Page 26 of One Last Shot
“She’s right,” Reynolds said. “In order to secure the donation, we’d have to reach out to donors who would invest in the show, be part of the recognition for the donation. Not to mention advertisers. And now we have nothing.”
Oaken ran a hand over his mouth, his stomach growling.
Reynolds put his hand on Oaken’s shoulder. “How about if I take you out for breakfast and we?—”
“How about if you just take a step back?—”
“Okay,” said Huxley, putting her hands up between the two men. “Here’s our solution. You stick around Alaska for three weeks, maybe a month. We’ll set you up in a nice Airbnb. You write some music, train with the Air One team, go out on a few calls, and let us inside the life of a training rescue tech, and in the meantime, Reynolds will get your money.”
She looked at her boss. He nodded, his arms folded, mouth a grim line.
Oaken let a moment go by. Another. “I’ll need to talk to Goldie.”
“We’ll work up a new contract. But I think Goldie will love it. Being a hero—saving others—now that is going to get you traction with fans. Even more than surviving fifty hours with Grizz.”
Oh, how Oaken hated that his life decisions came down to likes on Instagram.
“We’re all in the entertainment business, pal,” Reynolds said. “It’s part of the train ride.”
Huxley looked at him. “You’re not helping.”
“Just saying what Goldie will say. You want to keep your career afloat, you keep smiling, keep your opinions to yourself, and make sure the fans are happy.”
The words ground through Oaken. But Reynolds wasn’t wrong.
And he wanted his fans to be happy.
“Get some sleep. Oh, and by the way, wegot you a room for the night at the Merrill Hotel across the street. The suitcase you left with us is at the front desk.”
At least he could get his credit card and some grub.
“Talk to you in the morning,” Reynolds had said.
And then they’d left him there, grimy, cold, and aching, theNostuck in his throat.
It was still stuck there now.No. No. Never.
He took another sip of coffee, watching the sunrise awaken the land. Denali, with her frosted peaks, jutted into a rose-gold sky. And in the distance, the deep blue of the Knik Arm of the Gulf of Alaska.
Reynolds, the smooth-talking jerk that he was, had a point—Oaken needed to stir up some love on social media if he wanted to resurrect his career. And never mind writing any songs—with Mike in a coma, he didn’t have a hope of finding any creativity.
His conversation with Boo last night awakened in his head.
“I heard you sing once. At a concert in Minnesota. You were good. Some great love songs.”
Yes, once upon a time, maybe, he’d been good. He’d like to be good again, but somehow the love of writing music and playing music had gotten cluttered up with performing and road tours and band squabbles and the ambition Goldie had for him.
Ambition she’d once had for Hollie.
He took another sip of coffee.“Why Boo?”
“Because it’s Boo, that’s why.”
He didn’t know what to make of her. Clearly capable. And brave. And calm.
But something about her did feel familiar and...
And if he stuck around Air One, he might figure it out.