Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Jami woke before sunrise to the steady patter of rain against the roof. He’d crashed on the couch again, too wired to go to bed and too restless to sleep. The air smelled like wet cedar and the wet Jasmine from outside. Usually, mornings like this helped clear his head. Not today.
He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and reached for his phone.
The screen lit with a half dozen messages from Tony, Bret, and the label.
He ignored them long enough to pour a cup of coffee.
The smell pulled up an image he couldn’t shake, her standing in the doorway, eyes tired but steady, telling him she’d handle it.
He hoped she was still asleep.
When Tony’s name popped up again, he answered. “Tell me this is good news.”
“Depends on your definition,” Tony said. “The clip Carlene pulled last night hit internal review. The label’s calling it ‘resolved,’ but they’re being weirdly quiet. No follow-up, no praise. Just a line that says, Don’t dig further.”
Jami frowned. “Does that sound right to you?”
“No. Normally, they’d be throwing a parade for her. Something’s off.”
Jami rubbed the back of his neck. “She said she found traces of deletion requests. You think they’re trying to hide more?”
“Could be.” Tony’s voice dropped. “Don’t say anything to her yet. She’s burned out. Let her sleep a few hours before we light another fire.”
“Got it.”
After the call ended, Jami leaned against the counter, staring out across the gray horizon.
Every instinct he had told him something about this story still didn’t fit.
Reed her eyes flicked up, caught his, then dropped again.
They spent the next few hours working through the livestream plan. Bret joined remotely to confirm servers and security protocols. The rehearsal clips loaded smoothly, and the sound mixing was clean. Everything was running too easily, which made Jami’s stomach tighten.
When Bret signed off, Carlene leaned back, rubbing her temples. “That’s all of it. Tomorrow should go without a hitch.”
Tony nodded. “Let’s hope so. The label’s been quieter than usual, which I don’t love.”
Carlene froze mid-sip of her coffee. “Quieter how?”
“They’re not asking for pre-approval on the livestream outline,” Tony said. “Usually they’d want to vet every second of it.”
“That’s odd,” she said slowly. “Maybe they trust us now.”
Jami shook his head. “Or maybe they’ve already got what they want.”
The room went still.
Tony frowned. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet,” Jami said. “Just… this whole thing. First, Reed & Carr get into our files. Then, just as Carlene figures out where the sabotage came from, the label’s been hands-off. All of this, two weeks before we go on tour.”
Carlene studied him. “You think they’re benefiting from this somehow?”
He met her eyes. “It’s crossed my mind.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. We’ll keep watching the feeds, keep things clean. If anything feels off, we’ll deal with it.”
He nodded but didn’t look away. She was calm, too calm, and he could tell she was thinking the same thing he was.
As the band packed up for the afternoon, he walked her to her car again.
“Try to rest,” he said.
“I’ll try,” she said, unlocking the door.
“I’m serious. You look like you’re running on fumes.”
Her lips curved faintly. “You worry too much.”
He shrugged. “Someone has to.”
She smiled at that, softer this time. “See you tomorrow.”
He couldn't stop himself. He leaned in and kissed her lips softly.
She moaned faintly, but he heard it.
He pulled back and swallowed the lump in his throat.
He'd kissed many women in his forty-plus years, and except for his very first kiss at the age of fourteen, he'd never been worried about the outcome.
Something in his chest made him worry that Carlene would run off at the first sign of something serious.
Her brown eyes looked into his for a long time. Her lips curved up into a beautiful smile. "See ya."
He grinned. "See ya."
He stood in place as he watched her drive off, the taillights vanishing down the narrow driveway toward town.
The barn felt too quiet once she was gone. He went back inside, picked up his guitar again, and strummed a few chords. The melody that came out wasn’t the one he’d been working on. It was slower, heavier, threaded through with something that felt too close to longing.
He played until the light faded from the windows, his thoughts circling the same point again and again.
Something about this story didn’t fit.
And whoever was pulling the strings wasn’t finished yet.