Page 76 of Where the Music Grows

Jack

I wake up with what feels like an elephant on my chest. I open my eyes, a little panicked, only to see a pink nose and yellow eyes inches from my face. Max. I groan, trying to shift under the weight of the cat, but he’s surprisingly heavy for a cat. “Really, Max? You’re not even gonna let me wake up first?”

Max just blinks at me, unimpressed, as if he’s the one who’s been wronged here. I gently nudge him off me and sit up, rubbing my face.

I glance over at her. She’s still asleep, her hair fanned out across the pillow, her face peaceful. She looks so different like this—more vulnerable. I’m not mad at her. She’s been trying to save her parents from hearing the news of her marriage.

She wakes up, sees me watching her and smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Thank you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “For?”

“For understanding. For staying the night. For not treating me like a pariah.”

“You’re not a pariah. You’re young. We all do dumb shit. I’m told we’re supposed to.”

She smiles. “Well, I hope this is my last big mistake for a while.”

“I’m going to go. Aggie is going to have a little something to say about me not playing last night.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to keep you from performing.”

“It was my choice. But I’m going to play my heart out tonight. I’m going to get enough money for your lawyer to do his damn job.”

“I wish I could be there.”

“Sneak in,” I tell her. “I’ve got a song burning in the back of my brain. I can feel it. Hear it. I need my guitar.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks. “What’s it about?”

I flash a grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Tease.”

I bend down and drop a kiss on her lips. “Just a little.”

I get out of bed and pull on my jeans while she watches me. “You’re a good guy, Jack.”

“I hope so, because you only deserve the best guy.”

I give her another kiss before walking out into the perfect morning. I’ve got the song in my head and it’s demanding to get out. Rarely do I have a whole song composed and written in my head. When that happens, it’s like being hit by lightning. That’s what this feels like.

When I get home, Aggie’s on the porch, gently rocking in her chair. She’s got her usual cup of coffee in hand.

“Out all night again, I see.”

She’s smiling.

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, well—”

“Save it.” She grins, sipping her coffee. “I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks, Aggie. I’m sorry I didn’t go in last night.”

She waves a hand. “It’s fine. I don’t expect you to play every night. It keeps the customers guessing. How is everything with my niece?”