Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“How was that?” the man on the stool, who’s seeking my undivided attention, asks. Shit. I look down at my notes to try and refocus myself. His name’s Phillip Shaw but plans to go by Jersey as an artist. I like it. It’s edgy and creative.
I take my headphones off and contemplate telling him the truth—I wasn’t listening—but I know saying this will hurt his ego and I’m not going to do that to this guy. I press the button on my sound board allowing me to talk to him without going into the room. “Let’s go one more time and really focus on what the song means to you. You wrote this for a reason, let me hear it. I want to feel the emotions in your voice while you tell the story through the lyrics and your sound.”
Phillip or Jersey smiles. “I can do that.” I press the record button and once the red light comes on, he starts strumming. As soon as he belts out the first verse I know my feedback, although made up, was right. He’s already singing with more emotion. Whoever did this guy dirty is going to know this song’s about her once it hits the airwaves, and I’m here for it. I write some notes about adding some background vocalists, drums, and possibly some keys. I can always send this to Jimmy and ask him to fill in with some keyboard work. It’s nice to have a well-established band in your back pocket. 4225 West won’t ask for payment to play on tracks, which is nice. They have no qualms helping other artists. Royalties and credit—it’s all that’s needed in return.
When he finishes his riff, I wait a few seconds before I press stop on the recording. I press the intercom button and say, “Come on out here, let’s chat.”
Phillip comes out and I offer him my seat. The studio is small and there’s not a ton of space. It wasn’t meant to conduct business in, but I’m making it work. My cell rings and I expect to see Ben’s image, but it’s an unknown number. I decline the call and turn my attention to Phillip.
“Great sound,” I tell him. “I’m going to play around with the recording and see what I can do to sharp . . .” my phone rings again with the same number. I hit decline again. “Sorry, these damn telemarketers are relentless. Anyway, I’m going to sharpen the sound by adding some additional background instruments.”
“Maybe you should answer that.” He motions toward my phone. The same number is calling again. I sigh heavily. I hate interruptions, more so when people don’t leave a voicemail. If I declined you the first time, there’s a reason. Leave a message.
I stare at my phone for a long moment and finally pick it up. I answer with a snappy, “Hello?”
“Elle James?”
“Yep, who’s this?”
“This is Lynn Willard from Beaumont General. You’re listed as Benjamin Miller’s emergency contact in his file. I’m calling to let you know he’s been brought in by ambulance.”
My heart drops and my throat tightens as tears fill my eyes. “What?” I squeak out.
“I don’t have much information other than he collapsed at the pet store and they called 9-1-1. The doctors are in with him now.”
I still can’t process what she’s saying. My ears feel like they’re full of water and she sounds muffled. My brain doesn’t seem to grasp the urgency of what she’s telling me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask again. Ben just sent me a photo of him and the puppy . . . at the pet store. “Ben’s at the pet store buying a dog.”
“Yes ma’am,” she says. “He collapsed and they called emergency services. He’s been transported to Beaumont General for care.”
“Oh, God.” I cover my mouth. “I’ll be right there.” I hang up and apologize to Phillip, telling him I’ll be in touch. Grabbing my purse, I head to the reception area where Betty Paige sits at the front desk. “Call your dad and tell him Ben’s been rushed to the hospital. And call . . .” I try to think of who else, but no one comes to mind except my sister.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call my dad and Peyton and let her know, and I’ll close up here.”
“Thank you, Paige.”
For a moment I think about how mature she is for her age, but then all my thoughts are on Ben. Rushing to my car, I go through all possible scenarios. What in the hell happened? Everything has been going so well. How can he collapse? He just sent me the picture of him and the puppy, he looked fine.
Didn’t he?
I want to look at my phone and analyze the image, but I can’t. I need to focus on the road and get to the hospital. My heart races when I have to stop at the red light. I contemplate running it because Ben needs me, but I wait. I’m impatient when the light switches to green and I lay on my horn. I turn my flashers on to let people know I’m in a hurry, but only the car in front of me moves out of the way. I’m sure they’re flipping me off, but right now, I don’t care. Everything in my gut is screaming that something is wrong. Is this what my mom felt like when she found out about my father?