Chapter Three
Jinnie
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M Y PHONE BUZZES ON the nightstand. I don’t need to look to know it’s him. No one else texts this early. I’ve barely slept. I’m glad I didn’t have the morning shift at the bakery. I’m absolutely fried and in no mood to deal with people.
I grab the phone and look at the screen. It’s a text from Jack: Can we talk?
My thumb hovers over the keyboard as last night’s fight replays behind my eyes—the way he’d stormed out after I questioned this so-called record deal. The look on his face. He was hurt and disappointed. I owned that. It was probably the wrong reaction. He was of course excited about the idea of becoming a big star. Who wouldn’t be? I was a pragmatist. I knew the chances of anyone making it in a cutthroat industry was slim. And he was young. Not younger than me, but young compared to the sharks in the water that would exploit him.
But those were my fears. My reservations.
I swallow hard and type back: Yeah. Come over .
We do need to talk. I owe him an apology even if I still have some concerns. My own selfish reasons for wanting to keep him here had to be put aside. This is his life. His dreams. If I care about him, I have to encourage him to take it.
I roll over and pull what had quickly become his pillow against my face. For a moment, I breathe him in, already missing him even though he’s not really gone yet. I know he’s leaving. He’s going to hit the big city and the bright lights are going to steal him away from me. That and the millions of women who are going to see just how amazing he is. Never mind his looks. Once some Hollywood stylist gets their hands on Jack, he’s going to look every bit the heartthrob. He’s going to be on billboards and magazine covers. Shirtless undoubtedly. Everyone in the world is going to see what I’ve had the privilege of calling mine the last couple of months. The women are going to drool over him.
And I’m going to be left behind in this small town, forgotten.
I sit up and push the hair out of my face. I can’t think like that. I know Jack. He’s not the type to let fame change him. But that’s na?ve. Fame changes everyone. I’ve never seen it happen personally, but I’ve read the tabloids like everyone else.
I pad to the bathroom and stare at my reflection. Shadows under my eyes, hair a mess, orange paint still visible on my collarbone despite scrubbing last night. I look like exactly what I am—a small-town girl who works at a bakery. Nothing special.
My stomach twists as I remember Liz at the bar that night. Her manicured fingers toying with the stem of her martini glass as she watched Jack play with that predatory look in her eyes. The way she’d leaned in close when she talked to him. It wasn’t jealousy. Well, not just jealousy. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and can see when other women are on the prowl. Fakeness oozed from her pores.
Jack doesn’t know what’s coming. I feel like I do. But maybe I’m wrong.
I quickly wash my face and brush my teeth. I reach for my scrunchie and put my hair up and then walk to the small kitchen. Max is sitting next to bowl. His tail slaps against the floor letting me know he’s not pleased to be getting a late breakfast.
“It’s an hour,” I murmur. “Sometimes I get to sleep in.”
I open a can of his food and dump it in his dish before starting my coffee. I stare at the coffee dripping into the mug. There are so many thoughts bouncing through my head. I wonder if I should just tell him I support his decision. I’m still not convinced that Liz is legit, but maybe I don’t know how the music industry works. Maybe talent scouts do prowl small-town bars looking for the next big thing. And Jack is talented—damn, is he talented. His voice has this raspy quality that makes you feel like he’s singing directly to your soul. When he closes his eyes and leans into the microphone, it’s like watching someone having a religious experience.
I take a sip of coffee and wince. Too strong. I add more cream and try again.
The dominating thought, the one I didn’t want to give voice to, wouldn’t budge. He’s coming over to break up with me. He’s the kind of guy who’s not going to cheat. So, in order for him to fully embrace the new life being handed to him, he has to end things with me. I’m in the way of his bright future with women aplenty.
I close my eyes and let the wave of pain and grief wash over me. I think I always knew the man was meant for big things. I have to be happy with the time I got with him. When he is up there on stage, wowing millions, I will have the memories. He’s got the talent. He’s going to go places. And I’m holding him back. I have to let him go. I have to encourage him to chase his dreams.
The knock on the door comes too soon. I don’t want to answer it. If I don’t answer it, we can’t talk and I won’t lose him.
I walk to the door and take a deep breath.
When I open it, there he is. My heart squeezes at the sight of him. He’s beautiful. There’s a light in his eyes and that half-smile that always undoes me. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. His arm brushes mine as he passes, sending a familiar spark through me that now just stings. I know I’m losing him. Panic bubbles up.
“Want coffee?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I keep my back to him as I make him a cup. My tiny house feels even smaller. Jack doesn’t sit. Just paces my tiny living room like a caged animal.
I hand him the cup and wait.
“So,” he starts, then stops, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous. “About last night—”
“I overreacted,” I cut in quickly, wrapping my hands around my mug to hide their shaking. “This deal is huge, Jack. I do want this for you.”
He freezes mid-step, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I force my lips into something resembling a smile. I’m not an actress but I’m going to put on what I hope is an Oscar-winning performance. “Tell me everything.”
And he does. His hands animate the air as he talks about recording studios and tour buses, meeting producers in Memphis, the album he’s been dreaming of making since he was sixteen. His voice gets that pitch it does when he’s excited about a new song, the one that makes his words tumble over each other. I watch his face light up and feel something inside me crack open.
“You’re really doing it,” I say when he pauses for breath. My voice sounds strange to my own ears—too calm, too measured.
He grins, that full-face smile that can still make my knees weak. “I’m really doing it.”
The silence between us stretches thin. My stomach is rolling. I put down the cup of coffee that’s still half-full. Words fail me. I dig deep, searching for my inner cheerleader.
“You’re not gonna try to talk me out of it?” Jack asks quietly.
I meet his eyes and force a smile. “Would it work?”
“Maybe.”
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to say yes, please stay, don’t go . I can feel my heart splintering. He’s waiting for me to give him a reason to stay, and every selfish part of me wants to grab that lifeline.
But I can’t. I won’t be that person.
“No,” I finally say, my voice calmer than I feel. “This is your shot, Jack. The one you’ve been waiting for. I won’t stand in the way of that.”
He studies my face like he’s trying to memorize it. “What about us?”
The question hangs between us. I want to throw my arms around him, beg him to take me with him, promise I’ll follow him anywhere. But I know better. I’ve seen enough of the world to know how these stories end.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say instead. “Memphis isn’t that far.”
“Eight hours,” he says. “Plus tours. Plus studio time.”
I nod, like this is all perfectly reasonable. “People do long distance all the time.”
“You’d wait for me?” There’s something vulnerable in his tone.
“I don’t think we have to make any plans right now,” I say. “Do you know when you’re going?”
He grins. “Nope, but I’m about to find out.”
He pulls out his phone and before I can process what’s happening, he’s dialing. “Liz? Yeah, it’s Jack. Jack Hayes. We met the other night.” My spine goes rigid. She’s on his speed dial already. He smiles at me as she talks. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but judging by his growing smile, it’s good. “Yeah, I’m in. Let’s do it.”
I turn toward the window, pretending to watch the birds and not eavesdrop. That’s impossible give we’re standing three feet apart. “Next week?” Jack says. The words hit me like a physical blow. Next week. Seven days. “Perfect.”
My vision blurs. I quickly blink to keep myself from crying. I have to be strong. I have to push him toward his dream. I can’t hold him back.
“Email me the details.” There’s a pause, then a laugh—her laugh. My nails dig half-moons into my palms.
He ends the call and turns back to me, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m leaving next Thursday. She’s sending me flight details and arranging an apartment for me.”
“An apartment?” I manage to keep my voice steady. “That’s...generous.”
“It’s part of the deal,” he says. “A place to crash while I record. Then there’s talk of a small tour to build buzz before the album drops.”
My head spins. Thursday. Seven days from now, he’ll be gone. “Wow. That’s fast.”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s all happening so quick. I can’t believe it.”
I force another smile. “I’m happy for you.”
Jack steps closer, taking my hands in his. His touch still sends electricity through me. “I can’t believe this is actually happening! Me! I’m actually going to sing for a living!”
“I’m really happy for you, Jack. Truly. You deserve this. I can’t wait to see how successful you are.”
“Baby, I’m going to make millions!”
I take a deep breath. “I am happy for you. And I’d love to celebrate but I have to shower and get ready for work.”
He frowns. “Can we—”
“I’m sorry, but I need to get ready.”
I’m barely keeping it together. He has to leave or I’m going to lose my shit.
He hesitates, then nods. “This isn’t goodbye, you know.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Isn’t it?
“Of course, not.” I smile.
He pulls me against him. My heart leaps. I want to throw my arms around him and hold him close. He kisses the side of my face and then pulls back. Our lips brush but that’s it. I can’t kiss him because it will absolutely make me cry.
“I’ll text you later,” he says.
“Okay.”
I close the door behind him, lock it, and then rest my forehead against it.
One week. Seven days. Then he’ll be gone, chasing dreams and immersing himself into a whole new life.
And I’ll be left waiting for the real goodbye.