Chapter 9 Darian #2
“You’re watching us participate. There’s a difference.”
She's right. I've been watching them instead of actually participating. Old habits. I'm used to keeping my guard up around people. “Sorry. Just enjoying the show.”
“We’re not a show, Uncle Darian,” Willow says with quiet wisdom that makes her seem older than twelve. “We’re your family.”
The simple statement hits harder than it should.
Family.
After dinner, the girls disappear, and Levi excuses himself to check on the horses, taking Poppy with him. Which leaves me alone with Zara and me alone.
She pours two glasses of wine and leads me out to the back porch, where string lights create golden circles in the gathering darkness. The silence stretches comfortably until she breaks it with the directness I’ve learned to expect.
“So. Who is she?”
Wine catches in my throat. “Who is who?”
“The woman who’s got you looking like you’ve been hit by a truck and liked it.” Zara settles into the swing beside me, tucking her legs underneath her. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve got that particular brand of male confusion that only happens when someone gets under your skin.”
“There’s no woman.”
“Bullshit.” She studies my face in the dim light.
“You’ve been in Nashville three weeks, and this is the first time you’ve agreed to come out here for dinner.
You’re not writing—don’t tell me you are, because I know your writing face and this isn’t it.
And you’ve got that careful way of not talking about anything important that means something important is happening. ”
Sometimes I forget how well she knows me.
A lifetime of shared experiences from writing our first songs together, learning music and instruments, to starting our band.
We’ve shared stages and hotel rooms and late-night conversations about everything and nothing.
You can’t hide from someone who has been there from the beginning and never left your side, even when you contemplated staying in the band, despite your piece of shit drummer.
“It’s complicated.”
“Good. Simple is boring.” She takes a sip of wine and waits. Another thing she learned over the years—how to use silence as a tool to get me talking.
“There’s this venue manager. Rye. She books incredible talent at this place called The Songbird.” The words come slowly, like I’m testing each one before committing to it. “I played a songwriter’s round there, and we got to talking.”
“Just talking?”
Heat climbs my neck. “Not just talking.”
“Ah.” Zara’s voice carries the satisfaction of someone whose suspicions have been confirmed. “And let me guess—you’re overthinking it to death and finding reasons why it can’t work.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being scared.”
The accusation hangs between us. I want to argue, but she’s right. I am scared. Scared of wanting something I might not be able to keep. Scared of letting someone get close enough to hurt me the way Van did. Scared of fucking up something that matters.
“Maybe I have good reason to be scared.”
“Maybe you do. But hiding isn’t going to fix whatever you’re afraid of.” Zara shifts to face me fully. “What happened earlier?”
The question cuts close. “What makes you think something happened?”
“Because you look like someone who got exactly what he wanted and immediately started planning his escape route.”
Christ. She really does see everything.
I groan and run my hand through my hair.
“I did something she didn’t like. We argued.
I made a move, and she reciprocated. We slept together.
” The admission comes easier than expected.
“She made it clear afterward that it was just physical. I got up to use the bathroom, mostly to hide my disappointment, and she left.”
“What did you do that she didn’t like?”
I stare at my sister for a minute and then shake my head. “Long story short, I took some of her lyrics and a melody I heard her play, added to it. If I hadn’t left my notebook at The Songbird the night before, she wouldn’t have known.”
“But she found it?”
I nod, feeling a tad uncomfortable talking about all of this.
“And then?”
I glare at my sister. “And then she confronted me. Rewind to what I already said, and here I am.”
“She sounds like a smart woman.”
“Yeah. Smart.” I stare out at the pasture where horses graze in moonlight. “And exactly what I expected. One-night stands aren’t exactly foreign territory.”
“But this one bothers you.”
“This one was different.” The words come out before I can stop them. “She’s different.” I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t even know her, Z. We’ve had maybe three real conversations.”
“Sometimes three conversations are enough.” She reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. “What’s she like?”
The question opens something in my chest I didn’t realize was locked tight. “She’s . . . careful. Protective. She manages this venue like it’s sacred space, making sure every musician who plays there feels heard. And she used to write songs, but something happened that made her stop.”
“Something or someone?”
“Someone, I think.” I shrug. “She won’t talk about it, but there’s this wariness when she mentions other musicians. Like she’s expecting to be disappointed.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“I’m not like Van,” I mutter. “Levi isn’t either.”
“No, he’s not,” she says with a long sigh.
“But many of our friends are exactly like Van. People like him make it hard for others to trust. You and I both learned the same lesson about trusting the wrong people. The difference is she’s protecting herself by staying put and creating something meaningful.
You’re protecting yourself by running every time things get real. ”
The observation lands like a physical blow. “I don’t run.”
“You don’t?” Zara’s voice carries a gentle challenge. “What do you call leaving LA without telling anyone where you were going? What do you call avoiding family dinners for three weeks? What do you call sleeping with someone and then immediately looking for reasons why it won’t work?”
“I call it learning from experience.”
“I call it hiding.”
We sit in silence while her words settle. In the distance, a horse whickers softly, and crickets chirp in the evening quiet. This place feels peaceful in a way LA never did.
“Maybe I am hiding,” I admit.
“From what?”
“From getting hurt again. From trusting someone who’ll use that trust as a weapon. From wanting something I can’t control or predict or fix when it breaks.”
Zara nods slowly. “All good reasons. All completely human. And all completely useless if what you’re hiding from is worth having.”
“How do I know if it’s worth having?”
“You don’t. That’s the whole point.” She finishes her wine and sets the glass aside. “Love isn’t a business plan, D. You can’t research your way into it or protect yourself out of it. You just have to show up and see what happens.”
“What if I fuck it up?”
“Then you fuck it up. And maybe you learn something about yourself in the process. Or maybe you discover that the right person sticks around even when you’re being an idiot.”
I think about Rye’s careful boundaries, how she defined exactly what we were and weren’t to each other before slipping out of my apartment like smoke. How she treated our encounter like a business transaction—satisfying but ultimately meaningless.
“She’s not exactly asking me to stick around.”
“Maybe she’s as scared as you are.”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been so focused on my own terror of getting too close that I hadn’t considered she might be fighting the same battle from the other direction.
“So what do I do?”
“Whatever feels true. Not safe, not logical, not guaranteed to work out perfectly. True.” Zara stands and stretches. “And maybe stop trying to solve everything in your head before you give it a chance to exist in the world.”
Before I can respond, the back door opens, and Levi appears with fresh beers. “Mind if I join you, or is this a private counseling session?”
“Public counseling,” Zara says, accepting a beer. “I’m explaining to my stubborn brother that hiding isn’t a life strategy. Where’s Poppy?”
Levi leans down and kisses my sister before settling into the chair across from us. “Stormy offered to give her a bath while we have adult time. I wasn’t about to tell her no.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “I had a similar conversation with myself about two years ago.”
“Before Zara,” I say.
“Before I admitted I wanted Zara to stay.” His voice carries the particular contentment of someone who chose love over safety and got lucky.
“When the girls’ mom died, I thought my life was this upside-down carnival ride with no stop in sight.
Stormy’s big break loomed, Willow was so lost, and then there’s Zara wearing my coffee because I was such a fumbling cowboy. ”
“My cowboy,” Zara says. “My life was as twisted up as yours was the day we met.”
“And now look at you,” I add.
“And now look at us,” Levi echoes my statement.
“But we didn’t get here easily. Your sister gave up everything to live here.
And when she’s ready to get back to making her type of music, I’ll do the same for her.
She’s taught me we can have both lives and be happy.
That’s something I couldn’t see or refused to see when I was married to Iris. ”
While the words aren’t the same as what Zara said, they carry the same punch. Levi knows what it costs to open yourself to someone who could destroy everything you’ve built. He also knows what you get in return when you choose vulnerability over protection.
“Everything worked out.”
“It worked out because I stopped trying to control how it worked out.” Levi leans forward, elbows on knees. “You know what I learned? The right person doesn’t make you choose between your music and your life. They become part of both.”
“And the wrong person?”
“Uses one to hurt the other.” His expression darkens briefly. “But you can’t let the wrong people keep you from finding the right ones.”
We drink in comfortable silence. Around us, the night settles into its rhythm—horses moving through the pasture, wind through the trees, distant traffic on the highway that connects this peaceful space to the city where my real life waits, and Willow plays her song for me.
It’s soft, melodic, and exactly what we need to finish the night.
“I should head back.”
“You could stay,” Zara offers. “The guest room’s always ready.”
“Thanks, but I need to get back.” What I need is to figure out whether last night was exactly what she said—two people caught up in the moment—or whether the way she looked at me while I played her song meant something more than physical release.
“Just remember,” Zara says as I stand to leave, “some things are worth fighting for. Even if you’re not sure you’ll win.”
Before I leave, Levi tells me that his buddy at The Blue Note has a spot open tomorrow night if I want it. I say fuck, because why not. I should play, test out these songs on a new audience.
I say goodbye to the girls and make promises I fully intend to keep. I drive back to Nashville with the windows rolled down, letting the air wash over me, carrying the smell of hay, summer heat and eventually the sounds of the city.
By the time I reach the city limits, something has shifted in my chest. The tight knot there since Rye abruptly left has loosened, replaced by something that might be resolve.
I don’t know what happens next between us. Don’t know if her boundaries are permanent or temporary, if her careful distance is protection or preparation for something else. But I’m tired of hiding from possibilities because they might hurt.
Zara’s right. Hiding isn’t a life strategy.
And Levi’s right too. Music isn’t my problem.
The problem is thinking I can control what happens when I let someone matter. The problem is choosing safety over truth, protection over connection, certainty over hope.
I park behind Rattlesnake Guitars and sit in the dark car for a moment, looking up at the windows of my temporary apartment. For the first time since leaving LA, I feel like someone who might be brave enough to find out what happens when you stop running from the things that scare you most.
Tomorrow I’ll probably second-guess everything I figured out tonight.
Tomorrow the fear might return, along with all the logical reasons why getting involved with Rye Hayes is a terrible idea.
Only one way to find out. I know I should take a hint, but there’s something about Rye that’s worth fighting for. I text her again, leaving the ball in her court.
Playing at The Blue Note tomorrow night. Nothing fancy, just me and a guitar. Would love to see you there.