Page 24 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

“He’s still wrong,” I mutter.

“Maybe,” Aggie says, standing up to refill her mug. “But being wrong doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

I look out the window and see a sleek black car pulling down the driveway. My belly does a flip-flop. “She’s here,” I say.

Aggie takes a deep breath. “Take care of yourself, Jack.”

She gives me a hug. It’s wild because I’m sadder about leaving Aggie’s house than I was about leaving home.

“Thank you, Aggie. You saved me. I was lost and you were there when I needed someone.”

“Don’t think about it,” she says. “I’m glad I could help.”

Liz honks the horn.

Aggie snorts. “Good to see she has manners.”

I grab my guitar and duffel bag and walk to the door. I pause and take one last look at the place I’ve called home for the last couple of months.

It hurts.

I know I’m moving on to bigger and better things, but it still hurts. “Bye, Aggie.”

“Bye, Jack. Take care of yourself.”

I step outside and glance at my truck parked out of the way. Aggie didn’t mind it staying at her place.

I open the back door and put my stuff in the backseat before sliding into the front seat.

Liz flashes me a megawatt smile. “Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?”

“I think so.”

She laughs and hits the gas, throwing up gravel as she speeds down the driveway, leaving a trail of dust.

“I’m changing your life, Jack,” she says. “You are going to be rich beyond your wildest dreams. People are going to know your face everywhere you go. They’re going to scream your name and follow you around.”

I’m not sure that’s a selling point, but I take it. She talks all the way to the airstrip where a private jet is waiting for us. This is wild. I feel like I need to pinch myself.

This is really happening.

We board the jet and I sit down in one of the leather chairs. This is weird. Wild. I fight the urge to take a picture; I need to play it cool. Ten minutes later, we’re taking off. The leather seat is so soft it feels like sinking into a cloud. I press my forehead against the oval window, watching the patchwork of fields and highways shrink below us.

“First time flying private?” Liz asks from across the aisle, swirling amber liquid in her crystal glass.

I grin. “First time flying, period.”

She laughs. “Get used to this, kid. This is your life now.”

The words send a thrill through me. My life now. No more singing on a small stage I built myself. Or painting decks in the middle of a hot day. Or milking cows. All of that is over.

“We’ll get you settled,” Liz says. “Tomorrow, we’ll go straight to the label. They’re eager to meet their new star. Everyone is looking forward to the money you are going to generate.”

Star.

I can’t resist pulling out my phone and snapping a picture of the clouds below.

“You should see the studio,” Liz says, pulling my attention back. “State-of-the-art equipment. Producers who’ve worked with Taylor, Beyoncé , and some of the biggest bands in the industry.”