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She appears, and I go in but leave the door slightly cracked so I can hear her. Inside is dingy, a single toilet and a bulb hanging from the ceiling.

A bit of a fixer-upper.

We go inside, and I buy a bottle of hand sanitizer when we get our water. The grizzled man behind the counter doesn’t say a word. As we’re stepping out, something wafts through the dry wind and hits Sabrina right on the chest. She peels it back, and I glance over her shoulder. It’s a band poster for a country music festival. I stumble as she comes to a halt.

“This was in Nashville,” she says. “Weird that it found its way out here.”

“Not all that strange. I’m sure lots of people drive through from Nashville. It’s a major highway.”

Honestly, I think it's the universe giving me a poke. I don’t love that, because it’s poking me in the direction of the last place I want to be, because that means we’re at the end. These last few days have been something like a dream, or maybe more like a song I'd have to write for a client, knowing I’ve never felt anything like that in real life.

She glances up at me. I look down at her.

The question hangs between us.

I don’t move. Dust swirls around our feet.

“We should get going,” she whispers.

I nod, taking the flyer and putting it in the trash can.

She’s pretty quiet while I fill the gas tank and get behind the wheel. She curls up on her side, and, after a while, her shoulders sink as I hear her breathing deepen. Up ahead, I keep my eyes on the road until I see a sign advertising the state border. After a while, hints of civilization pop up on the horizon. Pretty soon, we’re in a neat little town. It’s not fancy, but it’s pleasant, a relief after driving through nothing for hours.

I pull off at another gas station and get out. Just as I shut the door, I hear a faint buzz and pull it back open.

Jamie.

Swiping the screen, I lean back against the truck and put the phone to my ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he says in that tone that says he knows something. “How’s the album coming along?”

“Good,” I say.

“Anything you want to add?”

I shrug. “Nah, not that I can think of.”

“Maybe something about how you have Bill’s daughter in your truck, driving across the fucking United States?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, there is that.”

“Bill called me yesterday in a fucking rage.” His footsteps clip over the floor, and a door shuts. I can tell he’s in his Nashville office. “He says she’s with you, and she won’t come home.”

“She’s just coming along for fun.”

“Fun, like getting dicked down fun?”

I glance back at the sleeping woman in the truck, the last time we fucked running through my head. On the outside, taking her with me seems reckless, but nobody knows how this girl makes me feel. It’s she who’s fixing me more than anything. It’s like she’s waking my brain up and breaking me out of a decade-long paralysis. The ice is breaking from me slowly, with every mile we go.

“You’re not supposed to get involved with anyone until you sort your shit out,” he says. “We agreed. That’s what’s good for headlines.”

My stomach twists. Something unfamiliar lifts its head and shakes off dust.

I’m…kind of pissed off.

“Well, it’s not good for me,” I say.