Loving a Man Who Forgot Me Novel Chapter 80
But as long as they were picking at each other, at least it meant they left me alone.
I didn’t need anymore intervention shit. I wasn’t looking forward to this party as it was.
Abbi hadn’t even wanted an engagement party so soon in the wake of the funeral, but all the moms had insisted this family was in desperate need of a happy occasion.
A reason to celebrate. And I couldn’t just skip it. I couldn’t do that to Abbi, no matter how much I wanted to. We hit Brookline and Jesse dropped me and Addie at home with hours to spare before the party.
I took refuge in Dad’s studio. He found me in there making a few tweaks to the song we’d worked on together. God, had it really only been a couple of weeks ago? Felt like much longer. So much had happened.
“That’s sounding real good,” Dad commented, pulling up a seat. “Thanks,” I muttered, my fingers pausing their plucking. “You going to record it?” He asked casually.
“That’s the question isn’t it? What everyone wants to know. Is it the end for Abel McCabe or just Rebel Cry?”
“Nah, it’s not the end for you,” he said assuredly. “You couldn’t quit music anymore than you could quit breathing.
We’re the same that way, but you can live your music more than one way. I found my way. You have to find yours, and if it takes you some time, then it takes some time.”
“I don’t know how much time the label wants to give me to figure it out.” “About that . . .” he said. I picked my head up farther. “What?” “I got you a little more time.” “What’d you do?” “The guys and I are going to release the album with the label.”
“What? But you were going to produce it independently.” He shrugged. “Because I could. Doing it this way doesn’t hurt me any. They can have their cut. It’s never been about the money.” “You’re right. It’s not.” “So then, you really have nothing to worry about.
You’ve got time, and even if you decide you’re done with the label, and they sue, you’re still going to be fine. And if you decide you want to keep pursuing music, you’ve got options besides the label. I know a guy who’s been known to help produce some pretty big albums.”
I chuckled. “You saying you want to produce my next record, Dad?” He grinned and shrugged, “After we record that song of yours together, you might decide you like working with your old man.” My brow furrowed. “What do you mean after we record this song?”
“I want you to record it for my record. I didn’t tell the label anything about it. It’s not part of the deal I made, but I think you should. You need it and the world needs it, Abel. It’s a damn good song. Not one that you should keep to yourself.”
Could I really record it? It was a love song for my ex, who was now set to marry someone else. Fuck it. Yeah, I could. “Okay,” I told him. “Let’s do it.” The music was the one place I’d always allowed myself to be honest.
Rebel Cry had albums full of songs about Abbi in one way or another. This wouldn’t be the first. Dad had me play through it a few times, each time with a minor change here or there, and then he played through it, so I could listen.
I suggested a few more changes with the melody, and taking it up half a register, then we played through together. When we were done, I felt really good about it. Then we talked recording. Dad scratched his jaw and then said, “What do you think about doing something completely different?”
“What do you have in mind?” I felt a tiny spark of excitement. His creative genius was flowing. “I’m thinking you on guitar, and then a piano and a cello. That’s it.” I considered, trying to hear it in my head, it was so different from the band’s sound, but different wasn’t bad.
Different was exactly what I needed. With a grin, I said, “Yeah, let’s do it.” “And I think we need to do a live video recording too. Tease your fans with it. Right now they don’t know what’s going on. We’ll release a clip, and then the whole video when the album goes live.”
“I just so happen to know a drummer who was classically trained on the piano, and still has some skills. Fans might like to see his face too.”
Dad and I continued to work out the details, and I texted Gabe while we sat there. He was in, and when Mom dragged us out of the studio to get ready to leave for the party, I was slightly less depressed than when I’d gone in.
Of course, that changed when we got to the party and I walked into her parents’ dining room and saw Abbi snuggled up to her fiancé, that shiny ring sparkling on her finger. Better get used to it. She looked over at me and the bright smile she’d been wearing faltered slightly.
Dammit. I couldn’t ruin her party. She shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being happy. My plan was get in, make my appearance, wish them well, and get out so they could enjoy their night. I shoved down everything I felt and forced myself to smile as I approached the couple.
Abbi’s eyes tracked my steps. I wasn’t sure that she was breathing. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure that I was either. I exhaled slowly through my nose and then drew in a steadying breath as I stopped in front of them.
“Hey.” There was something almost sad and maybe a little unsure in Abbi’s voice. “Thanks for coming.” Jason, ever the gentleman, stuck his hand out and I detected nothing fake in his smile.
I shook it and then, not knowing what else to do, awkwardly hugged Abbi. Only, as soon as my arms were around her, it didn’t feel awkward anymore. It felt right. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt like she relaxed in my arms too. I let go and we broke apart.
“Congratulations guys.” “Thank you,” Abbi said, her voice a little scratchy. “I heard there was going to be food, so I’m going to go find that,” I excused myself and found my way to the kitchen. I eyed the champagne and beer set out in ice buckets.
Tempting, but sobriety was my annoying friend tonight. Yup, back on the wagon after my brief stint off it. The whiskey hadn’t seemed to help anyway.