More Than A Feeling, page 13
Tony read aloud, “‘Hart & The Hurricanes have always stood for honesty in our music and our message. Recent posts shared by our label do not reflect our words, our choices, or our values. The truth matters, and we’ll keep making music that proves it.’”
He looked into Carlene's eyes. “That’s clean. Strong.”
Carlene nodded. “It’ll buy us time until the press calls. I've emailed a copy to each of you. Get ready to post it.”
Jami reached over and placed a hand on hers. “Let’s post it together.”
They hit send together. The room fell silent as the messages went live.
For a few long seconds, nothing happened. Then the notifications started pouring in, fans flooding the comments with support, journalists asking for statements, other artists retweeting the post in solidarity.
Livia exhaled slowly. “It’s working.”
Sean’s phone buzzed. “The label just deleted the clip from their website.”
Tony grinned. “And just like that, the tide turns.”
Carlene sat back, closing her laptop. “This is just the start. Vivian won’t let it go. But for now, we control the story.”
Jami looked around at his band, at the woman beside him who’d risked everything to stand with them. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, hope.
He reached for Carlene’s hand beneath the table, giving it a small squeeze. She didn’t look at him, but her fingers tightened around his.
Whatever came next, they’d face it together.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Carlene sat on the edge of Jami’s porch swing, her laptop balanced on her knees. Streaks of light from the sun were thrown across the yard where the others were still gathered, talking in low voices. The morning felt less like victory and more like the calm before another storm.
She hit refresh on the analytics dashboard.
“Engagement up forty percent,” she murmured to herself. “Positive sentiment, eighty-six.”
Not bad, for now. But she knew how fast an algorithm could shift, how quickly public favor could turn when a new headline hit.
Jami stepped out, two fresh mugs of coffee in hand. He handed her one, then leaned against the porch post.
“You’ve been glued to that screen since we posted.”
She smiled faintly. “Old habits. I just want to make sure the narrative holds.”
He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim. “You saved us today.”
She looked down, tracing her thumb along the mug’s rim. “I didn’t save you. I just made sure the truth got a chance to breathe.”
“Same thing.” He sank onto the swing beside her, the wood creaking softly under his weight. For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the cicadas hum in the distance. The world felt still, suspended.
Finally, he said, “I talked to Tony. The attorney is reviewing the contracts now. If the label pushes this any further, we’ll have grounds to walk.”
Her chest tightened. “That’s what worries me. They won’t just let go. Vivian’s too smart for that. She’ll pivot, paint us as ungrateful or unstable. Maybe even leak something personal.”
Jami turned toward her. “Then we make sure there’s nothing left to leak.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
He grinned a little. “I mean, we stay honest. Transparent. Together.”
The word together landed differently than he probably intended. She felt its weight settle somewhere deep in her chest. The night they’d shared still lingered between them, unspoken, but alive.
Carlene shut her laptop. “There’s one more thing I need to do. I have the metadata and timestamps backed up, but I want to send copies to your attorney before Vivian’s team tries to scrub anything. Just in case.”
“Good call.” He brushed his hand along hers as she stood. “You’re always three steps ahead.”
She looked at him, searching his expression. “That’s what it takes to survive in this business.”
He smiled softly. “Maybe that’s why we make a good team.”
She almost laughed. “You drive me crazy half the time.”
“And the other half?”
“Still crazy,” she said, but her voice softened. "But a good crazy."
Maddyn stepped toward them from the barn, a phone in her hand. “Carlene, you’ve got a call. Unknown number.”
Carlene’s stomach dropped. Her brows furrowed, and she glanced at Maddyn's hand and saw her phone. “Thanks.”
Maddyn shrugged, "You left it on the sofa."
"Thank you, Maddyn."
She took the call inside, closing the door behind her.
“Ms. Matthews?” a woman’s clipped voice said. “This is Clarissa Noland, counsel for Summit Sound. I represent Vivian Grant and the label. We need to discuss your involvement in disseminating false information this morning.”
Carlene gripped the edge of the table. “Nothing we posted was false, Ms. Noland. The footage was altered, and we have the evidence to prove it.”
“I’d advise you to refrain from further public statements,” the lawyer continued. “Your actions constitute interference with contractual obligations, and Summit Sound intends to pursue remedies.”
Carlene forced calm into her voice. “You’re welcome to pursue whatever you like. I’m sure the discovery process will be enlightening.”
There was a pause. “That sounds like a threat.”
“More like a promise,” Carlene said. "Thank you for the warning. Please consider mine with the same weight as you would like us to consider yours." She ended the call, wishing for the days when you could slam a receiver onto the cradle of a wired phone.
Taking a deep cleansing breath, she stepped back outside. Jami and the others looked up. “Was that them?” he asked.
She nodded. “They’re rattled. Which means they're worried. Vivian tried nicely to tell me to leave the label alone and let them do what they thought was best. But what they think is best is truly only best for them, not you.”
Jami’s smile returned, slow and sure. “Good. They don't give two shits about us, only themselves.”
Carlene exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders at last. “We just bought ourselves time. Use it wisely.”
He took her mug, set it on the railing, and caught her gaze. “Starting with you getting some rest. You’ve done enough for one morning.”
“I don’t rest when a storm’s coming.”
“Then I’ll make you,” he said, voice low and teasing but edged with something real.
Her heart skipped. She wanted to argue, but the way he looked at her, like she wasn’t just part of the plan, but part of him, made the words die in her throat.
He reached for her hand, tugging gently until she stepped closer. The porch was quiet now, and the others watched silently. Jami’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, and the world seemed to narrow to that single touch.
“You said it yourself,” he murmured. “We face it together.”
Jami, with the deliberate strength she admired, looked at his bandmates, lifted their joined hands, and said, "Carlene and I are together."
Carlene hesitated only a second before letting herself lean into him.
For a moment, the future didn’t look like chaos; it looked like possibility. The Hurricanes smiled. Tony nodded his head, and Maddyn chuckled. "We know."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jami stood just inside the barn doors, the familiar smell of cedar and old stage gear clinging to the air. The morning meeting had scattered everyone in different directions, but the quiet that followed felt heavier than any noise. Outside, sunlight flickered through the trees, dust hanging in slow motion. The storm wasn’t over; it had just taken a breath. But he felt different.
Tony’s voice drifted from the yard as he paced, phone to his ear, already diving back into legalities. Sean leaned against the side of the barn, staring out over the bluff. He needed a break before they started trying to make their song work. Axel sat on the steps with Maddyn tucked under his arm, both staring out at the horizon like they were seeing a new future form right in front of them. Livia sat on one of the leather sofas, writing in a notebook.
For the first time in a long while, the band wasn’t talking about songs or shows or charts. They were talking about the next steps with the label. The general mood was that if they had to finish out this contract with the label, it would be a one and done. They'd never again work with a label that didn't see them as people, with real lives and emotions. They'd all agreed, way back in the day when they came together as a band, to do it the way they wanted. Their idea wasn't the sex, drugs, and rock' n' roll of most bands. They wanted to earn a living doing what they loved the most, playing music. When Summit Sound had approached them about producing a record, they'd been ecstatic. But now he realized they'd not considered how much the label was willing to do to control them and their image. Jami's upbringing taught him to protect his reputation because it was difficult to regain it once lost. Now here they were, fighting for the reputation they'd meticulously guarded because of greed. And not their own greed, but that of the record label.
And on the porch, framed by sunlight, was the one person who’d made that survival possible.
Carlene.
She sat curled against the railing, her laptop closed beside her, a half-empty mug cooling at her feet. The breeze caught the edges of her damp hair and the soft linen of her shirt. Even after everything, the call, the tension, the fight, she looked steady. Grounded. Like she belonged here more than any of them.
Jami stepped out and lowered himself beside her. “You holding up?”
Her lips curved in the faintest smile. “Define holding up.”
“Still breathing.”
“Then yes, barely.”
He chuckled and nudged her shoulder. “That’s good enough for me.”
For a few minutes, they just sat. The barn door creaked in the wind, cicadas filled the silence, and somewhere far off a gull called from the bay. The sound was peaceful, but it only reminded him how unpeaceful his head was.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Tony’s on the phone with the attorney. He says there are clauses in the contract that they could twist against us.”
Carlene looked up, eyes alert again. “Conduct and performance?”
He nodded. “How’d you guess?”
“Because every label builds a trapdoor. They talk about partnership, but the second you think for yourself, you become a liability.”
Jami studied her. “You sound like you’ve seen this before.”
“I have.” She folded her arms over her knees. “I used to work in corporate PR before I started consulting. I’ve watched artists lose everything because someone higher up decided their rebellion sold better than their obedience.”
Her words sank deep. He’d been close to that edge more than once, letting someone else rewrite who he was because it made a better story.
He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “I don’t want to play that game anymore.”
She turned toward him. “Then don’t.”
“It’s not just me,” he said quietly. “It’s them. The band. The crew. The people whose paychecks depend on the next show going off without a hitch.”
Carlene reached out, her fingers brushing his. “You’ve carried that weight for years, haven’t you?”
He swallowed. “Since the first gig.”
Her touch didn’t move away. “Then maybe it’s time to set it down.”
He looked at her, really looked, and saw the tiredness beneath her strength. “You’ve done more than you had to, Carlene. Most people would have cut and run after that lawyer called.”
She shook her head. “I don’t quit on people who tell the truth. That’s a rare thing in this business.”
The barn door opened again, Tony’s voice calling out. “Jami, you’re going to want to hear this.”
Jami stood and held out a hand to help Carlene up. Her fingers slid into his, warm and sure, and for one heartbeat, he didn’t want to let go, so he didn't. They walked hand in hand toward the barn, and his heart, while ready and braced for bad news, felt stronger and healthier than ever because Carlene was here. She made him feel strong.
Tony waited with his phone in hand, his expression unreadable. “The attorney’s on speaker.”
Jami nodded and squeezed Carlene's hand. “Go ahead.”
“Morning,” the attorney said. “I’ve reviewed your contracts. Summit Sound is standing on thin ice. The clause about label access to your accounts doesn’t include altering or posting content without prior consent. That’s breach of good faith and potential defamation.”
Carlene’s eyes narrowed. “They’ll claim creative control.”
“Already thought of that,” the attorney replied. “Creative control applies to the music and promotional material you produce under their supervision, not your personal likeness or individual accounts. What they did was reckless.”
Jami crossed his arms. “So what’s our play?”
“I recommend sending a formal notice of breach and pausing all new material delivery until they respond. You’ll be free to terminate the contract within thirty days if they don’t remedy it.”
Tony whistled under his breath. “We can walk?”
Jami’s mind was already turning. “But they’ll hit back hard. Vivian will frame it as abandoning our obligations.”
“Let her,” Carlene said, her voice low. “We’ll respond with proof, dates, and the metadata I saved.”
The attorney added, “Exactly. You’ll look like professionals protecting their integrity. They’ll look like manipulators scrambling for control.”
Jami exhaled slowly. “Thanks. Draft what we need. We’ll review it tonight.”
When the call ended, Tony clapped him on the shoulder and went back to the others, already buzzing with plans. The barn doors swung shut behind him, leaving Jami and Carlene alone again.
“You handled that like a lawyer,” he said.
“Occupational hazard.” She smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered with exhaustion. “I should be scared right now, but I’m not. Maybe I’m just too tired.”
He brushed a thumb over her knuckles. “You’ve earned tired. But scared? That’s not you.”
Carlene looked up at him, her gaze steady. “You don’t know everything about me.”
“Maybe not,” he said softly. “But I know courage when I see it.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And what about you? What do you see when you look in the mirror, Jami?”
He thought about it, staring past her to the stretch of sky over the trees. “A man who’s been running so long he forgot why he started.”
Her expression softened. “Then stop running.”
He laughed quietly. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” she said. “But it’s worth it.”
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there. “You make everything sound simple.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “None of it is simple, but at some point, you stop being controlled by all the things. Labels. What your fans want. What looks best for this or that. You've built a powerful brand, whether or not you realize it. And you all, and I mean all of you, have stayed true to your initial promises of how you wanted to do this. That's incredible, Jami. To have this group of people so committed to you and the vision you created is nearly unheard of. Lean into that.”
He stared at her for the longest time. She didn't flinch. Her lips turned up slightly as she watched his face. "Lean into it."
He took her face gently between his hands. “You're incredible.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her, slow, deep, and certain. It wasn’t the heat of the night before or the urgency of fear. It was something steadier, like truth. When he pulled back, she rested her forehead against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as if he could shield her from everything waiting outside the barn walls.
For the first time in days, he felt still.
Carlene’s voice was quiet when she spoke. “You’re really going to start Hart Records?”
He smiled against her hair. “Yeah. We’re done letting someone else decide who we are.”
“And you’ll run it yourself?”
“Not just me.” He tilted her chin up. “With you.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You want me involved?”
“I don’t just want you involved. I need you. You see things I don’t. You don’t bend when the rest of us start to.”
She blinked hard, emotion flickering across her face before she looked away. “Careful, Jami. That sounds dangerously close to trust.”
He grinned. “Maybe it is.”
Her laugh broke through the heaviness, light and musical. “You know what? For the first time in a long time, I actually believe we can win this.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “We already are.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carlene woke to the scent of coffee and the soft hum of a guitar.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Jami's bed, the gentle murmur of the air conditioner, the aroma of cedar and Jami, it all felt dreamlike. Then she rolled over and saw Jami sitting near the window, shirtless, sunlight catching the curve of his shoulder. He jotted something into a notebook, then looked up to see her watching him.
He strummed quietly, half a melody, half a thought, his brow furrowed in that way that meant he wasn’t just playing, he was feeling.
Her heart ached in the best way.
“You never stop,” she whispered, voice still thick with sleep.
He smiled. “Couldn’t. It’s the first time I’ve had something worth writing about in a long time.”
She sat up, pulling his discarded shirt around over her head. “And what’s that?”
He lifted his gaze from the guitar to her. “You.”
