A/N: Oh em gee. He's finally in the story.
Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been settling into school and being a giant lazy butt. Well, when it comes to school, anyway. I've been spending Latin class writing for this story. This may unfortunately have an indirect result in my grade on tomorrow's test...

I'm not sure how long it's silent. My heart was beating so hard I was afraid he could hear it. After a few moments of awkward silence, he cleared his throat.

"Came to wish you a happy birthday." He dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled a little nervously.

After another moment's pause, my brain finally registers what's going on. Tommy Quincy. In Studio B. With me. 18th birthday. Pull yourself together!

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice even. "Why are you here?"

He gave me a confused look. "Because it's your birthday?"

I'm just as confused as him. "So you decide to come back after a year and a half just because it's my birthday." By now, I'm starting to get riled up inside. What is he doing here? And who does he think he is?

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I watch him play with the mixing board a little and I can tell he's trying to think. I decide not to play nice, not with him. "I haven't got all night, Tommy. It's kind of my party going on out there and I need to get out and mingle."

He laughs at this, turning his attention from the mixing board to me. "You never did like 'mingling'."

I don't let myself smile. I don't bother to respond, either. I just gave home as cold a stare as I could muster.

"Look, Jude... I came back because..."

Awkward silence, once again. Which only angered me more.

"Because what? Because I'm eighteen now? Is that it? Because now we can finally be together!"

"Now, Jude-"

"Maybe I don't want to be with you. Maybe I don't even want to be in this room with you right now."

"...Then you're not gonna like what I have to tell you."

"Too be honest, I hardly ever like anything you say to me."

He grimaces, and I know I've hurt him. But I don't feel bad. Because he'd hurt me so many other times in the past, and in so much worse ways.

He walked over to me, gently grabbed my arm and guided me towards the swivel chair I'd found him in. "Sit. We need to talk."

"Talking only ever put us into more of a fix." I huffed, but obeyed him anyway.

He leaned back against the mixing board and stared directly in front of him at a blank wall.

"Your producer... Jay?"

"Yeah."

"He basically got fired today."

I wasn't sure how to take that. Jay was a great guy, but not necessarily the best producer. He just didn't know enough to do the job well. And as much as I liked him, it aggrivated me how much he didn't get my music.

I was about to shrug my shoulders and act indifferent, when I realized that it wasn't Georgia I was talking to, but Tommy. "Wait. How do you know this? And how come Georgia didn't tell me this? And when did this happen?" Suddenly I wanted to be in this room, talking to this guy. But only because of my curiosity, I reminded myself.

He tilted his head to the side, as if he wasn't sure how to word what he wanted to say. "Today. He lost his job today. I called Georgia."

"But why didn't she-" I didn't have to finish my sentence. I figured it out on my own. Of course. He wants to produce for me again.

Sitting in the chair, I'd become fairly more calm than I had been when I was on my feet. But I felt myself heating up again.

"So you decided to come back." My voice came out more calm than I had expected it to. It kind of scared me. I could tell it scared him too, because he raised his eyebrows and spoke a little more cautiously.

"Now that I'm a year into my solo career, things have calmed down a little bit. I have more time to do other things, like producing."

"...Right. So you decided to come back and produce me, why?" I'm sounding like a major bitch, but I could hardly care less. I'm so confused, I feel my head's a freaking blender.

"Well... out of all of the singers I've produced, I found that I work with you best. And you have the greatest potential." He turned his body toward me. "Your second CD..."

"Was crap, I know." I folded my arms across my chest and dared him to agree.

"That's not true. I liked it. It just wasn't you. And that's why it didn't do as well as your first album."

"And what, you think you can fix that?" I laughed mockingly. "Tommy Quincy, the saint, here to save my career. Now he thinks he's good enough to juggle his life along with mine! This time, without dropping one." I looked him in the eyes and saw him wince.

"Your last producer didn't understand you like I can. He didn't give you enough freedom or anything else you needed."

"Right, but you can certainly give me enough freedom." I stood up and headed for the door, eager for the conversation to end. "And right now, to return the favor, I think I'll give you some freedom. How about you not produce me?"

He followed me toward the door. "Jude, come on, don't be this way."

"What way?" I snapped. I wasn't exactly feigning innocence by my tone of voice.

"Maybe we need to start fresh, everything new-"

"Because you want me to forget. Because you always want me to forget." I felt the lump forming in my throat and the tears before they came. But I won't cry. I'm not crying another tear for him.

I opened the door and left in a haste, plastering on a fake smile and waving to anyone who greeted me. I walked as fast as I could without looking suspicious. Behind me I could hear Tommy calling my name.

I sped up as I got closer to the back exit of the building. But just as I was about to reach freedom-

"Jude, honey!" I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt my blood run cold.

I turned around, fake smile still plastered on my face. "Dad. How nice of you to come," I said stiffly.