Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Jami showed up at the barn before sunrise. The air was cool, heavy with salt and the faint scent of pine drifting in from the bluff. It should have calmed him, but it didn’t. His mind was a loop of questions he couldn’t answer and one face he couldn’t shake.
Carlene.
She’d left yesterday, holding herself together by a thread. He’d seen it in her eyes before she turned away, that careful restraint that told him she was barely hanging on. He’d wanted to go after her, but she needed space, and he respected that more than he wanted to.
Now, staring across the empty barn, he wished he’d said something before she left. Something that wasn’t about the label or the press. Something real.
He poured coffee from the pot and leaned against the bar. His phone buzzed with another update from the label’s PR team. Every headline looked the same: Carlene’s name, his name, the words damage control.
He scrolled until he couldn’t stand it anymore, tossed the phone on the bar, and grabbed his guitar instead. The strings felt cool under his fingers. He started playing the riff that had been haunting him for days, soft and slow, letting the rhythm settle the chaos in his head.
By the time the others arrived, the sun had broken over the bluff. Tony came in first, followed by Bret from the label. Both carried that look he’d come to know too well, cautious optimism.
“Morning,” Tony said. “Carlene texted. She’s on her way.”
Jami nodded and set the guitar aside. “Is she holding up?”
Tony hesitated. “You know Carlene. She’ll walk into a fire if that’s what it takes to get the job done.”
“That’s not an answer,” Jami said quietly.
Tony gave a half-smile. “No, it’s not.”
Ten minutes later, Carlene’s car pulled up outside. She walked in with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back, face pale but composed. The professional version of her was back, armor polished, voice steady. Only her eyes betrayed her, shadowed from lack of sleep.
Jami met her halfway across the barn floor. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she said, her tone brisk. “Let’s get started.”
She brushed past him to set up at the bar, her fingers moving with purpose. He watched her for a second longer than he should have, then forced himself to focus.
The meeting with the label began a few minutes later via video call. Vivian and Mason appeared on separate screens, looking tired but alert. Bret handled the connections while Tony filled them in on Carlene’s latest findings.
She presented the evidence calmly, walking them through the data trail that tied Reed & Carr to the altered files. Her voice didn’t shake once. Watching her work was like watching precision in motion. She had that same quiet confidence she used when she believed in something completely.
Vivian asked hard questions. Mason offered measured warnings. Through it all, Carlene stood firm. She’d built her proof, and it was solid.
When Vivian finally said, “All right, Carlene, we’ll move forward with your plan,” Jami exhaled for what felt like the first time all morning.
The call ended, and the room slowly emptied as Bret and Tony stepped outside to make phone calls. Jami stayed behind, watching Carlene type something on her laptop.
“You didn’t tell them about the cease and desist,” he said.
“I’ll forward it once the logs finish pulling,” she said without looking up.
“You got one too, didn’t you?”
She paused, then nodded. “It’s intimidation. Nothing more.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She closed the laptop and looked up at him. “They’re scared, Jami. Scared people make mistakes. I’m counting on that.”
He smiled faintly. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Her lips twitched. “That’s good advice.”
Silence settled again, thicker this time. He could see the exhaustion in the curve of her shoulders, the tension around her mouth.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said softly.
She laughed without humor. “You try drafting a legal rebuttal and a PR plan in the same night.”
“I’d rather write a song.”
“Exactly.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”
She straightened, chin lifting slightly. “It’s my job.”
“Your job is keeping the story clean, not taking all the hits.”
“Someone has to.”
“Not alone,” he said, firmer.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air shifted between them. He wanted to reach for her, to tell her he’d been thinking about her since she walked out last night, but he stayed where he was. She was wound too tight, and if he touched her now, she might break, or worse, he might.
Tony’s voice broke the quiet from outside. “Vivian’s on board. We go live tomorrow at ten!”
Carlene exhaled. “One more fire handled.”
He studied her face. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be.” She grabbed her bag. “I need to get back to the hotel and pull a few more files before lunch.”
He moved toward the door before she could. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Not necessary.”
“Humor me.”
She sighed but didn’t argue. They walked side by side across the gravel drive. The morning sun caught her hair, turning it burnished gold at the edges. She looked tired, but there was a kind of grace in her exhaustion, something human and real.
At her car, she hesitated with the keys in her hand. “Thanks for not losing your cool in there. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”
He gave a small smile. “I signed up for music. The rest just came with it.”
“You handled it well.”
“So did you.”
“Barely,” she said.
He wanted to tell her he saw through the mask, that he knew she was hurting, that he’d do anything to take some of it off her shoulders. Instead, he said, “Get some sleep tonight.”
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder.”
Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, and then she got in the car. “See you tomorrow.”
He stepped back as she drove away, watching the car disappear down the road until it was gone.
For a long time, he stood there, hands in his pockets, the sound of the ocean filling the space she’d left behind.
He knew she was strong enough to handle whatever came next. But knowing that didn’t stop the pull in his chest, the quiet ache that told him strength wasn’t what she needed most right now.
What she needed was someone who saw her, really saw her, when she wasn’t performing for the world.
And God help him, he wanted to be that person.
He turned back toward the barn. The others would be waiting, and there was work to do, but his mind stayed on her, the woman who’d walked into his life to fix his reputation and somehow made him want to rewrite every part of it instead.