“If I want to do it again, I could. I thought there were no more words left in me. No more songs. But I think I actually just wrote one . . . and that means there are plenty more. I don’t need to take Ricky’s legacy from him. I can make my own.”

It’s the most empowering thing I’ve ever thought in my entire life.

I have a skill. A talent. Something of value to offer the world that no one else can replicate.

My songwriting turned a kid from Gable into an international rock legend. That’s . . . that’s amazing.

How am I just now realizing this? I lift my gaze to Lincoln’s, and I can’t read his expression.

“Are you sure that’s what you really want? Because there’s no shame in building on the foundation that someone else laid.”

Now I know exactly what he’s thinking about—Riscoff Holdings. Probably because that’s been the focus of most of his life.

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. This isn’t about you and your family, Lincoln. This is about my life and my choices. For the first time in maybe ever, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks is right for me. I’m making my own decisions, and I won’t let you change my mind.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I wonder how much it’s costing him not to take over. Part of me expects him to try to bulldoze me, and I wonder if in my newfound confidence that I have enough backbone to stand up for myself. I brace myself, ready to try.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Whatever you want to do, I’ll help any way I can.”

I blink twice, thinking I must have imagined the words that came out of his mouth, but he continues.

“I’ll always think it’s bullshit that he took advantage of you, though.”

Something warm wells up in my chest, and the sense of power I felt gains force.

“I let him take advantage of me,” I reply, owning the decision I made. “But not anymore. I’m done letting people take advantage of me.”

Lincoln studies me, and even though his hazel gaze is intense, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. “I can respect that.”

For the first time in our entire history, I feel like the balance has shifted so we’re on equal ground.

Twenty-One

Lincoln

It takes everything I have to stop myself from acting on instinct—to push Whitney to pursue the copyrights and get what she’s entitled to.

Rango used her for a decade and fucked her over in so many ways that if he weren’t already dead, I would destroy him.

But it’s not my choice. It’s Whitney’s choice.

And when I said I can respect it, I meant it.

Now, as much as I want to drag out our lunch for the rest of the day, I know it’s not a good idea. One step at a time.

I gather the leftovers of our taco feast and head for the door, but I can’t stop myself from pausing before it. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I can bring more tacos.”