A month before the wedding, Jake got a call from a music manager named Clay Berenson. Jake had continued to be approached by a number of managers in the years since he’d started working for Randolph Group, but never anyone he’d considered seriously. The few he’d agreed to have coffee with were all focused on “Molly’s Song” and how to re-create this same kind of superhit. Jake could practically see the dollar signs in their eyes.
But Clay Berenson was different. He didn’t even mention “Molly’s Song” at first. Instead, he gushed about the lesser-hyped tracks from Danner Lane, his favorites from The Narrows and Precipice, songs no one had mentioned to Jake in years. “January Girl,” “Gut Feeling,” “Bayside,” “Give it Love, Give it Time.”
“But if you’re actually serious about a solo album, we’d have to do something with ‘Molly’s Song,’” Clay told him candidly. “For better or for worse, it’s what everyone still remembers about you. It’s your hook—the way you get people to listen. Otherwise, no one will give a shit.”
Jake knew Clay was right, and appreciated his straightforward approach. And though a significant part of Jake was so still hesitant to face the music—no pun intended—he craved it in his heart. He missed the weight of the guitar in his hands, the freeing way it felt to sing from the very bottom of his soul.
“This guy Clay actually gets it,” he’d gushed to Sisi after their lunch meeting. “He truly believes in my work—my old songs from back in the day that nobody else even remembers. He thinks a solo album has real potential.” Jake smiled pensively, a dreamy sheen in his eyes. He felt light and buzzy. Maybe he was simply worn out from spending every day of the last four years behind a computer screen, his fingers glued to the keyboard, crunching numbers for the kind of conglomerate his younger self never would’ve entertained selling out to. Maybe the appeal of a reliable job was wearing off; maybe it had always only been a matter of time. “I think I’m going to give him a shot.”
“Wow. Babe.” Sisi grinned, but she looked worried. “That’s great, but what about work? You’ve been at Randolph Group for a while now, and my dad got you that job.”
“It’s not like I’m gonna quit, Sees. This solo album—if it even happens—would just be a side gig, at least for now. I’ve really missed music. You have to know that.”
“Not really. You never say that to me.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I should.” He reached for her hand, which was smooth and steady. His love. His future wife. “Since the band split, something in my life has just been … missing. I mean, I started playing guitar with the Lanes when I was a little kid.”
“Do you miss them?”
Jake nodded wistfully. “Of course.” He rarely listened to the Lane Brothers—it was too hard—though he thought of Sam and Hale often. Jerry as well. He wasn’t even sure he was angry with them anymore, for leaving him in the dust. In retrospect, he saw where they were coming from, though he didn’t think he deserved the way they treated him. But he wasn’t sure what good it did, holding on to anger like that. Still, the Lanes were the closest thing to brothers Jake had ever had. “It’s not about them, though, Sees. Making music is part of who I am. Despite what I’ve said before, I don’t think I’m ready to walk away for good.”
As Jake spoke the words, he knew they were true. And perhaps the fact that he still wanted to try meant that he was an artist at heart. With or without Molly.
Chapter Thirty-five
Sabrina
Jake signed with Clay quickly, and they immediately started the acoustic cover of “Molly’s Song.” Yup, that’s right. Weeks before our wedding, and I was listening to my future husband sing about his ex in our living room.
Enough was enough. Something had to be done. I’d worked tirelessly to get Jake to myself for years—I’d followed him into the coffee shop on East Twelfth Street that morning to orchestrate our rekindling—and I hadn’t come this far just to settle for half his heart. I deserved the whole damn thing, on a silver fucking platter.
And here was the thing I kept coming back to: your child existed in the world. I’d seen you visibly pregnant through the window at Bhakti Yoga. I didn’t know precisely when the baby had been born, but I did know that once I figured it out, the math would speak for itself. Once Jake discovered you’d gone behind his back with Hunter during Danner Lane’s Euro tour all those years ago, your pedestal would vanish. The irony of my task was this: I needed to find a way to bring you back into Jake’s world in order to push you out for good.