Chapter 27 #2
I slip into the top, pairing it with dark jeans and my favorite boots. I feel powerful. Hopeful. Until we get to the venue, and I realize our seats are directly in front of a massive black speaker. Right side of the stage. Far from center. My heart sinks.
“He’s not going to see me,” I whisper.
Tish tries to stay upbeat. “We’ll wait by the buses after. That’s our game plan, remember? This isn’t over.”
The concert is electric. Same set list, same haunting voice, same last song. It cracks something open in me all over again. My name on his lips still feels like a prayer.
When the last notes fade, we slip out fast, hurrying to the lot where the tour buses are parked. There’s already a crowd pressing against the railing, phones out, voices buzzing with anticipation.
We fight our way to the front. Someone elbows me. Another person mutters “bitch” under their breath, but I don’t care.
Tish leans over the rail and shouts, “Hey! When’s Sam coming out?”
A gruff security guy replies, “Only answering if you’re on the list. Are you?”
Tish doesn’t miss a beat. “This is Charlotte Wilson.”
He flips through a clipboard. “Not on the list. ”
My stomach plummets.
I step back, my phone gripped tight in my hand. I hear the crowd erupt. He’s out there now. But I don’t try to push forward again. I just watch, somewhere between awe and heartbreak, as flashes light up the night.
Tish turns, breathless. “I yelled for you. I think he heard me.”
I give her a small, sad smile. “Maybe.”
But I know the truth. If he heard he didn’t come.
I nod toward the car. “Let’s go. Next stop’s Denver.”
It’s raining when we land in Denver. Gray clouds hang low over the mountains, and the city feels quieter than I remember but maybe it’s just me. The world feels muted lately, like someone’s turned the color down.
Tish, ever the optimist, tightens her jacket around her and says with a grin, “Hey, at least the venue’s indoors. We won’t melt.”
I force a laugh, but the truth is, I’m already unraveling. The nausea hits hard as we get to the hotel, like the storm outside settled in my stomach. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m sick.
When I emerge, pale and trembling, the guilt creeps in. I can hear the muffled sounds through the hotel wall as other guests get ready and groups head out.
I spin, rushing back into the bathroom, where I stay for the next two hours.
Somewhere across town, Sam is on stage. Somewhere across town, he's singing about me.
“I think the show’s almost over,” Tish says gently from the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. “Do you want to try to go or just call it?”
I sit beside her, then lean back, pressing a hand to my stomach as I close my eyes. I’m exhausted, and not just physically. My heart feels like it’s been dragging behind me for weeks.
“I think we just regroup,” I whisper. “Wait for Broken Heart Creek. That’s the one where I have the best chance to see him.”
Tish climbs into bed beside me and pulls me into a hug, her arms warm and solid, grounding me when I feel like I might float away.
“You’re going to talk to him,” she murmurs against my hair. “You’re going to look him in the eye, and he’s going to see you. All of you. And it’s going to be okay.”
I nod, but tears push forward anyway. I blink fast, trying to force them back, but a few slip down my cheeks and hit the blanket.
“I’m scared,” I admit, voice cracking. “What do I do if I can’t get to him? If I never get the chance to say anything?”
She’s quiet for a long beat. “Well, I guess it comes down to one thing.”
I look at her.
“Do you want this baby even if you don’t have Sam?”
My answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“Then you’re going to be okay,” she says firmly. “Because you’ll make this work. With or without him. But I still believe it’s going to be with him.”
I close my eyes again and wrap a hand over my stomach. Please let her be right.
There are three long days between the Denver show and the one in Broken Heart Creek, so Tish and I make the most of the time. The next morning, we set out to explore the city, the sky stretched wide and blue above us like it’s trying to convince me everything’s okay.
We visit the old news station where, once upon a time, I thought my career would take off like wildfire. I stare up at the building and feel a strange nostalgia. It’s not fond, not bitter, just distant. Like I’m looking at someone else’s dream.
Later, we grab lunch at a famous Tex-Mex restaurant Tish insists we try. We laugh over chips and salsa, tears in our eyes from too much hot sauce and the server’s terrible puns. For a little while, I feel light again, like maybe I’m still capable of joy.
In the evening, we kill time shopping in downtown boutiques. Tish tries on outrageous boots she has no intention of buying and talks me into a soft denim jacket that she says makes me look “very small-town heartbreaker chic.”
But then night falls.
Back at the hotel, we retreat to our separate beds, and the silence that settles around me is deafening. I lie still, wrapped in unfamiliar sheets, and let the quiet crawl into all the cracks I tried to ignore during the day.
I press my face into the pillow, and the tears come before I can stop them. Hot. Silent. Endless.
I miss Sam so much it physically hurts. Like half my heart is somewhere else walking stages, writing songs, maybe dreaming of me. Or maybe not.
Without him, I feel like a song stuck on the edge of a note that’s unresolved and aching for something that might never come.
The next morning the sunlight through the hotel curtains is too bright. I blink, head pounding from the crying, stomach twisting with morning sickness that’s becoming an all-too-familiar rhythm .
Tish walks in with a cup of ginger tea and a soft look in her eyes. “One more stop, babe. Then it’s showtime.”
I nod, clutching the tea with both hands. “Broken Heart Creek.”
Tish smiles. “You ready?”
“No,” I whisper. “But I’m going, anyway.”
We hop on a flight from Denver to Sheridan, and the second the wheels touch down, I feel a weight lift. When I step outside into the crisp Wyoming air, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for months. It feels like coming home.
We couldn’t find a place to stay in Broken Heart Creek. Apparently, even a whisper of Sam’s name fills up every available room, so we booked a hotel in Sheridan instead.
I snort as we pull up. “Bet the five people staying at the bed-and-breakfast are going to have stories to tell for years.”
Tish laughs, shouldering her bag. “I live for the day someone makes a podcast about it.”
The hotel is charming in a rustic, Wyoming way. Big windows, lots of wood, and a view of the Big Horn Mountains that makes me ache. Once we’re inside, Tish spins in a slow circle, soaking it all in.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “I can see why you fell in love with it.”
“Just wait until you see Broken Heart Creek,” I murmur, my voice soft. “It’s a whole different world.”
And in that world, just a little farther down the road, is Sam.
Tish and I grab something to eat at the restaurant in the hotel, sliding into a booth by the window as the Wyoming sunset casts long shadows across the wooden floor.
The scent of grilled steak and fresh bread fills the air, but my appetite is lukewarm at best. Tish doesn’t seem to mind. She’s too focused on plotting.
“I still think you should go straight to the ranch and demand to see him,” she says, stabbing a vegetable with dramatic flair.
“Part of me wants to do that,” I admit, stirring my lemonade with the straw. “But there’s a part of me that’s scared I’ll get run off by Phern, who will probably be holding a shotgun.”
Tish makes a face. “I really don’t like this chick.”
“She’s lovely,” I say, meaning it. “She really is. She’s just protective over Sam. And suspicious of me. Honestly, I don’t blame her. I didn’t exactly arrive with the purest of intentions.”
Tish hums under her breath like she’s unconvinced. “Protective is one thing. Threatening to call the cops and tossing you out like a villain in a soap opera? That’s something else entirely.”
I don’t argue. I just look out the window toward the mountains. The outline of them makes my chest ache.
“She probably thought she was doing the right thing.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Tish says, taking a sip of her soda like she’s preparing for battle. “And if that woman tries to kick you off Sam’s land again, she’s going to have to go through me.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She reaches across the table, taking my hand. “We’ll figure it out. This time, you’re not doing it alone.”
The next morning, getting to the ranch turns out to be a bust.
We don’t even get to turn from the main road to the long, winding road that leads to Stonewater Ranch before we spot the flashing lights of two sheriff's department SUVs stationed at the gated entrance. It’s like something out of a movie. Serious faces, crossed arms, and a barricade of "nope."
Tish slows the car, rolling down her window as we approach.
“Can you please let someone up there know that Charlotte is here?” she asks, her voice firm but polite.
One deputy steps forward. “No can-do, ma’am. We’re under strict orders not to let anyone in while Mr. Stone is preparing for the show.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I rub my temples, pulse pounding behind my eyes. Of course they’re locking things down. Why wouldn’t they?
“It’s okay, Tish,” I murmur. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t argue, just nods and throws the car into reverse. As we pull away, I glance over my shoulder as the road that leads to the ranch disappears in the rearview mirror. It hurts. More than I’ll admit out loud.
With the show not starting until later this evening, we’ve got time to kill. So I do the only thing I can. I show Tish around Broken Heart Creek.