Chapter Twenty-Five
Jack
I WAKE TO A HEAVY WEIGHT on my chest. I pop one eye open to see Max sitting on me. His glare tells me he’s not happy. Truthfully, I don’t know if the cat is ever happy. He tolerates me but I know he doesn’t really like me. Then again, I don’t think he likes anyone.
“Get off,” I mutter.
Jinnie giggles against my neck. “Max, go away.”
“He’s pissed,” I say.
“I know.”
“How does he know what time it is?” I ask.
“All animals have internal clocks.”
“Yeah? You asked them?”
She laughs and rolls to her back. “I don’t have to. He’s not used to me sleeping past seven.”
She gently pushes the cat off my chest.
We’ve been back at her place for a week. I feel almost human again. Aggie has been making us dinner almost every night. She was aghast to see me... her word. Said I lost too much weight and looked like a scarecrow. She was going to fatten me up one way or another.
I’m just so happy to have my feet on solid ground. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do except heal. That’s Jinnie’s word. She says I’m healing.
I think I am.
“I’ll start coffee,” Jinnie says.
“Or we could just stay in bed all day.”
“We could, but we need to finish that song,” she reminds me. “Your adoring fans are anxious to hear the whole thing after we teased it.”
“I can’t believe I still have fans,” I say.
“You have true fans,” she says as she climbs over me. “People who actually like the music and not all the bullshit.”
“That makes me happy.”
And I am. For the first time in months, the music feels like mine again. There’s no sequins, no stupid nicknames, no Liz whispering in my ear about marketability. Just me and my guitar and Jinnie’s sharp eye catching every lyric that doesn’t ring true. Since we’ve been back, melodies and lyrics have been pouring out of me. I have so many ideas, I can’t get them on paper fast enough.
It’s this place. And her. I feel like I can breathe again.
Jinnie walks into the kitchen. I can hear the coffeemaker going and then smell the pungent scent of cheap coffee. And I can’t wait to drink it. None of the stupid ten-dollar drinks or espresso so strong it makes my toes curl.
“Babe!” Jinnie calls out. “You are blowing up!”
“Is that good or bad?” I ask without getting out of bed.
This is the REAL Jack Hayes.
Finally someone keeping it honest.
My grandfather farmed corn for fifty years and he’d love this.
She laughs as she reads the comments. “One person says they are so glad you’re not wearing those Liberace costumes anymore.”
I grin. “Me too.”
“Your phone is blowing up out here,” she calls out.
I groan and throw off the blankets. It’s cold as shit. I quickly pull on my hoodie, which is silly considering I’m only wearing my boxers as I walk into the kitchen to grab my phone.
“I thought you deleted social media?” Jinnie pours me a mug of coffee. “It’s not good for you. Not right now.”
“I did,” I tell her.
I grab the phone. “It’s a text.”
I read the message aloud: “This is Martin Cho from Atlas Records. Loved your recent work. Let’s talk.”
Jinnie’s eyes open wide. “Atlas? As in the Atlas Records? The one with—”
“Grammy-winning artists, yeah.” My thumb hovers over the screen. “Should I—”
“Yes! But we’re negotiating terms this time. No more signing blind. Unless you don’t want to.”
I give her a dry look. “You know I do. I still want to make music and I did love the stage until things got weird.”
“Then you set the terms.”
I put my phone down and take the cup of coffee. “Jinnie, I’m only doing this if you’re with me.”
“I’ll be with you.”
“No, I mean with me. You’d have to quit the bakery.”
“I will, but first, let’s hear what the man has to say.”
“I don’t want to go to LA,” I say.
“Then you tell him to come here.” She shrugs. “You’re still the one with the power, Jack. You are going to make music with or without him. You have the money to build your own studio. I looked into all of that and you can do it. You won’t make as much, but you’ll still make money. If you sign with a studio, you’ll make more money and play bigger venues. That’s your choice.”
I think about it for a few seconds. “I’ll hear him out.”
Martin Cho meets us at the bakery two days later. He looks out of place in his fancy suit. He slides a contract across the table. We’ve had a few Zoom calls and this meeting is about getting to talk face-to-face.
“We want authenticity,” Martin says, stirring his black coffee. “No gimmicks. Just you, your guitar, and that powerhouse voice.”
Jinnie’s knee knocks against mine under the table—our silent signal that she’s taking over. She flips through the contract with the focus of a general going to war.
“Creative control stays with Jack,” she says, tapping clause twelve. “No forced collaborations, no image rebrands. And he owns his music.”
Martin nods. “Reasonable.”
“And I’m his manager.” Jinnie’s voice leaves no room for argument. “No middlemen.”
Martin’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have experience?”
“She turned my career around in a week,” I say, squeezing her hand. “That’s all the experience you need to see.”
“We’ll also need you to put in the contract Jack has a say in every photo published,” Jinnie says.
Martin leans back in his chair, studying Jinnie with newfound respect. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. “But I like it. It’s refreshing. Too many artists sign away their souls without a second thought.”
“Not this one,” Jinnie says firmly. “Jack’s been through enough. If Atlas wants him, it’s on his terms. No more jumping through hoops for the sake of marketability. No more labels trying to turn him into something he’s not. And no more Jumping Jack .”
I sit there, letting Jinnie take the lead, my chest swelling with pride and gratitude. She’s fearless, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m in control of my own future.
Martin nods, tapping his pen against the table as if considering her demands. “All right,” he says finally. “We can make that work. But understand, Jack, this isn’t going to be the same kind of ride Rockline gave you. No private jets, no penthouse suites—at least not at first. We’re talking grassroots here. Small venues, intimate shows, letting the music speak for itself.”
“I don’t need the glitz,” I say. “I just want to make music that matters again.”
Jinnie glances at me with a soft smile before turning back to Martin. “And what about touring? We’ll need clear boundaries there too. No back-to-back shows without breaks, no pushing him to the point of exhaustion.”
“First, we start small. We record a new album with the sound we’ve been seeing lately...not the crap he was singing. We’ll talk tour once the record comes out.”
Jinnie nods her approval. “Okay. Once you make the changes to the contract, send it over and we’ll have his attorney review it.”
I wasn’t aware I had an attorney. I fired the last guy once I figured out he screwed me over along with everyone else.
“That works,” Martin says before extending his hand. “I look forward to doing business with you, Jack. You seem like a solid guy.” He turns to Jinnie and grins. “And I’m terrified to do business with you, but I think I like the idea of having someone looking out for our artist’s best interests.”
One Year Later
Jinnie’s hand lace with mine over the console of my new SUV. This trip has been a long time coming. I’m glad she’s here with me. I don’t think I could have done it without her. I have come to realize I need her far more than she needs me. Without her, I’m lost.
“You okay?” she asks, squeezing my fingers.
I glance at the farmhouse coming into view—the peeling white paint, the sagging porch swing, the fields stretching endlessly behind it. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
I pull up the familiar driveway. Nothing has changed. Except me. It’s been nearly two years since I’ve been here. My stomach is in knots as I pull the SUV to a stop.
Dad waits on the porch, his work boots dusty, his hat in his hands. He looks older. Smaller. The years of silence between us hang heavy in the air as we climb the steps.
“Jack.” His voice is gruffer than I remember.
“Dad. This is Jinnie.”
Jinnie smiles, extending a hand. “Mr. Hayes.”
Dad ignores it, pulling her into a stiff hug instead. “Call me Dan. Come in, everyone’s going to want to see you.”
The house smells like bacon and burnt coffee. It’s a familiar smell that makes me smile. We settle around the kitchen table—the same one where Dad told me music wouldn’t pay the bills—while Jinnie charms him with stories of life on tour.
My brothers barge into the house. We exchange exuberant hugs. They’ve come out to a few shows, but no one could get Dad to come.
Patty walks in next. “There’s my boy,” she whispers as she hugs me tight.
“Hi, Patty.”
“You boys sit down,” Patty says. “I promised Jack I’d make him a good meal.”
Michael and Caleb are peppering Jinnie with questions about Europe and what it’s like to travel all the time.
“Jack, can we... talk? Alone?” Dad gets to his feet and gestures for me to follow him into the living room.
I reach for Jinnie’s hand. “Anything you say to me you can say in front of her.”
Dad studies our linked fingers, then nods and sits back down. Michael and Caleb pull up chairs and sit down without an invitation.
“I owe you an apology,” Dad says. “For... everything.” His calloused hands are pressed against the table. “After your mom died, I—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t know how to be what you needed. And when you didn’t want the farm...”
I see it then—not the stubborn farmer who kicked me out, but a grieving man drowning in his own loss.
“I get it now,” I say quietly. “Because if I lost Jinnie?” My throat tightens. “I’d break, too.”
Dad nods. “Every man needs a good woman.” He gives my brothers a pointed look.
They suddenly remember they have chores and nearly trip over each other to get out of the kitchen.
I stand abruptly, pulling Jinnie up with me. “Actually, Dad? There’s something I want to say to Jinnie. And I want you to hear it.”
“Jack?” Jinnie looks up at me.
I drop to one knee and pull out the ring stuck in my front pocket. The thing cost a small fortune and I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket like it’s loose change. I knew I was going to do it here in front of my family. I wanted them to see how much I’ve grown.
“This past year has been the best of my life. Not because of the music or the fans or any of that. Because of you . You saw me when no one else did. You fought for me when I didn’t deserve it. You’ve been there through the sickness and health, for richer and poorer. You’re my ride or die. My muse. The woman I love more than everything else in this world. And I never want to be apart from you again.”
Jinnie’s crying now, her free hand pressed to her mouth.
“Marry me?”
She tackles me before I finish the question. “Yes!”
Dad chuckles. “I guess you really do have it all figured out. I’m proud of you, son.”
Twenty very long years I waited to hear those words from him.
I finally have everything I’ve always wanted and needed.
THE END