Page 70 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

My thumb moves on its own, scrolling through the comments that are pretty much the same as always.

Marry me!

Most electrifying performer alive!

I’ll give you a birthday gift you won’t forget!

I cringe at the emojis. These women are shameless. Don’t they realize he’s an actual human?

I keep scrolling and then one of the comments catches my eye.

Y’all see the video of him trashing his family farm?

The link taunts me. I shouldn’t click. I definitely shouldn’t click.

I click.

The video loads—grainy, shaky, clearly filmed from the crowd. Jack’s voice booms through the speakers on either side of the stage.

“Do you hear that, old man? That’s fifteen thousand people who actually give a shit about me!” The camera zooms in as he waves his phone toward the screaming crowd. “Tell Aiden to kiss my ass while he’s still mucking stalls!”

The Jack in the video grins, but it’s all teeth. Not at all that cocky, sexy smile that lures me in every time. This is more like a snarl. Nothing like the boy who used to whisper lyrics to me under the stars.

My hands shake as I return to his post. He’s going to be in Chicago for a couple of days. Apparently, because of the ticket sales, they’ve booked a second night.

I shake my head as I stare at the picture of him. I can’t fix this through a screen. If I want the truth, I need to look him in the eye and make him talk to me. And maybe kick him in the ass for being so disrespectful to his own father. I don’t care what his dad did or didn’t do. Jack has better manners than that.

At least, he used to.

There’s a knock at the door. When I open it, it’s Aunt Aggie. “I brought burgers.”

“Aggie,” I say.

“You can say you’re fine, but I know today is a tough one. I got mushrooms on yours. I know you love it.”

I sigh and gesture for her to sit down. “Did you see it?” I ask her.

“That he’s going to be in Chicago?”

“No. Yes, but not just that. Hold on.”

I pull up the video and play it for her. She shakes her head. “That’s not him.”

“That’s exactly him,” I counter. “Or at least, it’s who he’s becoming.”

She sighs. “So what’s the plan? Storm into his fancy hotel? Give him a piece of your mind?”

“I don’t know.” My voice cracks. “But I can’t just sit here while he self-destructs.”

“I agree. That boy needs help—or a good ass-kicking.”