Page 15 of A Song for Another Woman

Nathan smiles. “We don’t see this as a guitar deal. We see it as a Cade Tyler decade.”

A decade.

At thirty-eight, that word lands differently than it used to. When I was twenty-five, a decade sounded like a prison sentence. At thirty-eight, with three albums behind me that people bought out of loyalty more than hunger, it sounds like oxygen.

I rest my hand on the guitar case latch. “What’s the ask?”

Nathan glances at Duke. That’s the first warning. I see it. I choose to wait.

Duke steeples his fingers. “The Wildfire tour becomes the launch platform.”

I go still. “It’s not called the Wildfire tour.”

“It is now in every room that matters,” Duke says.

Across the table, the Lonesome Strings marketing woman, Alison, gives me an apologetic smile that isn’t sorry. “The Cade-and-Melody conversation is a once-in-a-career heat source. It's Conway and Loretta. Kenny and Dolly. Blake and Miranda. We don’t need to make it cheap. We just need to stop pretending the audience isn’t already there.”

I don't bother mentioning that Blake and Miranda were married and are now divorced. The way I cut my eyes toward Duke is enough. He doesn't even look sorry.

“The audience is there for a song.”

Nathan taps the folder. “They’re there for a story.”

Cy sits beside me, quiet enough to be mistaken for agreeable by people who don’t know him. His hat shades his eyes. His boot taps once against the carpet. Duke hears it. I hear it. Nobody else does.

Alison turns a page. “The signature line rolls out with a documentary series, premium content, live session drops,writing-room clips. You and Melody, obviously, are the center of that first year.”

“First year,” I repeat.

Duke’s gaze flicks to mine. “We maintain the momentum.”

I laugh once, without humor. “You mean we feed it.”

“I mean we don’t starve it out of embarrassment.”

There are five people in the room who all know I have a wife. Nobody says her name.

The guitar gleams between us. A Cade Tyler line. Generational money. A decade of touring built around my hands, my sound, my face on walls in guitar shops from Nashville to Tokyo. Every boy who ever sat on the edge of a bed and taught himself a G chord because my records made him feel less alone might save up for one of these. Every critic who has started using words likedependableandheritage actmight have to shut up for at least a year.

I think of Emmy in the study this morning with that blue folder under her palm.Our little house, she said. And then my phone buzzed, and I let the moment close.

Shame moves through me, quick and mean. I press my thumb against the edge of the folder Nathan gave me.

“What does leaning in mean?” I ask.

Duke answers before anyone else can. “Interviews together. Appearances. A few surprise duet stops. Social content. Keep it playful. Keep it hot enough that they talk and clean enough that nobody can prove a damn thing.”

Cy’s boot stops tapping. The room gets very still in the way rooms do when the honest thing has been said by accident.

Duke smiles. “It’s show business, Cade.”

I look at the guitar. My signature. My future. My proof that I'm not finished.

“Fine,” I say.

Cy turns his head toward me. I don’t look at him.

Duke’s smile sharpens. Nathan reaches across the table to shake my hand. The others follow. Congratulations moves around the room. People talk about launch windows, custom straps, ad campaigns, and a limited run with my road-worn specs.