Page 19 of A Song for Another Woman

“Good. You don’t deserve it.”

I rub both hands over my face. “Nothing happened.”

Cy’s laugh has no humor in it. “You keep saying that absolves you.”

"It should."

“No,” he says. “And you're a damned fool if you believe that.”

I look toward the music stand where Melody’s phone sat. Empty now. Harmless, if I want to lie to myself.

Cy lowers his voice. “Emmy called you four times.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Because here I’m not a man failing his wife. Here, I’m brilliant. Here, I’m wanted. Here, an entire industry looks at me like I clawed my way back from the edge by sheer force of talent. At home, Emmy looks at me like she’s waiting for me to remember I already had something worth coming back to.

I pick up my phone. Her last text waits on the screen. I don’t answer it.

Cy sees. He takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, and puts it back on. He looks older than he did yesterday. Maybe I do too.

“There’s an after-party tomorrow,” he says.

“I know.”

“Fix this before it.”

“I will.”

“No.” His voice cuts clean through me. “Not the song. Not the story. Not Melody’s feelings. Your marriage. Fix your marriage tonight, or lose her.”

I almost tell him he’s being dramatic. I almost tell him Emmy knows me, Emmy loves me, Emmy understands the business.

Then I remember the way she said,I miss knowing which one is coming home.I remember the blue folder under her hand. I remember kissing the top of her head because it was easier than listening.

The trap I’ve built around myself shows itself all at once. Every yes. Every late session. Every joke I let land. Every phone call I silenced because I liked the room I was in better than the hurt waiting in the one I’d promised to share.

And still, even seeing the bars, I reach for the door that leads deeper in.

“I’ll talk to Melody at the party,” I say. “Privately. I’ll set it straight, and then I’ll go home with Emmy.”

Cy looks at me for a long time. “That order,” he says quietly, “is exactly the problem.”

He leaves me with that.

I stand alone under the red studio light, holding my silent phone, while the guitar with my name on it waits in the corner like a promise I’ve already agreed to keep.

Tomorrow night,I tell myself.

One private conversation. One clean line. One more chance to get this right before the whole thing burns.

This time, I won’t be too late.

Chapter Five

EMMY