Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Danny: What are you doing right now?
Trace: Trying not to pull my hair out writing some new songs.
Danny: What a shame. I love your hair.
Trace: What are you doing?
Danny: Tidying up the cabin.
Trace: Getting some skiing in?
Danny: Plan on it. My friends get in soon.
Trace: Is this the cabin you told me about on the show?
Danny: Yep. My family’s from when I was a kid. Spent every winter here until my dad passed.
Trace: Is it hard to be back?
Danny: Harder not to. I’ve been wanting to film a ski documentary with some friends here for a while. Now I finally have the platform to do it.
Trace: I’m happy for you.
Trace: Is “I wish you didn’t break me like a dish” a stupid lyric.
Danny: Might not be your best work. It’s past 2 am. Go to bed, Trace.
Trace: Ugh I can’t think of a good rhyme for wish. I’m delirious.
Trace: But also I can’t sleep.
Danny: What about stitch or ditch or something? Close enough.
Trace: Genius!
Danny: Now go to bed.
Trace: What? I’m just getting started.
Danny: Would it be weird to add pickles to pasta?
Trace: Yes, very.
Danny: Don’t judge me. Huge snowstorm here and the pantry is bare.
Trace: At least keep them in separate bowls.
Danny: When does your tour start?
Trace: Why? thinking about getting tickets?
Trace: March 1st
Danny: Excited?
Trace: Kind of.
Trace: I guess. Sure.
Danny: Color me convinced
Danny: How was your day?
Trace: Oh y’know, the usual. A stylist came over to try and help me pick out tour outfits and my mother had to find the tiniest flaw in every choice.
Danny: I’m positive there were no flaws.
Trace: How was your day?
Danny: Jaylon and Barrett just got in.
Trace: Starting the big documentary?
Danny: Soon. Still have some prep work to do.
Trace: Be careful.
Danny: I will.
Danny: I don’t know if I can say this, but I miss you.
Trace: I miss you too.
Danny: What are you doing right now?
Trace: Getting on a flight.
Danny: To where?
Trace: To Denver.
Trace: I’m working with a songwriter from my label for a few days.
The texting between Danny and me had been nearly constant since that first text weeks ago.
Nothing heavy. Nothing big. Just little messages every day, checking in.
I had come to expect them. Maybe I shouldn’t have answered that first one.
Maybe I should have demanded a grander apology. But I couldn’t.
I liked the casual tone of his texts. It was like he was someone else, not the guy who had been torturing my thoughts. Someone a lot closer to the guy I had fallen for on the show, before things got messy and too hard.
But he hadn’t texted in days. Not since I told him I’d be in Denver, just hours away from the cabin where he was staying.
I’d looked it up. He’d told me the small town it was in, even gave me the address when I said I wanted to search for it on Google Maps.
He was so close I could feel his energy buzzing through the air, even from the stuffy downtown recording studio where I’d been forced to spend all my time.
“I’m just not sure it’s flowing,” Cadence, the writer my label had set me up with, said, breaking me from my obsessive thoughts.
She was young, even younger than me. Maybe twenty-five?
We’d been writing together since I’d arrived in Denver, and I wished I could say it was going smoothly, but we disagreed on things at nearly every turn.
“Oh, what? Sorry. The bridge or the second verse?”
She frowned. “Both.” She picked up the notebook we’d both been writing in and read, “After all this time / one single wish / For you to bring me back together / One piece. Stitch by stitch.”
I could hear the melody in the words as she said it. I was particularly proud of that line. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Is it too harsh to say ‘everything’? We’ve been at this for a few days now, and it’s not flowing. Corey said they’re looking for something upbeat. Something to dance to. You’re trying to be too poetic with it all.”
“Isn’t all songwriting just poetry?” I giggled nervously, wanting this moment to end. The people-pleaser in me was immensely uncomfortable with critique.
Cadence wasn’t having it. At first, I’d been kind of excited to write with someone new to the label.
I thought, like me, they’d be fresh-faced and eager to be there.
But the only thing Cadence was eager to do was succeed.
She was focused on writing exactly what she thought the label wanted, to prove herself.
I understood it, mostly. But I was tired.
“Maybe we can pick back up again tomorrow,” I said, glancing at the clock that now read 10:07 PM.
She put away her notebook and tugged a beanie over her curly brown hair. “Trace, the label only assigned me to work with you for thirty hours.”
“But writing sessions go over all the time,” I argued.
She looked at me with pity. “When we’re on to something, sure. But even if we met again tomorrow, we wouldn’t be any further along than we are now. I’m sorry. I know you were hoping for a breakthrough. Maybe they’ll reconsider a contract for your next record after the tour.”
After that harsh goodbye, I was outside alone in the biting winter breeze. It hadn’t been this cold when I’d arrived. The sun had been raging down, acting like a space heater to the entire city. But with nightfall, the air was completely different.
I walked the few short blocks to my hotel.
My mom would have told me to get a taxi, to never walk around alone in an unfamiliar city.
Someone could recognize me. Take advantage.
But as my label always so helpfully pointed out, the excitement surrounding me was dying.
And with my scarf up by my nose, no one even bothered to give me a second glance.
Back in my hotel room, I peeled off my layers and sighed, enjoying the peace of being alone.
My mom would have normally insisted on coming along, but she had a date tonight that she hadn’t wanted to reschedule.
She’d just started seeing the guy. He was older, successful.
Did something involving the stock market.
I’d barely listened when she told me about him; I doubted I’d ever get the chance to meet him.
I’d heard so many stories of daughters being scarred by their mothers’ dating lives. It was different for me. I’d always looked forward to the rare occasions my mother dated. When she had a man in her life, it took some of the attention off me. Unfortunately, they usually weren’t around for long.
I flung myself on the plush, freshly made bed, and turned to stare out the window at the city lights outside.
When my phone vibrated, I almost didn’t pick it up to look at it. It was probably my mother, wondering why I hadn’t checked in that day. But when I saw Danny’s name flashing across the screen, every nerve inside me came alive.
I pressed answer and forgot my voice for a second.
“Hello,” I finally breathed.
“Hi,” he said in his deep timbre.
Heat built in my stomach after going so long without hearing his voice.
“What’s up?” I asked.
A soft snort on the other end. “Oh, not much.”
I swallowed, waiting for him to say more.
“Just over here, actively forcing myself not to drive to Denver.”
“What’s in Denver?”
A sigh on the other end. “You know what’s in Denver, Trace.”
My entire body was ablaze with pleasure at those words coming from his mouth.
“It’s kind of weird to hear your voice,” I admitted.
“It’s not weird at all to hear yours.”
I thought about asking him why he hadn’t driven to Denver, but deep down, I already knew the answer. That would make this all real.
Real was scary.
“Have you started filming?” I asked instead.
He started telling me about all the prep work he and his friends were doing. It was going to be a ski documentary. Him, his two friends from childhood, and this abandoned ski resort in the mountains basically only used for backcountry now.
“Still need a few good snowstorms before we’ll be able to film the backside of the mountain.”
He’d talked so much about his passion for skiing when we were on the show together, and for filmmaking. It made sense to me that this was where he’d ended up.
“I’m happy for you,” I said.
A brief pause.
“How was the writing session?”
“Terrible,” I said with a laugh. “Getting signed is nothing like what I thought it’d be.”
“What did you think it’d be?”
“Not people trying their hardest to shape me into someone I’m not.”
“Trace…”
“But it’s fine. I think it’s just growing pains. I’m still so grateful for this opportunity. Like a national tour? For me? Can you even believe it?”
“Yes.”
“And the tour will be exciting. I’m just nervous, is all.”
If he heard the shakiness underneath my upbeat tone, he didn’t call me out on it.
“You deserve to be happy,” he finally said. “You can feel grateful and still stand up for yourself.”
A tear slipped from my eye, and I brushed it away quickly.
“Tell me what else you’ve been up to,” I said.
We talked for over an hour. When I finally went to sleep, Danny was the only thing on my mind. Him only being hours away wasn’t helping.