29. Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
Emily
Sam’s words from the beach echo in my mind: “Emphatically, no.”
I can’t seem to let them go. The firmness of his answer, the way he didn’t hesitate—it stung more than I care to admit. I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. Renewing our vows was just a passing thought, something romantic and fun. It’s not like I was planning it. But his response planted seeds of doubt that are quickly taking root.
Does he regret marrying me? Does he even want to stay married?
We’ve come so far, yet it feels like we’ve hit an invisible wall. We’ve both been distant ever since that conversation, and neither of us seems to know how to bridge the gap—if he even wants to. I want to ask him, to push for an explanation, but every time I try, the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I throw myself into work. It’s easier to focus on managing the band than on unraveling whatever mess my marriage has become.
The meeting room is filled with energy as everyone gathers. Cass sits at the head of the table, Kendrick beside him. Luke and Nate are sprawled in their chairs while Vince leans back, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Sam takes a seat across from me, a neutral expression on his face.
“Okay, let’s get started,” I announce, flipping open my notebook. “We have a lot to cover before the next leg of the tour.”
A few murmurs ripple through the room, but everyone settles down.
“We’ve been making great progress,” I say, addressing the room. “Ticket sales are strong, and the feedback from fans and the press has been overwhelmingly positive. But there’s room for improvement—especially with social media.”
I glance around the table, letting the weight of my words settle. “I know it’s not everyone’s favorite thing to do, but it’s critical for connecting with the fans and keeping the momentum going.”
Vince rolls his eyes and waves his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Do we really have to keep posting this crap? I mean, who cares if I share a picture of my breakfast?”
A few chuckles ripple through the group, but I don’t laugh.
“It’s not about just posting pictures,” I say, my patience already thinning. “It’s about engagement. Fans want to feel connected to you. They want to see who you are beyond the music. That connection is what builds loyalty.”
Vince scoffs, leaning back in his chair. “This whole social media thing is ridiculous. Why do we even have to bother?”
“No, Vince, it’s not ridiculous,” I shoot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “And the rest of the band doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. Have you seen your posts? They’re a disaster.” I say the words just slipping out.
Vince’s brows knit together, his scowl deepening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
"It means," I say, keeping my voice steady despite my frustration, "that if social media isn't your strong suit, maybe we should consider getting some professional help. What we're doing now isn't as effective as it could be."
Vince sits up straighter, defensive now. “My posts aren’t that bad.”
The room goes quiet, and everyone suddenly seems very interested in our exchange.
“Yes, they are,” I counter, crossing my arms. “Fans don’t care what you ate for breakfast. They want to know you—your passions. Right now, you’re not even trying to connect with them. If anything, your posts are hurting the band’s image.”
“That’s not fair,” Vince says, his tone rising.
“What’s not fair,” I counter, “is that you’re part of a team, but you’re not pulling your weight. Social media isn’t optional anymore. And right now, you’re dragging the rest of us down.”
A shocked silence falls over the room. Luke looks like he’s trying not to laugh while Sam stares at the table, avoiding eye contact. Cass exchanges a glance with Kendrick, but neither of them intervenes.
“Maybe I will hire someone,” Vince mutters, “or maybe we’ll all get so rich by following Nate’s advice on stocks we won’t need to worry about social media.”
“Good,” I say wearily, though a pang of guilt twists in my chest. “Do what you want.”
Nate suddenly clears his throat, breaking the tension. “We’re all in this together,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “If we want to keep growing, we need to step up—even if it means doing things we don’t like. No matter how successful our investments are.”
Vince glares at him but doesn’t argue.
“Let’s move on,” I say, my tone softer now. “We’ve got a tight schedule for the next few weeks, so I need everyone on the same page. Any questions?”
The meeting moves on, but the atmosphere remains charged. As I continue running through the agenda, I can feel Vince’s frown from here. Still, I push forward, knowing this had to be said—for the good of the band and for my own sanity.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails. I don’t see Vince again, and part of me is grateful for the reprieve. But the guilt lingers in the back of my mind. As for Sam, he’s been holed up with Cass for most of the day.
The drive home in Sam’s truck feels strained. He barely eats the dinner I prepared. It’s like we’re both walking on eggshells. By the time the sun begins to set, I feel utterly drained by the tension.
I step out onto the back deck. The ocean stretches out before me, calm and endless, and for a moment, I just breathe.
The sound of the sliding glass door opening behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I glance back to see Sam, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
“Hey,” he says softly, coming to stand beside me.
Nodding, because my throat feels thick. We stand in silence for a moment, the tension between us as tangible as the breeze. I want to reach for him to say something that will bring us back to where we were, but I don’t know how.
“You’ve been busy all day,” he says, nodding toward the house.
“Yeah,” I say with a faint smile. “Always something to do.”
“Don’t let Vince get to you.”
The comment surprises me, and I turn to look at him. There’s something in his eyes—concern, maybe even regret—that makes my chest ache.
“I’ve got it under control,” I say, though the words feel hollow.
He nods, his gaze drifting back to the ocean. “Emily, about the other night—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off, not wanting to reopen that wound.
“It’s not fine,” he says firmly, turning to face me. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just... I didn’t know how to explain.”
“Explain what?” I ask, my voice curious.
He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if he’s wrestling with the words. But before he can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the moment.
I sigh, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. “Sorry, I need to take this,” I say, my tone apologetic.
Sam nods, stepping back as I answer the call. But as I turn away, I can feel his eyes on me, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavy in the air.
By the time I finish the call and return to the house, Sam is nowhere to be found. I assume he’s gone for a walk or run—something to clear his head. I wish I could do the same, but there’s too much to do, too much weighing on my mind.
I spend the next hour finalizing the interview schedules, making sure everything is perfectly aligned. It’s a distraction, but it’s not enough to drown out the doubts swirling in my head.
When Sam finally returns, he’s quieter than usual, his expression guarded. We move through the evening like two people occupying the same space but existing in separate worlds.
As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling with Sam’s back to me, I can’t help but wonder if this is how it starts—this distance, this silence. Is this the beginning of the end? Or is it just another bump in the road?
I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but the questions linger, their answers just out of reach.
The next morning, I wake to the sound of Sam’s phone buzzing on the nightstand. He groans softly, fumbling for it as I roll over, still half-asleep.
“Who’s calling this early?” I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillow.
Sam glances at the screen, his brow furrowing. “It’s my dad.”
That wakes me up. I push myself up on one elbow, watching as he answers the call. “Hey, Dad. Everything okay?”
There’s a pause as Sam listens, his expression shifting from sleepy to alert. “Wait, what happened?”
I sit up fully now, my stomach twisting as I watch him. His jaw tightens, and he rubs the back of his neck.
“I’ll come down,” he says after a moment. “No, it’s fine. I’ll head out this morning.”
When he hangs up, I’m already sliding out of bed. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s fine,” Sam says quickly, but his tone tells me otherwise. He sighs, setting the phone down and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Stubborn as hell, though. He’d never say it outright, but he needs help. The back gate is down again. One of the horses got loose, and Dad’s been dealing with it all night. He didn’t want to call, but…”
With a soft smile, I finish his sentence, “He’ll drop hints and hope you offer before he has to outright ask.”
Sam shrugs, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,”
I reach for his hand, squeezing it. “You should go.”
His eyes snap to mine, a flicker of uncertainty in their depths. “What about you? You’ve got so much on your plate. I don’t like leaving you right now, Em. Not with the baby and everything going on.”
I give him a small smile, my heart swelling at his concern. “I’ll be fine. Really. The band has a few days off, and I’ll mostly be stuck behind my laptop handling logistics anyway. I can survive without you for a couple of days.”
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he murmurs, his face tight.
“I won’t be alone,” I reassure him. “Cass and Kendrick are just a call away, and so are you.”
He nods, but he still looks torn. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say firmly.
It only takes Sam a few minutes to throw some clothes in his duffle bag, and he’s ready to go.
“Do you want breakfast?”
“Nah, I’ll run through a drive-thru once I’m on the road.” He kisses the top of my head, his arms tightening around me. “You’ll call if you need anything, right?”
“I promise,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. “You should get going if you want to make good time.”
“Emily—” he begins, but I shake my head, cutting him off.
“I’ll be fine, Sam,” I say, forcing a smile. “Your dad needs you. Go.”
He hesitates, his brow furrowing, but finally nods. “Okay. Call me if you need anything, all right?”
I nod, watching as he leans down to kiss my forehead. The gesture is tender and familiar, but it feels different somehow. Less certain. I swallow the lump in my throat as he heads for the door, pausing only to glance back once before disappearing outside.
I'm filled with mixed emotions as I watch his truck drive away. Part of me is relieved. Maybe some space is what we need to reset to figure out how to move forward. With him gone, I won’t have to pretend everything is fine when it feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a widening chasm. Trying to keep things normal is exhausting when I’m not even sure what normal is for us anymore.
But another part of me feels the sting of his absence already. Sam’s been my rock in so many ways, but now, as I think about how quickly things shifted between us, I wonder if I’ve been leaning on him too much. I press a hand to my growing belly, drawing strength from the little life within. Maybe it’s better this way. With him at the farm and me here, I can focus on what needs to be done without his gaze reminding me of everything unresolved between us.
Finally, I shake myself and gather my things. I don’t have time to dwell on this. There’s too much to do—too many moving pieces that demand my attention. The band’s reputation is on shaky ground, and whoever is spreading rumors about me and possibly sabotaging our work is still out there. Add the baby into the mix, and I can’t afford to let myself spiral.
I refuse to allow my lingering doubts about Sam and our relationship to intrude on my thoughts. There’s too much at stake.