Chapter 8

8

Ethan

In the hour and a half since we left my place, Maddie and I have talked about surface level shit that I'm fairly certain neither of us are that interested in. My car. My condo. My gym routine. Her gym routine. The places I spent time in Europe over the last year. The fucking weather. It's when we get into the weather that I glance at her and say, "We need a road trip playlist, and you need to choose our first song."

"Why?"

"We can't do a road trip without a playlist."

"No, why do I have to choose the first song?"

"Because I said so."

"I'm beginning to think you're actually very bossy."

When I just arch a brow, waiting for her to comply, she grins. Then, she admits, "I don't know my password to log in to make a playlist on the app I use."

I reach for my phone. "Use mine."

"Do you share your phone so easily with everyone? Or just with strangers?"

"Do you often go away with strangers?" I give her a pointed look. "We're not strangers anymore."

A smile settles across her face. "No, we're not." She taps my phone. "You really should put a password on here."

"I've never lost a phone. I think I'm safe."

She stares at me with disbelief. "Seriously? Is that how you do everything? No safeguards in place?"

"You'd get on well with my assistant. He emails me a list every week with suggested precautions I should consider putting in place."

"Let me guess, it's the same list every week because you never action any of it."

"See, not strangers. You already know shit about me."

"And wow, your music tastes are fascinating."

I glance over and find her scrolling through my playlists.

"I haven't heard of half these bands," she says as she taps the phone. The sound of John Mayer singing an acoustic version of "Free Fallin'" fills the car.

"You haven't heard of John Mayer?"

She looks at me. "LOL. Everyone's heard of John Mayer, Ethan."

"Jesus, you speak in acronyms. We may have just encountered our first bump in the road."

"I'm pretty sure everyone speaks in acronyms."

"I don't."

"How boring your life must be."

I can't help the lift of my lips at her banter. It's been far too long since I've done this with a woman. "Should I anticipate a fuckload of googling just so I can keep up with you?"

"I mean, how fast are those thumbs of yours, grandpa?"

I lift my chin at her. "How about you start adding some songs to our list?"

"In the time you've grumbled about not wanting to be dragged into the twenty-first century, I've already added five songs. Would you like to hear the second one?"

"John Mayer made it to first spot?"

"Well, I don't know about the first spot. We'll need to add all the songs and then rearrange them into order. And let me give you a heads up, Grandpa Ethan doesn't get the final say on our number one song. God knows, you'd probably choose some old-timer song no one's ever heard of."

"All I heard just then was that we'll be rearranging the list after we've compiled it and I agree with this method."

"Oh, so you're deaf as well as stuck in your ways?"

I grin at her. "Just play the damn song."

She laughs right before Tom Cochrane singing "Life Is A Highway" blares from the speakers.

Maddie's choice both surprises and impresses me. I'd expected country, but I should have known the unexpected was likely from her. And then, fuck me, she starts singing and every thought in my head is stripped away.

Maddie's voice is liquid gold. Rich and velvety with a hint of raw vulnerability that adds depth to every lyric. It holds me captive without effort.

When I don't join in on the singing, she stops and says, "Don't tell me you have a no-singing rule on road trips. That really would be boring."

"That's your singing voice?"

She half laughs, half frowns at me. "Huh?"

"Is that the voice you sing on stage with?"

Her frown deepens as she inspects me like I've grown a second head. "How many singing voices do you have?"

"Fuck, ignore me. I've just never heard a voice like yours."

Her face smooths into understanding. I imagine she must have this starstruck experience often. "Right, so singing is allowed then?"

"Sing as much as you want."

"Will we be duetting?"

"I'm not a man who has a road trip playlist that doesn't get belted out, so yes, we'll be duetting."

Her smile is pure beauty. "Thank god for that. Do you want to hear the third song?"

"Play them all for me and feel free to give me a running commentary as to why you choose each song."

"Okay, so while I support this suggestion, I also go by feel when it comes to music rather than too much thinking."

I look at her. "So tell me your feels for each song."

She turns silent, watching me with a look on her face that says she's thinking deeply about something. When she speaks again, I expect to hear about her feelings over either the next song or the last one, but again, she gives me something else. "I've lived for twenty-eight years without anyone but my mother asking me for my feels. I wish there were more people out there like you." Then, she gives me a cheeky smile and says, "Also, did you actually just speak in slang or did I mishear that?"

"Fuck, I did. I've spent too much time recently with a friend who speaks almost entirely in slang."

Still smiling, she settles back against her seat. "That's great news. I no longer feel the need to alter my language so that you don't have to hurt your thumbs trying to google." She taps my phone. "Okay, so I've just added this next song for two reasons. First, I love it. And second, I want to hear your singing voice on it. And just in case you're a shy guy, we can duet this one so you don't feel under the spotlight."

I give her an amused look. "A shy guy?"

"It's a thing."

"I get that, but do I strike you as a shy guy?"

"Well, you might be when it comes to singing."

I shake my head at just how far off base she is. "Play the song."

With one last grin, she taps the phone and I immediately know the song before Jon Bon Jovi even begins singing. When the bass kicks in, Maddie turns the music up and starts nodding her head in time with the beat. By the time, Jon's voice sounds from the speakers, her entire body is in sync with the song.

We both sing the opening line of "Livin' On A Prayer" and Maddie's joy is written all over her face at this. We sing together, Maddie's eyes firmly on mine while I glance between her and the road. There's no way I can't look at her while we share this moment.

When we get to the chorus, Maddie closes her eyes, tips her head back, and belts it out. I match every lyric with her, wondering why I've never searched for a woman to do this with.

"Oh my god," she says as the song ends. "Can we spend all day doing this?" Her face is lit up so fucking beautifully and electrically that I wish I could press pause on life and figure out how to help someone keep a feeling forever. If I could give her anything right now, it would be that.

"How much of your time is actually spent singing?"

The light disappears from her eyes. And go me for achieving that. "It's not even about the amount of time I get to sing, it's the honesty in it that means more to me. This"—she gestures between the two of us—"was more honest than any singing I've done in a long while."

"That says a lot because I can't even sing."

"You were in every second of that song with me. That's everything to me."

"I think you might have to help me understand this. Surely, your fans are in every second with you when you're up on a stage with them?"

"They are. God, it's my favorite part of my work. Singing with them doesn't even feel like work. It's all the other bullshit I hate."

"The business of it all?" I get it if that's what she's referring to.

She nods. "Yeah, that, but mostly it's the manufactured brand that Tucker and Darren have created that I've struggled with. There's very little truth in it, and it kills me that our fans think it's all true."

"You don't have any say in it? Control over your own brand?"

She laughs and I feel the jaded mood of it. I sense her exhaustion. "The songs I write are at Tucker's and Darren's direction. There's not one song on any of my albums that's truly mine, that tells my fans something about me. I've had very little say in Madeline Montana from day one. I mean, Montana isn't even my real surname."

"Is Madeline your real name?"

"Yes. I got to keep that part of myself at least. Pretty much everything else is a performance designed to keep fans and find new ones. And even when I do something that wasn't planned, I've had it drummed into me to always remember people are watching and judging."

I'm not surprised about any of this. Not after watching my brother go through everything he has for his political career. And not after all the things I know about my friends who live in the public eye. The world puts the people they want to idolize through their paces, that's for damn sure.

"Okay," I say, "Play me a song that tells me something about you that no one knows."

Hesitation flickers in her eyes and it's in line with what I know of Maddie so far. I think her ex has taken her identity from her and I wonder if she'll be able to give me a song. I think she's confused as fuck about herself.

Just when it seems like she won't give me a song, she scrolls my phone and selects one. I don't know it and have no idea who the singer is but I'm immediately drawn to the lyrics.

It's essentially an anthem for women. The singer is telling herself and other women to embrace themselves. That all the confusion in a world full of comparison is natural but that they don't have to put up with this any longer. It's a song about the acceptance of imperfection.

"I've had "Girl" on repeat for months," she admits when the song ends.

"Who's the singer?"

"Maren Morris."

"Great lyrics." I meet her gaze. "Honest lyrics."

"I want to write lyrics like that."

"You don't already?"

"No. Well, yes...but I've kept them to myself. Actually, they're more like scribbled journaling than lyrics..." Her voice trails off and I get the impression there's a lot here for her to unpack about her work. But then, I think that's the lot of a creative person. There's a great deal of unpacking about our place in the world, what we actually have to say, what we want to say, and whether there will be acceptance of it.

Maddie finds my gaze again, more hesitation in her eyes. "This has been on repeat too," she says softly, and I know she's sharing a vulnerable piece of herself with me when another song comes on from the same singer. It's a cover of "Dancing With Myself" that Billy Idol originally sang. Maren Morris's version is slower, quieter. It feels more introspective. I think that for Maddie it speaks to not only her love life but also her career.

When it ends, we sit in silence for a long while before I turn to her. "You have over twenty million followers on Instagram. I wonder how many of them would kill to dance with the real Maddie? I bet it's more than you might think."

"You looked me up?" She's wide-eyed.

"No. Sasha was all about you yesterday during the wedding photos. And now I have no need to look you up. Sasha has ensured I have all your stats stored in my head."

A laugh busts out of her. "Oh, god. That's a lot."

"Based on my conversation with her, I'd say she's a superfan."

"Most of those twenty million come from Tucker. I don't know how many of them are really there for me, you know?"

We're interrupted when a string of texts come through on her phone. I give her the space to check them and focus back on the highway. A few minutes later, I spot a gas station and pull in.

As I cut the engine of my Range Rover, Maddie finishes texting and places her phone back in the center console. "Sorry about that. Leigh's having issues with my manager." She looks pained when she adds, "He's threatened her career if she doesn't give him my new phone number."

"No need to apologize. You've gotta handle your business. Is Leigh okay?"

"Yes, she's not the kind of person to let threats get to her, but I hate that I've put her in this position. I've just texted Darren to take the pressure off her, so I imagine he'll start blowing up my phone any second now."

"You want me to take over the management of your phone?"

She laughs. "I can only guess what you'd say to him."

"Try me and see."

She inhales a long breath before releasing it. "I'm so glad you forced your way into this road trip. You're helping take my mind off everything."

"Forced is highly inaccurate."

She tilts her head questioningly. "Bossed?"

"Let's agree that I came along because I wanted to get to know you. I also didn't want you to end up in your very own version of Misery."

"What's that?"

"The movie where an author is held captive by a fan. It's a Stephen King thriller. How have you never heard of it? How have you never watched it?"

"I don't do thrillers. Or horror movies."

"This is our second bump in the road."

"How many bumps before a friendship has to be declared impossible?" Her smile is infectious, or maybe it's just her presence that inspires so much enjoyment in me.

"I'm the guy who was almost the father of an eight-year-old, remember?"

"Right. You're also the guy who probably would have given up his entire fortune if asked. You don't let bumps deter you."

"The bumps make the ride interesting." As she thinks about that, I ask, "What's your real surname?"

"Miller."

"So much better than Montana."

She smiles and I think she likes that I asked for her real name. "It really is."

I reach for the door handle. "What snacks do you want?" We were nowhere near prepared for this road trip. It's time to load up.

To my great fucking delight, Maddie rattles off a list of junk food she'd like. I know far too many women with hang ups over their diet. It's refreshing to meet someone who'll eat what she wants.

I fill up with gas and food. Maddie starts eating a chocolate bar before we leave the gas station.

She eyes me as I start the car, holding up the Snickers bar I got myself. "How are you not already halfway through this?"

"Some of us have restraint."

She rolls her eyes. "Seriously. If you don't hurry up and eat it, I'll steal it."

"It's all yours, but I'm ready for some more duetting, so eat fast."

My phone buzzes with a text, then another, and another. When Maddie tries to pass it to me, I say, "Can you check it for me?" Another car has pulled in behind us, so I need to drive.

"Oh, you have a group chat with your brothers," Maddie says, reading my messages. "That's cute."

I steer the car back onto the highway. "It's practical."

She looks at me. "It's also cute. It's nice to see brothers getting along. I've just spent years with a guy who hated his brothers."

"We don't chat much through that group. It's usually just for making plans. What are they arranging?"

"Nothing. Gage texted first to ask where you're going. He says your father told him you were going on a road trip. Hayden and Bradford texted that they'd heard the same and are also wondering where you're going."

I messaged Mom and Dad earlier to let them know I was unable to come to the family dinner next week that they'd planned. Mom had texted back to have a good time. Dad hadn't been as kind. He texted his disappointment in me for canceling on my family. I should have expected that. I've been disappointing him my entire life.

"Ethan," Maddie prompts when I get lost in my thoughts.

I turn to her. "Can you text them back and let them know where we're going?"

"Sure." She taps out a text and then reads it out to me to confirm it's okay. She appears highly concerned about getting the text exactly right.

"Whatever you send will be good."

"No, I want to make sure it's what you would send. Maybe just tell me word for word what to send."

I reach over and hit send on what she'd already typed. "It was good."

She blinks at me like she can't believe I just did that. "I'd started deleting what I'd typed." She glances down at the phone. "And your big finger added some extra random letters before you hit send. That message won't make any sense to your brothers."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah, it'll give them something to pass their time with. Wondering what the hell I meant."

More blinking.

"Perfection is overrated, Maddie." At the sound of two new texts, I ask, "What did they come back with?"

She reads the texts, still giving off vibes of I don't understand you right now. Then, laughing, she says, "Oh, actually, this is fun. Maybe you're right. The text you sent ended up saying, ‘I'm driving to Styiiiioop' and somehow you also managed to get a middle finger emoji in at the end of it. Gage texted back ‘Is this a new game we're playing?' and Bradford replied ‘This is Kristen and I like this game already. Tell us more, Ethan.' Oh, and Callan's just texted ‘Olivia here and I'm thinking it's time this group chat had an upgrade. Kristen and I need to be added because you boys suck at games where you have to guess things. I'll add us in so we can help figure out where Styiiiioop is.'"

"Jesus," I say. "That group chat is never going to shut up now."

"Well, perhaps if you hadn't sent your text so hastily you wouldn't be in this predicament now."

"I'm detecting some passive aggressiveness there, Miller."

"And you would be right, Black."

I grin at her right as her phone starts ringing.

"Shit," she says checking it. "I have to take this call. It's my manager."