Grace
“There’s a lot of hype for this album,” she continued. “Between Savannah already being a significant artist and the fact that it’s her first solo work… all early indications report it’s going to be an incredible hit. So there’s a supernova of publicity coming your way, Ms. Marshall, and as of right now, you’re not even a newcomer; you’re a ghost.”
Brynn blinked at that.
“We know you’ve got the voice for it,” Jennifer continued, “and it seems you’ve got the writing chops, too. But time is incredibly short if we’re going to introduce you to the market at the right time, when the public are looking to find out who you are.” She fixed Brynn with a hard stare. “What I want to know is, are you hungry for it? Have you got the drive to buckle down and write harder than you’ve ever written in your life? Have you got the desire to work day and night to record an album in record time? Are you ready to perform night after night and turn this into your whole world? Because that’s what it’s going to need to be if you want to make this your reality.”
Brynn took a deep breath. She thought of her life. She thought of her dreams. She thought of the textbooks gathering dust on her shelf. She thought of her mother. And she thought of those weeks in the band room, with Noah and Savannah, the creativity that poured through them all, the haze of it, the heat of it; it was the happiest she’d ever been in her life, she realized that now.
“Yeah.” She met Jennifer’s eyes. “I am.”
She and Noah took seats outside as Bella rolled up her sleeves and faced down Jennifer, two legal reps and a stack of paper nine miles high. Brynn took a breath.
“Do you think I can do this?” she asked Noah.
He turned to look at her, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
“Hell yeah,” he told her, his face serious. Then he grinned. “Brynn Marshall, you absolute animal. I’ve been working my ass off for decades, finally climbing into a little recognition and here you swan into a major label record deal without even trying. I think I’d hate you if I didn’t love you.”
“Noah,” she tried. She’d been working up to this since almost the moment she’d gotten off the phone from Jennifer. “You’re on a hiatus right now. Would you… would you do this with me?”
He stared at her.
“How so?”
“I mean, like all of it. Write with me, record with me, tour with me, if it gets that far… You don’t have to-” she hastened to add.
“Are you for real? Fuck yeah, Brynn, of course I will. I’d be honored.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug. An hour later, his arm was still there, when Bella opened the door smiling and Jennifer called them in to tell them that Brynn had a record deal.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Savannah’s first album as a solo artist was finally finished. The previous night the band had all gone out to celebrate, piling into Tootsie’s, Savannah creating an accidental furor by getting drunk with the excited revelers and dancing in the crowd to the live music, security keeping a close eye and more or less succeeding in keeping the paparazzi at bay.
It was her first real return in years to the scene that had nurtured her into stardom. The early days of celebrity had been completely overwhelming and Savannah had hated the loss of anonymity, with what felt like crowds of eyes on her every move. She hated even more the infamy that came with Cole’s excesses and for a time avoided going out at all unless she had to. Then, she became a perpetually tired mom whose every foray into a public space involved expressions of sympathy or enthusiastic offers to punch her ex-husband in the face, even long after the dust had settled.
But the night the album wrapped, Savannah found for the first time in years that she wanted to dance. She got tipsy enough to welcome the enthusiastic interactions with fans and she shrugged off the occasional ex-husband-related comment with a smile and a lazy “Cole who?” to great delight.
Soon enough she would no longer be known as Cole Corbin’s jilted wife, nor one half of Twice Struck. Once the album dropped, she’d finally get to be Savannah Grace, for once and for all. She danced with abandon and when the performers on stage got wind that she was there, she got hauled up to join them and - at first, reluctantly and then with laughter - lent her vocals to an enthusiastic rendition of one of her old hits.
The next morning, she awoke with her first hangover in almost half a decade, her head aching, her stomach churning and a desperate yearning for someone to hold her. And not just any someone, she admitted to herself. She felt filled with a deep sadness, that for a moment, overshadowed the elation of what she’d just achieved. Her anger at Brynn renewed itself, and she pulled the pillow over her head and groaned.
Her phone buzzed and when she squinted at the screen, she saw Coral had sent through a link to a TMZ article showing Savannah staggering out of the bar in the early morning hours, laughing and leaning on Jed’s arm. Savannah’s Hot Night with Mystery Lover, the title read. Coral followed the text with about forty laughing face emojis.
“Am I going to need to send his wife a gift basket?” she asked wryly when Coral picked up.
“Depends,” Coral considered. “How was he in bed?” They both erupted into laughter. “Who do you think sent me the article? Lucinda loves it. She’s going to dine out on that for months.”
“Maybe it’s Jed who’s going to need the gift basket,” Savannah giggled. “I’m not sure he’s going to cope with being described as a mystery after being on stage with me for the last twelve years.”
“At least you look hot in the photos,” Coral commiserated. After they’d hung up, Savannah took a closer look. The Savannah of last night did look surprisingly great considering how worse for wear she’d been. Her hair had been curled before going out and it somehow just looked artfully mussed, while her favorite red lipstick was thankfully still on her lips. But more than that, she looked happy. The Savannah of this morning looked decidedly less glamorous and felt significantly less bright.
It had been over three months since she’d last seen Brynn. The first few nights had been the worst, Savannah waiting for Tucker to fall asleep so she could curl in a heap and cry until she exhausted herself into a fitful sleep, finally sure that she wouldn’t cave and try to call Brynn.
She missed her and raged at her all in the same moment and - even worse - she longed desperately for all that had never happened between them. She recalled the heat of their bodies as they almost touched, felt the way she’d trembled into Brynn’s arms, relived the desperate ache of her kisses. It still made her feel weak and Savannah never wanted to be weak over anyone ever again.
She’d mistaken weakness for strength the whole time she’d been with Cole, convinced she could carry them both through his tribulations, steeling herself against his transgressions and taking him back each and every time he fell to his knees, begging for her forgiveness. She’d clutched tight to his increasingly short-lived periods of sweetness and held herself up by sheer force when instead he made damn sure she suffered.
She’d never make that mistake again, drawing a boundary with Brynn so severe that she’d have no choice but to stand strong. If she didn’t see her or speak to her, then she couldn’t possibly crumble. And yet here she was, three months later, still feeling a bit like she’d been torn in two.
