17. Waylon

Chapter Seventeen

WAYLON

" G oddamn, Waylon." Chance looks at me excitedly, shaking my hand. "You got him here. You got Justin St. James back in the recording studio. That is fucking fantastic."

I grit my teeth, trying to smile, but it doesn't work. I know I kind of pressured Justin into this, but I'm hoping this is the right move. His songs are perfect, and this studio is one of the biggest ones in Nashville. Chance may be a sleazeball, but he knows what he's doing.

It's the fastest way to get this done. And we go way back. "You think he's ready?"

I look at Justin, already in the booth, his guitar in hand. "I do. These songs, they're different from what everyone is used to from him."

He nods at that, but then he shrugs. "But it's Justin St. James. It'll sell. And it's not like we can't fix it up."

"No," I say firmly, my eyes meeting his, which are full of surprise.

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean he has the creative control. You don't touch his songs. That's the deal." I promised him, and I'll make damn sure I keep my word on that part.

"You know we know what we're doing." He motions toward the records all over the walls, showing off the studios achievements.

"I do." I look over at Justin again and offer him a reassuring smile. "But so does he. He's back, but under his conditions."

"Well, let's just listen to them first before we get all worked up," he says I think more to his assistant than to me, but it doesn't matter. I won't back down on this. He doesn't need the money. Or the fame.

If this studio won't produce the record, there'll be someone else who will.

Justin begins to play, and I watch Chance as he listens. Not seeing a hint of him liking what he hears, but not seeing that he doesn't either. He's playing this one close to the vest, and that's fine.

Justin sings three songs before Chance motions for him to come out of the booth, his face grim as he faces us both. "They're good." But he doesn't sound happy. His eyes meet mine. "But they aren't marketable."

"You said yourself, they'll sell."

He huffs and looks over at Justin. "You need to let us play around with the music a little. We can make these work. They're catchy, but some of it is a little dreary. That second song... I'm not sure that's what your fans want from you."

I watch Justin's firm jaw set. "It's what I want. If they're true fans, they'll love it because it's me."

"Just let us add in some, I don't know, happy."

I roll my eyes and huff, sick of this. I knew it was probably a bad idea to come to him. "We'll walk. He doesn't need the studio, but you being the one to put out his first, and maybe only, solo album, that's a big deal."

Chance looks around the room at all the records and then at me, his eyes narrowed. "I don't think it's going to work out."

Justin tries to hide his shock, but I see it before he schools his handsome features. "Okay then," I say, shaking Chance's hand and steering Justin out of there. He looks bewildered as we get into the car.

"He passed."

"It's fine. You can self-produce, if you want, or we'll find someone else to do it, if you want this. If not, well... I'll book a damn bar."

He looks over at me and shakes his head. "Am I being an idiot? Are the songs bad?"

I instantly answer him with a quick shake of my head. "They aren't. They're different. And to some fans, that's going to be hard. But it doesn't matter, Justin. They're beautiful songs, and they should be out in the world."

He swallows hard, his eyes troubled before he looks out the window, and I start the drive back to the cabin.

I hate this. I know I let him down, and that's just unacceptable to me. How the hell do I keep letting this man down over and over?

"I'm a goddamn mess, huh?" he asks with a slight laugh.

"No." I grin and turn onto the dirt road that leads up to the cabins. "Well, no more than any other artist."

He laughs. "Maybe I should let them have all the control."

"Nope." I park the Jeep. "We aren't doing that. This is how you wrote them, and you're keeping them that way. It's scary, but you can do this." I decide tough love is the way to go.

He looks out over the Tennessee hills and nods, determined. "Okay. So what now?"

I smile, so damn happy we aren't going to wallow. "Now, I'm going to work my magic."

I wink at him and hop out of the Jeep, my phone already out, ready to make this happen for him.

A week later, we're in another Nashville studio, but I have a much better feeling about this. Daisy's studio is smaller, much smaller, but I like the vibe, and she's thrilled when she hears the songs.

She's ready to sign him already.

I look to Justin to see if this is what he really wants, and he seems pretty damn content. "And you won't change them at all?"

"That's not what we do here," Daisy says with a kind smile. "I take on artists who write their own songs for a reason. You want your story told. I'm here to help you tell it. Not tell you how to. Your songs are beautiful."

She's not just saying that to seal the deal. Daisy is the real thing, and I'm grateful.

"Okay. And do I have to agree to concerts and stuff?" Justin looks nervous now, his hand going to the back of his neck in a nervous habit. "I mean, I probably can. I just..."

Daisy places her hand over his that's on the table, and I didn't miss the slight shake. I doubt Daisy did either. "All we do is produce the album. Yeah, we'll promote it, but we let you decide how you want to promote it on your end. Wherever you decide to do it. We don't want to own you," she says kindly, and I swear I see the relief on his face instantly.

"I was owned for a really long time," he says honestly, his eyes glassy.

She frowns at that but nods her head knowingly. "I know. My grandpa was an artist." She looks over at the wall lovingly toward a picture I recognize—the dude is super damn famous. Especially in Nashville. My eyes meet hers as she smiles sweetly. I had no idea that was her grandfather when I set up this meeting. "And he hated studios. He just wanted to sing what he wanted to sing. It's why he started this studio back in the day before he passed."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I say earnestly.

"Thank you." She sighs softly and looks at Justin. "I want to keep his legacy going. I want you to sing what you want. When you want. And I couldn't have been more thrilled when I got the call from Waylon. You're perfect for this. Those concerts in the bars? They're inspirational."

Again, she's not saying it for false flattery. "Really?" he asks.

She nods. "I think it's great. Getting back to basics."

Justin looks a little sheepish. "I never really got to do that. They recruited me for Immoral, and we were touring huge stadiums from the start."

She smiles. "So you needed that even more then, huh?"

He nods. "I think so."

"Is that what you still want to do?" Daisy asks but doesn't seem to be wanting one answer more than another.

"I'm not sure. I want this record out there, but I don't want to go on huge tours again. I don't want my life to not be my own."

She nods her head knowingly. "Okay. Sounds good. Let's get this recorded then. And out there."

We sign the papers then and there, which is pretty much unheard of, but Daisy, I quickly realized, is a rare light in this world. And this is where Justin wants to be. We set up a recording schedule and head back to the cabin where we strip down and celebrate, with his cock being buried deep inside me until we're both so sated we can't and don't want to move.

He lays his head on my chest, and I hold him to me. "You made it happen."

"It's not done yet." I have to say it because I'm not ready to let him go, and the thought was strangling me.

"No," he says, nuzzling even closer into me and breathing me in. "It's not."

I need to be strong. Justin is an amazing man, but I don't do relationships. I don't have time for them. I like the quick, easy hookups because they're convenient for my schedule.

It does have to end. We both know this. We're both adults, and despite being fond of him, it won't end well when it does inevitably end.

It doesn't have to get messy.

We can do this.

I can set him up and make sure he's happy, just like I set out to do.

I can and will let him go.