Page 64 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

“Show you what?”

“That damn phone,” she says. “I’m not that old. I know you young people have those things attached to your hand. Let me guess, more photos of Jack?”

I sigh. “I need to block him.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t stop looking at the pictures,” I say.

“Let me see.”

I unlock my phone and pass it over. Aggie squints at the screen, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“That’s not him,” she says flatly. “And what is that awful shirt he’s wearing?”

I laugh and take the phone back. “I’m sure that is Liz’s idea. And the posts are probably Liz. Or some intern. Jack would never post anything so stupid. At least the old Jack wouldn’t.”

“I remember the first time I heard him playing out here,” Aggie says.

“He made some beautiful music here.” I sigh. “Did you hear his new single?”

She nods. “I did. Is that one you helped him with?”

“No,” I scoff. “That was all Liz and the label,” I say, poking at the fire with a stick. “It’s catchy, but it’s not him. Not really. He told me he didn’t want to do the pop thing, but it seems like they’re pushing him in that direction.”

Aggie hums, her eyes fixed on the flames. “You know, sometimes people get lost in the noise. Doesn’t mean they’re gone for good.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think he wants to come back, Aggie. He’s got everything he ever wanted—fame, money, adoring fans. Why would he want to return to this?” I gesture around the clearing, the firelight flickering on the trees.

She gives me a knowing look. “Because this is where his heart is. Or at least it was.”

I don’t respond, my throat tightening. The fire crackles softly, and for a moment, it feels like Jack could step out of the shadows any second, guitar in hand, ready to play something raw and real. But he doesn’t.

“You still love him,” Aggie says quietly. It’s not a question.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “He’s not mine anymore.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Oh, sweetheart. Love doesn’t just disappear because someone changes their address or puts on a sequined shirt or lets people call him Jumping Jack or whatever nonsense he agreed to be called.”

I snort despite myself. “Jumping Jack Hayes.”

“Sounds like a rodeo clown,” she mutters.

The flames crackle between us, casting flickering shadows around the air. I pull my knees to my chest, the night air cooling the tears on my cheeks before I can wipe them away.

“He used to care about the music,” I whisper. “Now it’s all hashtags and sequins.”

Aggie sighs. “Honey, the bakery uses your cinnamon roll recipe, yeah? But they slap the café logo on it and charge triple.”

I blink at her. “What’s that got to do with—”

“Same damn thing.” She stabs the fire again. “Record company’s just packaging him. Doesn’t mean what’s inside changed. He can be Jumping Jack on stage but when he’s with you, he can be Jack. You need to be his touchstone.”

The wind shifts, blowing smoke into my face. I cough, my eyes stinging. “He doesn’t need me. I haven’t heard from him in a while. He doesn’t need a touchstone. He’s caught up in a hurricane of fame and I’m the last person he wants to talk to.”

“Ever try to talk over a hurricane?”

“He could try harder.”

“He will.” Aggie stands with a groan, her knees popping. “When the glitter fades and the crowds thin, he’ll remember who he is.” She ruffles my hair. “Go home. You’ll catch cold.”

I shake my head. “I’m staying.”

Aggie mutters something about stubborn kids but trudges back toward the house. She returns ten minutes later with a sleeping bag and a pillow.”

“Don’t burn down my woods,” she grumbles.

I’m left alone once again. I get lost staring at the flames. Somewhere out there, Jack’s playing to thousands. But here, in this quiet clearing, I can still hear the boy with the guitar plucking along as he tries to find a rhythm.

My phone buzzes again. I don’t check it. I spread the sleeping bag out next to the fire and climb inside. I fall asleep thinking about Jack and the fact he still had my heart and I wasn’t sure I would ever get it back even if he forgets about me.