Free Light My Fire by Abby Reynolds Page B

rubbed his chin. “I can never talk to my boys like this. They think I’ve moved on and I’m fine. But in truth, I’ll never be fine. And my mom wants me to remarry. But I think she just wants grandchildren.”
    “You have to do what’s best for yourself—not anyone else.”
    He looked at me with new eyes. “So you don’t think I’m pathetic for not moving on, even eight years later?”
    “Not at all.”
    He sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”
    “You don’t have to be fake around me. And if your mom bothers you again, tell her to go to hell.”
    Dean laughed. “That’s a bit disrespectful.”
    “Life is too short to live for other people.”
    His eyes glanced at the picture of his dead wife. “That it is.”
    ♫
    I was so nervous. I felt sick and nauseous. At any moment, I was going to vomit my breakfast. Dean noticed my unease.
    “You’ll be fine. Pretend they aren’t even there.”
    Ha. Easier said than done.
    Dean got me a black silk romper. He told me to pull my hair up so my back could be seen, and he gave me a bunch of golden jewelry to accentuate it. It wasn’t something I’d normally wear, but at least I wasn’t dressed like a whore.
    “How do you know so much about fashion?” I asked.
    “Winnie was a fashion designer. I learned a lot from her.”
    “Winnie?”
    “My wife.”
    “Oh.”
    The tense moment passed.
    “We should get going.”
    I took another deep breath. “Yeah…”
    He grabbed my hand. “You’ll be fine. Just look at me the entire time.”
    That made me feel better.
    “You’ll know exactly what I’m thinking—you’re an amazing musician.”
    “Okay.”
    “Let’s go.”
    We got into his Lamborghini and drove to the circular building. It rose high into the air. In bold letters at the top, Capitol Records were written. It was a short drive just over the freeway. I kept touching my neck, feeling self-conscious.
    “You look gorgeous,” he said. “That outfit outlines your curves but keeps it classy. Your hair is pulled back so they can see every flawless feature.”
    My cheeks reddened.
    “Just be confident,” he said gently. He held my hand for the rest of the drive.
    After we walked into the building, everyone immediately knew who Dean was.
    Hello, Mr. Goodwin,” the secretary said.
    “Hello, Janice.” He walked into the elevator then rose to the top floor. There were multiple recording studios inside. My heart raced in my chest.
    He led me inside one o f them. A piano and a guitar were inside. “They’re just down the hallway. I’m going to talk to them for a moment then they’ll stand on the other side of the glass.”
    “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
    He gave me an assuring smile. “You’ll see me through the glass.”
    “Promise?” God, I was weak.
    “I promise.” He gave my hand a firm squeeze. “You’ll do great. I have no doubt.”
    “Okay…”
    “I’ll be right back.” He left the room.
    I grabbed the guitar and made sure it was tuned. The piano was also ready to go. Now I just had to wait.
    When I heard the door open, I didn’t react. I kept my face stoic and my breathing even. I l ooked through the window and saw three older men walk in. They looked typical. They had gray hair, expensive suits, and Rolex watches. And they were extremely intimidating.
    Dean leaned into the microphone and pressed a button. “Pru, we’re ready whenever you are.”
    I nodded.
    Dean crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. That made me feel a little better. I grabbed the guitar and situated myself on the stool. As soon as my fingers felt the strong chords, I felt better. My mouth opened and I sang from my heart. But my eyes were glued to Dean’s. And he made me feel safe. He nodded to me slightly during the song, encouraging me.
    I forgot about the other men. It was just me, Dean, and my guitar.
    When my song was over, Dean pressed the button again. “We’d love to hear you on the piano, please.”
    “Of course.” I stopped