“I did both. Until I met Lucy.”
“Fuck Lucy. She’s your lawyer’s problem now.”
I smiled. “Lucy made sure everyone else fucked.”
His pupils darkened and his gaze dipped to his hand. He yanked it off like he’d been burned and rose. Pacing in front of the couch, he shoved that hand through hishair and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You want to write. That’s what’s bothering you, right?”
I nibbled the inside of my cheek. “I do love to write music.”
“And that album will get you a tour?”
Notatour,mytour. I nodded.
He dropped to a squat in front of me and rested his arms on his powerful thighs. “You still want that tour, don’t you?”
Did I want the tour? Or did I want to please the memories of my birth parents? Was I afraid to let down the family who’d supported me along the way?
Or did I want to share my music, songs I’d written and performed, with others who shared those same emotions with me? The same hopes and dreams?
More importantly, did my reasons have to be exclusive?
“I want it,” I said hoarsely, finally able to verbalize what had been twisting inside me. Thedo I or don’t I. Yes, I wanted that fucking tour. I’d worked for it. Lucy might’ve manipulated me, but it was my pain in the words I sang. My heart. I would complete this album and go on tour to show her that I didn’t need manufactured heartbreak to be good at what I do.
And because I had nothing else.
“I want my songs to be there when people feel like they have nothing else.”
“Like the accident.”
“Like the accident.” I ran my thumb over a fingernail, memories of the crash that took my parents going through my mind. The terror. The crying. The darkness. Mama Starr and Daddy Bjorn hadn’t been able to tell us everything would be okay. So I’d sang. My little voicehad shaken, but my efforts had quieted the sobs. “And because it’s been such a long road. I want to be the one with opening acts. I want to be the one that tens of thousands of people buy tickets for. Because that means I have a voice. Not for the audience but in my career. I can be the one telling promoters who my opening acts will be. I can be the hand up for others instead of having doors shut in my face.”
I wasn’t in it for the fame and money, but I needed those two things to get the freedom to be an artist and not just a puppet. If I’d let someone shove their hand up my ass years ago and control me, I would’ve been so much further in my career by now. But then it wouldn’t have beenmycareer. I needed to connect with my fans on my own terms.
“When do you have to be in Nashville again?” he asked.
“If the timeline isn’t changing, I have to be back by the end of June.” Two months to write ten songs? Just thinking about it made the words dry up.
But I’d do it. I was home, breathing fresh Montana air and surrounded by people who really cared about me. Rhys included.
He rose, one knee cracking. “Weekends work the best until school’s out, except for the two weeks they get with Wren. So unless their mother comes back for a surprise visit, pick your time.”
He didn’t make it sound like Kirstin planned to return anytime soon. “Want me to start next weekend?”
He leveled a steady gaze on me. Deep in his eyes, I saw the resistance. He didn’t want me to startever. He probably regretted picking me up on the side of the road. But he wouldn’t go back on his word. This time.
CHAPTER SIX
June
Mama poured four glasses of Copper Summit Original. I soaked in the familiarity of her Keds sandals and simple blue top with capri-length jeans. She had her salt-and-pepper black hair pulled back in her usual bun. I had planned to wait until Monday to tell my family I was home, but school was still in session. Time was more limited to get the four seasons together—Summer, Autumn, me, and Wynter. Fitting that I’d come home now since it was almost June and most of June was technically spring. Hence my name.
Both Autumn and my sister-in-law, Scarlett, would have to work, while Summer and Wynter could be more flexible with their jobs at the original distillery in town. So on Sunday morning, I’d sent a quick text explaining that I had returned home to write my new album in peace, my car had broken down, Lane was working on it at the shop, and I was at the cabin.
Mama had arrived first, sensing there was more to my story. In fifteen years, I hadn’t come home for work. Wynter was with her in a lilac-colored sundress, large sunglasses, and her white-blond hair cascading from a clip. Then Summer and Scarlett had ridden in together. Autumn had driven herself. She still lived in town with her husband, Gideon, while Gideon’s old family home—and his and Autumn’s future home—underwent a major remodel. They all had brought some cookies, crackers, cheese, and olives.
The snacks were needed. The cabin might not have been stocked with much for food, but I had two bottles of unopened wine on the counter and at least five different bottles of bourbon. I liked craft beer, but I wasn’t home enough to stock it. By the time I could drink it all, it’d be skunked.
Summer took the glasses of bourbon from Mama and distributed them while Mama mixed virgin mimosas for Wynter, who was nursing, and Summer, who was pregnant.
