“Scarlett Carson, get your cute butt in here right now.” Donna leaned half of her body out of theTribune’s front door.
“What’s the matter? Is everything okay?” I questioned, although the playfulness in her tone had me releasing a bit of the anxiety that had taken up residence in my brain.
“You’ll see.”
I stepped past her and into the office, where there was approximately nothing waiting for me inside. I stopped, waiting for her to close the door and give me more information.
“Guess who I got a call from this morning?”
I shook my head back and forth. “I have no idea.”
“Country Music and Company.”
I waited for her to continue, because I could see the words dancing on her tongue.
“You know, the mega publication company that’s known around the world? It’s practically the biggest source of news for all of country music. They’re like theRolling Stonemagazine of your generation,” she declared.
“Okay… and?”
“And they got ahold of your article about Stetson, and they’re asking if they can publish it.” The excitement wasn’t just in her voice, it was written all over her face too.
“What?” I screeched. “What do you mean? How in the hell did they get their hands on my article?”
She raised her hands, shrugging her shoulders. “No idea. But who cares. This is incredible. It could quite literally shape your career. Do understand that, darlin’?”
My mind ran through the files tucked away in my brain, ignoring what she’d just said and instead searching for any inkling into how they may have gotten the article.
“I only sent it to you and Stetson.” The second his name left my mouth, I instinctively I knew I had the answer. “Stetson…” I repeated.
She folded her arms across her chest and a monster-sized grin painted her face.
“I have to go,” I said.
For the first time in thirteen years, I’d grasped the extent of what carrying around my guilt for the rest of my life would look like and it was heartbreaking. “I have to go talk to him. But can we talk about all of this later?”
“Go,” she said, ushering me out of the door. “Go get him.”
The adrenaline roping through me had set me free.
What he’d done, sending my article to Country Music and Company, was the little push I needed to finally listen to the voice inside my head. Mom might have planted the words, but I had watered them, secretly hoping they’d grow because at the end of the day, happiness was all anyone really wanted and I’d been so consumed by guilt I’d practically let it slip right through my fingertips. I couldn’t let that happen again.
Iwouldn’t.
“Stetson!” I called out. “Hello, is anyone is here? Stetson!”
Nothing but the sounds of an old barn rattled back, and the smile on my face slowly faded away as I peered into the recording studio and found it empty.
I made my way to the stables, desperately hoping I’d see that familiar build in the tack room or saddling up Cheyenne for a ride, but I came up empty-handed. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and started scrolling through my contacts.
“Looking for someone?” George’s voice barreled toward me.
“Stetson,” I responded, shoving my phone back in my pocket. “I was just looking for Stetson.”
The wrinkles on his face were extra scrunched. “Oh, darlin’, I figured you knew… Stetson left yesterday. He finished the album and had to get back to Nashville for some benefit concert he’s doing tonight. He’s gone.”
The wordgonefelt too final.
“Sorry, George. I have to go,” I spouted.
