Fireworks 3 and 4

Chapter Forty-Eight

    "It's been a long time since you've been able to put real time in the studio," Mia told Drake as he continued to hold her hands. "I should really let you get back to that."

    "You weren't really 'nearby' or 'in the neighborhood,' Mia," he said. "You came here because you wanted to see me. I can't just dismiss that, no matter what I'm in the middle of." He started tugging on her hands, pulling her further into the studio. "We cooked up a bit of magic in this exact studio once upon a time. You could help me out with this. Tell me when lines sound corny and shit, tell me when the song needs to be fixed."

    "You already know when your songs need fixing," she stated, giving him a look but allowing him to tug her towards the couch he'd been sitting on. "You don't need my help."

    "We could turn it into a collab."

    "Right, because that wouldn't feel like a publicity stunt to people," she muttered.

    He frowned. "You think people would feel that way?"

    "This is a story that you have to tell," she explained. "It's a fatherly love letter from you to your son so that no matter what BS is spun to him and no matter who tries to keep you away from him, he knows how much you love him. That is a letter only you can write. This song cannot be a collaboration."

    His eyes narrowed as he weighed her advice.

    "If you ask me, the fatherly love letter should be an entire album – not just one song," she added with a shrug.

    He broke out into a smile. "I was thinking the same thing. Invite some of the most famous fathers I know to add little their little stories to the mix, whether with a verse or in a skit between tracks. I'd choose the fathers who had some of the biggest custody battles and biggest controversy. It could be huge."

    She nodded while listening to him. "Or you could make the entire album free of collaboration," she suggested.

    "Inviting the other guys onto the album would gain more publicity. People who aren't listening to me now would listen just because Curry was on a skit, or Future was on a track."

    "Since when did you even need publicity like that, though?" she challenged. "You're Drake. You don't need anyone's voice on there but your own. I like the idea and I get why you'd want to do it, but in thinking about an open letter to your son, the entire letter should be in your voice and your voice only. So...maybe have the stories being told in between tracks on a deluxe version of the album or something. But the original album, the one that would be submitted for all of the awards you claim not to care about, should really just have your voice on it."

    "I don't know."

    "How many times have you seen fans ask you to make an album without any features?" she asked him.

    He shrugged. "Quite a bit."

    Holding up a hand, she added, "And how many times have you seen fans say that whenever you do have features, they usually skip past that person's verse to get to your verse?"

    He shook his head, laughing. "All right, I see your point. But see, that's why I need you here. For that feedback." After pulling her closer to the couch, he sat down and pulled her down with him. "So stay."

    "Are you sure you want me to hear all of this in its raw form? It...sounds really personal."

    "If there's someone I should be able to get personal with, it's you," he pointed out. "If I can't get personal with you, how am I going to open up and share this project with the world?"

    "True." With a sigh, she relented. "Okay. I'll stay."

    Stay she did. And she had the opportunity to experience one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him in the first place. Even his imperfect lyrics had beauty to them. A huge part of that was his voice. She used to always love to joke that he could seduce a woman just by singing the ABC's or "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." His voice was melodic in a way that was tough to duplicate. And as she watched him pacing around the studio putting his verses together, arranging and rearranging lines, and rearranging again, she found herself falling in love with him all over again. This was the him that she loved. Strong, charismatic, and creative. Willing to bare his soul to the world and own up to faults that most men liked to sweep under the rug.

    Despite where he was in his career, with an eager public waiting for him to drop something – anything – he still had the humility to turn to her and look for her approval for a certain rhyme scheme or flow. He still cared about her opinion, still trusted her to guide him as to whether or not a line was the right move or whether it wasn't a good look.

    That is something else rare about him, she thought as she watched him move back and forth in front of her. Most artists at this stage of the game are too cocky to even want feedback. They just trust that they have it, that they've got the Midas touch that will turn a song into a hit – whereas Aubrey really does have the Midas touch and still checks and rechecks to make sure a song sounds right.

    He turned and looked at her. "Yeah?" he asked.

    She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

    He went to typing in his phone and returned to the couch to sit behind her. When he was done typing, he stretched an arm behind her and asked, "Since you're referring to this album as a fatherly love letter to my son, I take it you feel that I shouldn't have any songs dedicated to you."

    Her cheeks flamed up. The question made sense but was still out of left field, as if he'd just plucked it out of the air they were breathing. "Uh – I mean...no. Not on this album. This album should just be songs to your son, or songs helping your son to get to know you better." As an afterthought, she said, "And when I say 'get to know you better,' I don't mean letting him get to know the Drake who sleeps with any woman he wants to, and is standing next to the woman he used to fuck, the woman he's fucking now, and the woman he will fuck at some point in the near future. I'm talking about the real Drake. Let him know who you are as a person, as a man. In doing so, you'll reintroduce the world to the man they fell in love with. And the critics. And the award show voters. And whoever else cares to listen."

    "You're right."

    "And anyway, you can always sing songs you've written to or for me whenever we're together," she reminded him, her tone transforming from confident and certain to shy. "You don't always have to put them on an album."

    A twinkle sparkled in his eye as he reached out and touched her cheek. "If that's the case, can I sing one to you now, then?" he asked her.