Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Public counseling,” Zara says, accepting a beer. “I’m explaining to my stubborn brother that hiding isn’t a life strategy. Where’s Poppy?”
Levi leans down and kisses my sister before settling into the chair across from us. “Stormy offered to give her a bath while we have adult time. I wasn’t about to tell her no.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “I had a similar conversation with myself about two years ago.”
“Before Zara,” I say.
“Before I admitted I wanted Zara to stay.” His voice carries the particular contentment of someone who chose love over safety and got lucky. “When the girls’ mom died, I thought my life was this upside-down carnival ride with no stop in sight. Stormy’s big break loomed, Willow was so lost, and then there’s Zara wearing my coffee because I was such a fumbling cowboy.”
“My cowboy,” Zara says. “My life was as twisted up as yours was the day we met.”
“And now look at you,” I add.
“And now look at us,” Levi echoes my statement. “But we didn’t get here easily. Your sister gave up everything to live here. And when she’s ready to get back to making her type of music, I’ll do the same for her. She’s taught me we can have both lives and be happy. That’s something I couldn’t see or refused to see when I was married to Iris.”
While the words aren’t the same as what Zara said, they carry the same punch. Levi knows what it costs to open yourself to someone who could destroy everything you’ve built. He also knows what you get in return when you choose vulnerability over protection.
“Everything worked out.”
“It worked out because I stopped trying to control how it worked out.” Levi leans forward, elbows on knees. “You know what I learned? The right person doesn’t make you choose between your music and your life. They become part of both.”
“And the wrong person?”
“Uses one to hurt the other.” His expression darkens briefly. “But you can’t let the wrong people keep you from finding the right ones.”
We drink in comfortable silence. Around us, the night settles into its rhythm—horses moving through the pasture, wind through the trees, distant traffic on the highway that connects this peaceful space to the city where my real life waits, and Willow plays her song for me. It’s soft, melodic, and exactly what we need to finish the night.
“I should head back.”
“You could stay,” Zara offers. “The guest room’s always ready.”
“Thanks, but I need to get back.” What I need is to figure out whether last night was exactly what she said—two people caught up in the moment—or whether the way she looked at me while I played her song meant something more than physical release.
“Just remember,” Zara says as I stand to leave, “some things are worth fighting for. Even if you’re not sure you’ll win.”
Before I leave, Levi tells me that his buddy at The Blue Note has a spot open tomorrow night if I want it. I say fuck, because why not. I should play, test out these songs on a new audience.
I say goodbye to the girls and make promises I fully intend to keep. I drive back to Nashville with the windows rolled down, letting the air wash over me, carrying the smell of hay, summer heat and eventually the sounds of the city.
By the time I reach the city limits, something has shifted in my chest. The tight knot there since Rye abruptly left has loosened, replaced by something that might be resolve.
I don’t know what happens next between us. Don’t know if her boundaries are permanent or temporary, if her careful distance is protection or preparation for something else. But I’m tired of hiding from possibilities because they might hurt.
Zara’s right. Hiding isn’t a life strategy.
And Levi’s right too. Music isn’t my problem.
The problem is thinking I can control what happens when I let someone matter. The problem is choosing safety over truth, protection over connection, certainty over hope.
I park behind Rattlesnake Guitars and sit in the dark car for a moment, looking up at the windows of my temporary apartment. For the first time since leaving LA, I feel like someone who might be brave enough to find out what happens when you stop running from the things that scare you most.
Tomorrow I’ll probably second-guess everything I figured out tonight.
Tomorrow the fear might return, along with all the logical reasons why getting involved with Rye Hayes is a terrible idea.
Only one way to find out. I know I should take a hint, but there’s something about Rye that’s worth fighting for. I text her again, leaving the ball in her court.
Playing at The Blue Note tomorrow night. Nothing fancy, just me and a guitar. Would love to see you there.
rye
. . .
The last time I sat in this corner booth at Maggie’s Diner was three months ago when the venue’s air conditioning died and I needed somewhere cool to work on the books. Today I’m here because I can’t bring myself to walk through the front door of The Songbird.