Page 57 of Where the Music Grows

I wait until she’s safely inside before backing out. I get to my tent and I’m exhausted but the adrenaline is still pumping. With Jinnie cheering me on from the front row, I think I might just be able to go all the way.

Chapter Nineteen

Jack

The wrench slips, banging my knuckles against the engine block. I swear, shaking out my hand. The truck’s old, temperamental, but it’s mine. Unless my dad follows through on his threat to call it stolen. The title is in my name, but he’s proven he doesn’t care about laws. Speaking of, I promised Michael I would check in today.

With me playing at the bar most nights, we haven’t had much time to talk. I know they have to sneak the phone calls to me. The only time they can do that is when Dad’s in bed. I’m usually on stage until midnight, and I know that’s way too late to call.

I wipe grease on my jeans and decide now is a good time to stop and try to talk to Michael. I know what they’re thinking. They think I’m getting too big for my britches and will just leave them in the dust. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but I need to prove it to them.

I pull my phone from my pocket, wiping my greasy hands on my jeans before I tap Michael’s name. It rings once, twice, and I’m half expecting it to go to voicemail when he finally answers.

“Jack? Is everything okay?

“Yeah, it’s me. Everything is fine.” I lean back against the truck. “You got a minute?”

“For you? Always. Dad and Caleb just left for town to pick up the meds for the cows. I’m sitting here eating a sandwich and thinking about a nap.”

“How’s it going over there?”

He sighs, and I can practically hear him running a hand through his hair. “Same old shit. Dad’s been in a mood since you left. Keeps muttering about ‘that boy’ and ‘his damn guitar.’ Caleb’s been trying to keep the peace, but you know how Dad gets.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, kicking at a loose rock with the toe of my boot. “I know.”

“How are you? You sound different.”

“Different how?”

“For one, your voice sounds raw, guessing you’re singing a lot.”

“Yeah, it was a wild set last night,” I say. I can’t stop smiling. “Aggie is going to make me some of her magic tea.”

“How’s all that going?”

“Things are good, Michael. Better than good, actually.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

So I do. I tell him about the bar, about Aggie and Jinnie, about the crowds that keep getting bigger every night. When I get to the part about building the stage, he lets out a low whistle.

“Sounds like you’re making a name for yourself,” he says.

“Trying to,” I say with a shrug he can’t see. “It’s not easy, but it feels right, you know?”

“I do,” he says quietly. “I wish I could see it. See you up there doing your thing.”

“Maybe you can sometime. I’d love for you guys to be there.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Dad would have a conniption if we even mentioned driving out there.”

“Screw Dad,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You guys are adults too, Michael. You don’t need his permission to live your lives.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for so long that I wonder if he hung up on me.

“It’s not that simple,” he finally says.

“Why not?” I demand. “Why does everything have to revolve around him? Around that damn farm?”