Broken Records by Bree Bennett
Chapter 29
Upon waking from his coma, Nico blinked. A lot. He was a veritable blue-ribbon champion of blinking.
Lucy, Ben, and Rose took turns holding his hand, answering the mass of texts in their family chat, and retrieving coffee for each other. He wasn’t awake for more than a few minutes at time, but he was awake, and that was something.
Several hours later, he progressed to humming. Matteo had driven up from Sparrow Hill by that point, and he hummed back at his brother as if they were holding a conversation.
“Maybe he thinks he’s talking,” said Matteo, shrugging at Lucy. “Hmmm?”
“Hmmm,” agreed Nico, his voice hoarse and crackly.
“It’s okay,” Lucy said, stroking his forearm. “We’re here.”
“You gotta say it in his language,” said Matteo. “Hmmm, hmmm.”
“Hmmm,” said Nico, his eyes blinking slowly, as if they were weighted with sandbags.
“He says you need to go back to the hotel and nap,” Matteo said as he ran his gaze up and down her. “And maybe shower.”
“He didn’t say that.” Lucy glared at him. “I’m fine.”
Matteo clucked, and then in a softer voice, “Seriously, Lu. You look like shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Nico needs me.”
“You’re no good to Nico like this,” her brother continued. Lucy’s throat worked, her lip quivering as she balled her hands into defiant fists.
“Hmmm,” said Nico, soft and low.
“Promise me you’ll go shower,” Matteo said. “Please?”
Lucy bit her lip, unable to find the words amongst the jumble of fluorescent lights and machine beeps and the constant buzz of nurses, doctors, and patients outside the room.
And suddenly, she didn’t have to. Nico turned his head, ever so slowly, and blinked at her once more.
“Lucy?” he said, his lips cracked and pale. Her eyes filled with exhausted tears at the sound of her name. Another of his prolific blinks, and then, with brows furrowed as if he were trying to explain the meaning of life, he asked, “Where the fuck is Jack?”
* * *Jack walked into the main conference room at Derelict Records for his nine o’clock meeting with Frank and Keith Taylor. His head ached, and his eyes were bleary from lack of sleep. Trent, Kim, and Parker were already inside, but the Taylors had not yet arrived. He slumped into an office chair and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee—two creams, five sugars—from Parker, who stood at attention, eager to take notes.
“You ready for this?” Trent asked, his eyes glinting. Trent approached contract negotiation with the same hunger of a lion hunting down a gazelle. Jack had actually once seen him bare his teeth in a snarl at another lawyer.
Jack shrugged at his lawyer. “Might as well get it over with.”
Trent sobered and lowered his voice. “How’s the brother?”
“Awake,” Jack said. “Not talking yet, the last I heard. But awake.”
“These things take time,” said Trent, wincing a little at the words. It was a generic hope things get better saying, and they both knew it, but Jack appreciated it all the same.
Frank and Keith Taylor entered the room, trailed by Ted, their gangly yet terrifying lawyer. Hands were shaken, greetings were given, and then they got down to business.
“Well, Jack,” said Frank, his white teeth spread in a proud grin. “I can’t believe it, but you’ve really turned yourself around in a few short months. I really didn’t think you’d be able to after the Prince Harry incident, but look at you.”
“Your single is climbing the charts,” added Keith. “Your social media following continues to grow, and your interviews are getting great ratings.”
“And I haven’t been called in to clean up after you,” said Ted in a dry voice. Jack narrowed his eyes, but the lawyer shrugged nonchalantly and handed over a copy of the new contract as well as a tour agreement.
“Derelict is really happy to have you,” said Frank in a softer, fatherly tone. “And I look forward to our future together.”
The room was silent as Jack, Kim, and Trent flipped through the contracts, broken only by the occasional question or statement. The further Jack got into the paperwork, the more the words swam on the page. At one point, he had to stand up and refill his coffee, as an escape from the legal jargon that was causing his chest to compress and his hands to twitch. All he could think of was the last contract he’d signed, a few sheets of paper locking him to one enigmatic woman for two whole years. A contract that signed away a small fortune and all freedom to be a drunken buffoon, just to obtain this contract.
Jack had been much happier signing that contract.
When he sat down again after a few tremulous breaths, he leafed through the tour agreement. “I want this changed.”
“What do you want to be changed exactly?” asked Ted, narrowing his eyes.
“Hasan Desai, Lainey Mills, Maya Rodriguez, I want their tour agreements to match mine.”
No one spoke for a moment, then Frank snorted in disbelief. “That’s a lot of money, Jack. We don’t have that in the budget.”
“Take it from mine, then,” Jack said. “Split everything evenly amongst the four of us. Same for any profits from shows.”
Trent’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?” he hissed in Jack’s ear. Jack swatted him away gently.
“Alright,” said Frank. He gaped at Jack as if he were a crazy person, which of course, he was. “We can do that. They haven’t signed their agreements yet; the changes can still be made.”
Jack contemplated the other contract, which would tie him to Derelict for at least two more years. He fiddled with the plastic lid of his coffee cup until the tab broke off and drops of coffee splattered onto the table, inches from the pristine legal document.
He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he missed the scent of cocoa and lavender.
“I’m not signing that one,” Jack said.
Trent perked up, ready to counter, and Kim flashed him a questioning glance.
“All right, Jack, what do you want?” asked Keith, tenting his fingers. “I’m sure you’ll agree this is a lucrative offer.”
“I’m sure I do agree,” Jack said. “I’m just not signing it.”
Trent tilted his head at Jack, staring as if he had grown antlers. Jack almost felt sorry for his lawyer. He got off on negotiations, and Jack was about to yank that away from him.
“I don’t understand,” Keith said, baffled. “What do you want to be changed?”
“Nothing.” Jack stood, pushing his chair back in. Trent rose next to him, but his brows were still wrinkled. “I’m just not signing with you.”
Frank turned bedsheet white, and Keith jumped to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about? Did you already sign with someone else?”
“You could say that.” Jack pictured Lucy’s long, lacy handwriting on their contract, written with a gimmicky Elvis pen. “Just not another label.”
Keith made a strangled, huffing noise, and Jack offered an apologetic smile. “Send Trent the new tour agreement when it’s updated. It’ll be a successful tour. People love a farewell tour.”
“A farewell tour? What the hell is going on?” Keith’s jaw dropped. Frank, however, was studying him with speculation, his earlier anger replaced with thoughtfulness. Across the table, Kim, his wonderful, unflappable Kim, had her hand to her heart and a smile dancing around her lips.
“I’m done, Keith,” Jack said, and as he did, he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate into nothingness. “I’m retiring.”
“You can’t retire!” the man stammered. “We can make so much money together, Jack! Come on, now!”
Jack shook Frank’s hand, then Ted’s. When he held his hand out to Keith, he stared at it, the color draining from his face.
“Keith,” Jack said. “Did you know Elton John once let Stevie Wonder drive his snowmobile?” He patted the executive’s shoulder. “If he can survive that, you can survive this.”
And with that, Jack picked up his coat, winked at his former team, and walked out the door.
* * *Lucy gave in and went back to the hotel and took a shower. Afterward, she laid down for a one-hour nap. She dreamed of a surly rock star under the world’s most magnificent duvet, and a one-hour nap somehow turned into fourteen hours of the deepest sleep she’d had in weeks.
By the time she rushed back to Nico’s side, Matteo was already there, sipping his morning coffee and reading to their oldest brother. Nico wasn’t quite sitting, but he was at a slightly higher incline than the previous day.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” said Matteo. She gave a quick head jerk in greeting and then did a double take at the book in his hands.
“Are you reading him The Baby-Sitters Club?” she asked, tilting her head for a better look at the title.
“He’s a literature professor who can’t fight back.” Matteo grinned with the evil that only little brothers could manage. “Besides, he’s learning a lot.”
“Are you?” she asked Nico.
He twisted his mouth in a half-grimace, most likely a less painful version of a shrug. “Mary Anne loves Logan. I think.” His patter was slow, and every expression and movement had a bewildered sluggishness to it, but her brother was there, alive and on the way to wellness.
“Do you remember anything?” she asked, taking a seat next to her brother’s bedside.
He started to shake his head, winced at the movement, and went for a muttered, “No” instead. “I was in an accident,” he said with halting, jerking words. “But I don’t remember. And my leg is hurt.” The latter was an understatement, and by the way his face clouded, he was quite aware.
“But we’ll get you fixed up in no time,” said Matteo with blustering cheer. “You’ll be helping me repair Mom and Dad’s fence this summer for sure.”
Nico’s lips twitched but his eyes dulled. Fence-building was a long way away for him. His gaze crawled to his little sister.
“Lucy,” he said. “You should go home.”
She shook her head. “I slept all night. I’m feeling much better. I can stay with you all day.”
“I meant New York.” Nico swallowed and closed his eyes with a weary sigh. “Jack’s probably a mess without you.”
“I can confirm that,” Matteo said. “I love your husband, but he’s making us all crazy.” He handed Lucy his phone, the screen showing a chat between Matteo, Dante, and Jack that was probably ninety percent texts from Jack. “Dante gave up and just started replying in Jack Hunter reaction gifs.”
Lucy smiled at a looped animation of her husband performing an exaggerated eye roll during a stint as an awards show presenter. “I’m sure he’s thrilled with that.”
Nico’s eyes fluttered open again. “I’m not a timeshare.”
Both Matteo and Lucy stared at him. “He’s been saying weird stuff,” Matteo sighed. “It’s the brain-scrambling he’s had.”
Nico did his best insouciant glare without moving his head too much. “My brain isn’t scrambled. Mostly.” He flicked his eyes back to Lucy. “I know you, Lu. You hold guilt tighter than anyone I know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m trying to explain,” he said. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a close approximation of a smile. “Just because you were kept away from us for so long, doesn’t mean you need to bank up time with us now.”
Lucy inhaled sharply, her eyes stinging. “But you’re hurt.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Nico said. “Trust me. Everyone else had to go back to their lives. Even this loser here.”
“Hey, now!” protested Matteo. “Remind me to shove you later when you’re not a giant bruise.”
“I’m gonna be fine,” repeated Nico. “Don’t put your life on pause for me. It was on pause for too long as it was.”
Lucy looked away, focusing on the heart rate monitor attached to her brother, trying to catch her breath.
“Okay, bring in the big guns,” Nico said, and she whirled back to him. He wiggled an index finger at Matteo, and despite her imminent tears, Lucy never thought she’d be so happy to see something as minor as a finger wiggle.
Matteo pulled out his phone and dialed someone via video call. Lucy wiped at her eyes, preparing to see Jack again. God, how she missed him. Instead of Jack, though, Parker’s face filled the screen.
“Parker?” She glanced at Matteo. “How’d you get his number?”
Matteo snorted. “Are you kidding? Jack sent all of us a phone tree of everyone they should call if you so much as sneezed. I might have Celine Dion’s number at this point.”
“Lucy,” Parker said, scratching at his neck. “Jack, uh, did something yesterday.”
“Oh no,” she said, hands going to her temples. “How much bail do we need?”
“No, no, no.” Parker waved his fingers in a “calm down” motion. “Nothing illegal. I mean, the day’s still young, of course. But he’s making an announcement tonight on The Late Show with Jerry Manning and I think you should be there.”
“What announcement? What’s happening?” Her head reeled, possible scenarios spinning through her brain like a tilt-o-whirl of anxiety. She glanced over at Nico, biting her lip.
“Literally,” he said dryly, wiggling his finger toward his mangled leg, “not going anywhere.”
“I’ve got a comp ticket to the show,” added Parker. “And a one-way ticket from Indy to New York, if you know anybody who needs to get here in a hurry.”
“I’ll be right there,” piped up Matteo. “Lucy, you take care of Nico.”
Lucy laughed and jumped to her feet, planting a kiss on Matteo’s forehead, and then Nico’s. And then a kiss to Parker on the phone screen, just for good measure.
“Go on,” grumbled her older brother, closing his eyes with an exhausted sigh. “Trust me—I’ll be here when you get back.”