27. Bailey
bailey
. . .
The construction noise has become background music. Constant hammering, a saw whining somewhere down the slope and the steady thud of boots on wood as the framing crew works on the last of the houses near the ridge.
It should bother me. But after the last few days, the sound feels almost comforting. Like life refusing to pause.
I told them it could wait, but Thomas said it was important that the final two houses be built. If framing and drywall could be done before it got too cold, we had a chance of getting the interior done during the quieter winter months.
Our… My house, and Noah's. I didn’t want to think too hard on what living in a house we had dreamed up when we were just teens alone would be like.
So I threw myself into finishing out my contract.
We’ve spent the past three days writing.
Three days filling notebooks and voice memos and half-recorded guitar tracks inside the new studio Noah and Cole built for me.
Three days of music spilling out of a room that used to exist only in my head. Now the place is alive.
Jackson’s friends just arrived. Two producers and a sound engineer who apparently swore more secrecy oaths to Rachel than the CIA probably requires. They’re leaning against a black SUV now, laughing about the ridiculous travel logistics Rachel forced them through.
“I’ve never taken three different flights to end up in the same place,” one of them, Gary, says.
“That’s because you’ve never worked with Rachel,” Jackson replies dryly.
Rachel lifts a brow. “Privacy matters to her.”
The engineer, Cory, grins. “You switched planes twice.”
“Exactly.” She deadpans.
They laugh again. I stand a few feet away watching them, arms folded against the cold air.
Jackson looks completely at ease here. Like a man who wandered onto a mountain property and decided to stay a while.
Today he is in a worn jean button up. Faded jeans. Boots planted in the gravel like he’s been wearing them his whole life.
Rhett, on the other hand, looks like trouble. He’s leaning against the hood of the SUV beside Jackson, sunglasses hooked into the collar of a worn black t-shirt.
Cowboy hat tilted low, jeans ripped at the knee.
His smile is the same platinum grin that’s sold out arenas for the last decade. The kind of grin that says he’s used to cameras. Used to chaos. Used to the world looking directly at him. But right now he’s just another guy standing in the dirt beside a half-built house.
Rachel glances at me and I want to squirm, terrified of the look on her face.
“Bailey,” she says quietly. “I need to show you something.”
I turn toward her. Before she can continue, the door of Sadie and Cole’s place swings open.
Sadie rushes outside.
Crying.
My stomach clenches so fast it almost takes the air with it.
I’m moving before I even think.
“Sadie…” I grab her shoulders. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”
Her head shakes quickly.
“No. No, the baby’s fine.” Her voice breaks. “Someone hacked my private social media.”
Rachel exhales beside me. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Sadie’s hands twist the hem of her sweater.
“I know everyone on that account,” she says, panicked.
“Every single person.” Her eyes are glassy.
“I don’t understand how this happened.” She wipes her cheeks quickly.
“I just wanted to have some pictures from Thanksgiving. From the bonfire. I didn’t mean… ”
Cole steps in behind her and pulls her into his arms. “Hey,” he murmurs softly. “It’s okay.”
She presses her face into his chest. “I didn’t mean for it to get out.”
I step closer, touching her arm. “Sadie.” She looks up, as I say, “This isn’t your fault.” I keep my voice calm even though my chest feels tight. “There is nothing wrong with those pictures. Someone violated your privacy.”
Rachel tilts her phone toward me. “They still don’t know where here is,” she says quietly. “But they know Jackson is somewhere with you.”
I scroll through the comments.
Speculation threads.
Screenshots.
Fans dissecting every shadow in the photos.
People are feral.
Sadie sniffles and Jackson steps forward slightly. He studies the phone for about three seconds, then shrugs.
“We have two options really… But I think we lean into it.”
Rachel looks up. “Explain.”
Jackson gestures toward the property. “Behind the scenes.” He nods toward the studio building farther down the hill.“Writing sessions. Recording. Setup.”
The producers exchange glances and Jackson continues. “Film some of it. Drop the clips right before the album launches. The fans loved what was shared while we were touring, all the behind the scene stuff.”
Rachel’s mind is already calculating, I can tell. “That could actually redirect the narrative.”
I lean closer to her. “Look into where the leak came from,” I ask quietly. “I don’t want anything upsetting Sadie.”
Rachel nods once. “I already started.”
Sadie sniffles again, then suddenly freezes. “Oh shit.” Her eyes lift and widen.
I follow her line of sight… Straight to Rhett. He’s still leaning against the SUV like the entire scene is the most normal Tuesday he’s ever had. That effortless country-rock swagger that makes half the internet lose their minds.
He tips his cowboy hat to Sadie with a grin, revealing a mess of wavy dirty blonde hair.
Blue eyes bright with amusement.
He lifts a hand, when she stays standing there frozen. “Hey.”
Sadie continues to stare, her mouth actually falls open as she turns a bright pink. “Oh my God.” She tries to step backward. “I am so sorry I didn’t realize…”
Jackson immediately pulls her gently into his side. “Relax,” he says, smiling. “This is Sadie, Bailey’s sister if you couldn’t tell by their uncanny resemblance." He gestures toward the group. “She’s my new best friend.”
Sadie looks mortified, but she doesn’t pull out of his hold. If anything she sinks into him and Cole just looks amused.
Jackson nods toward the studio. “You want to come watch a sound check?”
Her eyes go wide again. “Ermmmgod…. Really?”
Cole laughs. “That’s a yes.”
Jackson starts introducing her to everyone. Everyone is warm and polite with her. Sadie looks like she might pass out.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I tell her. “Go on with Jackson and the crew.”
She nods quickly and lets Jackson guide her toward the studio.
Rachel waits until they’re out of earshot. “Did you hear about Luke?” she asks quietly.
I shrug. “Not much. He… he got a DUI?”
Rachel nods. “Yeah.” She crosses her arms, adding, “He spent the weekend in jail.”
I blink. What?
“Dave didn’t get him out until Monday morning.” She confirms.
The information settles somewhere deep in my chest.
“How are you holding up?” Rachel asks.
I stare down the hill where Sadie is laughing nervously while Jackson explains something about different microphones.
Then I sigh. “The man I thought I would spend forever with burned our marriage to the ground,” I say quietly.
“And now he refuses to sign the divorce agreement.” Rachel doesn’t interrupt, as I continue, “He’s being photographed with different women every week and he seems to be on a downward spiral.
” I sigh and get to the part that feels impossible to say out loud.
“My sister is dying and will leave behind a heartbroken family and a baby girl.” The words keep tumbling out, like I have opened the floodgates and now they wont close.
“The world keeps speculating about every detail of my life.” I glance toward the studio.
“And I have to record an album so my label doesn’t come after everything I built here. ”
Everything I sacrificed for.
Rachel sighs. “I don’t even know where to start with any of that, Bailey.”
What could she say?
She touches my arm gently. “But I’m here if you need anything.” She clears her throat. “The studio.”
I look up.
“They’re asking about that new contract.” She says.
Of course they are. Vultures.
“They want more from you,” she continues. “I told them now isn’t the time, but they’re pushing.”
I shake my head. “I’m not signing anything else right now.”
Rachel nods slowly.
“I need to be here,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how much more time Sadie has.” My voice cracks. “And when she’s gone… Cole is going to need help.”
Rachel exhales. “Okay. We’ll talk about this later.” She straightens and adds, “I’ll tell them you need time off, a break. And that we can open discussions next year.”
Relief swooshes out of me on an exhale. I know it would be easier for me to tell the studio what is going on, but I also know they would try to capitalize on it. And Sadie isn’t for sale.
We start walking toward the studio. Sadie’s laugh floats out through the open door. I latch on to the sound, the feeling it brings to me. That sound is the only thing I focus on.