“It’s not.” He taps his fingers on his cheeks. “Look, man. I’m not pretending I’ve got my own life figured out. You’ve covered my ass more times than either of us can count. But you’ve gotta stop trying to prove you love someone by what you do for them. Sometimes you just have to say it. Out loud. With words, not song lyrics.”
I huff out a laugh. “Since when are you a relationship expert?”
“Since you started needing one.” He grins, young and stupid and wiser than he has any right to be. “The biggest thing you taught me on that first album is to shut up long enough to hear what the music is trying to tell me. It’s time for you to hear what your life is trying to tell you.”
I draw in a long breath, feeling my ribcage expand in a studio that feels smaller than it did when I was sitting here in the dark. Or maybe I’m just aware of how much room I take up when I’m hauling everybody else’s baggage on top of my own.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. That’s as much as I can give right now.
“You better.” He grins, and I know he knows he got through to me. “‘Cuz if you don’t, I’m shooting my shot with her. I’m younger, richer?—”
“One more word, and I’ll kill you.”
“You can’t kill me. You’re responsible for me.”
“Responsible for your death,” I mutter, then shake my head. Something loosens inside me, a thread pulling free from a knot that’s been wound tight for decades. “But you’re right that I needto start taking care of me instead of everyone else. And you need to be responsible for yourself. My old-man shoulders are getting a little sore, you know?”
“I know you could carry three people across the Sahara fucking Desert and not complain.” He stands and moves the chair against the far wall. “But you deserve to be happy, Jensen. You’ve more than earned it.” He turns for the door, then looks over his shoulder. “Sloane makes you happy.”
It’s not a question.
Maybe she needed me to leave to prove to both of us that she could stand on her own. But I need her to know that I don’t want to be at her side just to catch her if she falls. There’s simply nowhere else I want to be, even when I have absolutely nothing useful to offer. Especially then.
Cody disappears before I can answer, but I say the words out loud anyway.
“So damn happy.”
I flip off the overhead light and pick up my guitar. This time, the chords don’t sound like heartbreak. They sound like hope.
31
SLOANE
The cabin sitsat the end of a gravel road, taking forty minutes and one Jesus-take-the-wheel moment with a switchback to find. By the time I park the rental car in front of it, I’m almost certain I’ve forgotten every word of the speech I rehearsed on repeat during my three-hour flight.
Whisper Falls, Tennessee, is greener than I pictured, the Smoky Mountains less rugged and dramatic than my beloved Rockies, but just as beautiful with their rounded tops draped in layers of blue mist. Jensen’s house is exactly what I expected—the style and location a man chooses when he wants a place where the world will leave him alone. It’s hard to access, but worth the effort. With dark timber siding, a weathered metal roof, and a wraparound porch, I immediately love it.
I know he’s here thanks to Cody, who covertly typed his number into my phone that first night in Tahoe, like a kid trying to take a swipe at the cookie jar without Dad realizing. In case you were wondering, Jensen noticed.
When I called Cody yesterday, he told me Jensen had left Nashville for the weekend to go hide out in the woods. He asked if I was coming, and when I told him yes, he texted directions toJensen’s place so fast I suspect he was waiting for me to reach out. A sweet boy with a warm honey voice who will turn some unsuspecting woman’s life upside down one day.
There’s a creek gurgling somewhere in the distance, but it’s hard to register over the blood roaring in my ears. Because what if he doesn’t want me here? Iris, who drove me to the airport at the ass crack of dawn this morning, insisted we play “I Will Find You” on repeat like my own personal hype song. And it worked until three seconds ago. But I came this far, so I march up the steps and knock before I lose my nerve.
A moment later, the door opens, and Jensen is standing there looking like he hasn’t slept since Reno. He’s sporting a thicker layer of scruff than he had coming off the trail, his hair is more finger-in-a-light-socket than tousled, and the shadows under his gray eyes hint at an exhaustion so deep I want to tuck him in bed and sing him a lullaby. Just so we’re clear: I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.
He blinks at me like I’m a hallucination.
“Sloane?”
“Hi.” Hours of mental rehearsal, and this is what I lead with? Well done, me.
He takes a step back, and I move forward, then stop when my gaze catches on a half-zipped duffel bag sitting by the door, his wallet and keys resting on top. It only takes a moment for my stomach to reach my toes.
“Oh.” The words sound like a frog’s croak. “Oh, gosh. You were leaving.”
His mouth tilts up at one corner, and my heart soars, an automatic response I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. And I don’t.
“I was coming to find you,” he says. “Again.”
