Page 24 of Chasin’s Surrender

Then her voice accompanied the strings and sweet Christ, he couldn’t move.

She was singing.

The rasp in her voice more pronounced, full of heartbreaking emotion—the words came from her soul and Chasin knew without being told, the song Genevieve was belting out was hers. She’d written those words; no way those lyrics came from someone else, not the way she was singing. She felt those words to her soul.

Christ. Beautiful.

Somebody’s gonna treat you right.

But it’s not me.

Somebody’s gonna hold you tight.

But it’s not me.

Somebody’s gonna take you home and spend the night.

But it’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me.

Her voice strong and sure, angry, broken, chock full of pain.

She stopped singing but kept strumming the chords. Suddenly Chasin felt like an intruder but it didn’t stop him from listening. He was captivated, held hostage by the power of her voice.

His palms went to the cool wood of the door. He leaned forward and rested his forehead there, wishing he could see her but knowing he wasn’t welcome.

Yeah, he fucked up—huge.

8

I’d lost track of time.

This wasn’t new.

This wasn’t even abnormal.

The sun had set and it was pitch black outside so I figured I didn’t lose a little time but a lot of it. I’d finished tweaking the song I’d started the night Chasin left and started a new one, forcing myself to write something more upbeat. If I let myself wallow, I’d have an album full of hateful breakup songs.

I set my PRS back on the stand and stretched. There weren’t many things I missed about my house in Oak Hill. The truth was, I hated that house long before I’d found out some wackadoodle had broken in. But I loved my studio and Bobby’s guest house. Bobby had a great eye and had made the two-bedroom bungalow an extension of her bubbly personality—a side of her I hadn’t seen in a long time.

On that thought, my chest started to hurt.

I’d lost her, too.

How did that happen?

My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I opened the door and noted the house was quiet. It was a big house; a party could’ve been going on in the back living room and kitchen and I probably wouldn’t have heard. But that didn’t stop me from wondering where Bobby was.

We needed to talk. There were things I wanted to explain to her, all the things I should’ve said a long time ago but I’d been too lost in my head. Now I’d screwed up and I was afraid it was too late. But I still needed to try to salvage a friendship that I valued, even if I’d been a shit friend and hadn’t shown it. I just wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. But Bobby was Bobby so if I opened the door, I knew she’d barge through it.

All I needed to do was find the courage to crack it open.

Indecision and paranoia weighed heavily on me as I moved through the dark living room into the kitchen. But all thoughts of Bobby and conversation flew from my mind when I saw Chasin sitting at the table, his back to me. His laptop was open so the screen was facing me. There was no sound but I recognized the video he was watching—that night was the best night of my life.

My breath caught in my lungs as I stood statue-still, and watched.

I was on stage, singing a duet with Sean Lovette, bright lights dancing behind us. The country music legend wore a long black trench coat over black jeans, a black button-up collarless dress shirt, and his signature cowboy hat complete with the multi-colored, beaded hatband and shiny, black crow feather tucked under the band. Sean strummed his Gibson; the rosewood body gleamed each time the spotlight hit it, the high-gloss finish reflecting a starburst of light.

I was standing next to him in a kickass red floral mini dress. It had a deep-V, tight against my cleavage but flowy everywhere else, making it look sexier than it would’ve been if it’d been tight. I was wearing a pair of square-toed red alligator cowboy boots that cost more than my first car. From top to toe, I looked every bit the country girl I was, only better.