Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOU
T he shower can’t get hot enough to overcome my shivering. After a workout, I usually stay warm for at least an hour. But I must be coming down with something; ten minutes under hot water, and I’m still shaking. But my stomach isn’t roiling, and I don’t feel the deep, pulsing headache or the muffling in my ear that tells me I have a migraine coming on.
Instead, I just feel …
I just feel …
Sad.
The kind of sad that sinks into your bones, making every breath feel heavier, every thought foggier. I want to shake it off, but it sticks to me, working its way into the spaces between my ribs. My muscles ache from the effort of pretending I'm okay.
And just admitting that carves a deep frown into my face. I’m not ready to think about why it hurts to have a new roommate replace one of my best friends—especially after already watching the others move forward while I stagnate.
One by one, the best friends I’ve ever had—women who are as close as sisters to me—have fallen in love and moved out. And each time, I’ve acted like it doesn’t hurt, like our dynamic is no different simply because Jane goes home to Tripp and Millie goes home to Duke and Lottie. Next up, Parker and Sonny. And I’m not even there to help Parker plan her wedding.
Each of my friends has battled her demons and found her happily ever after, while I’ve done the opposite—inspecting my walls, fortifying them for cracks. I love music like it’s an essential organ, like it’s what pumps the blood through my body in place of my heart. I refuse to give it up.
But it’s not like my friends aren’t satisfied with their careers. It’s not like they’re unfulfilled in their day jobs and are settling for love over life. If anything, they seem happier and more fulfilled, more complete because of love.
So why did my mom have to choose?
And do I have to, too?
An hour later, I’m sitting at my desk in my suite, writing lyrics that refuse to go anywhere. Page after page of garbage, I scribble away, willing my muse to strike. I haven’t written anything in weeks. I flip back to that last song and groan when I see it. It’s the one Patty and I were working on.
And shoot, is it ever good.
I haven’t put music to it yet, but when I try to, my mind keeps jumping back to one of my favorite songs of Connor’s, Panic . It’s from his first album, and like most of the songs on that album, it played with rhyming schemes in a way I’d never considered.
I wonder if Patty and Connor took a class together at NECM about lyrics. Is that even a thing?
With a sigh, I cue up my inspiration playlist and let Panic play. The melody swells, the cleverness of the lyrics hooking into something deep inside me. My muse strikes, and suddenly, I’m scribbling again. The first few lines flow effortlessly, but then my rhythm stumbles, and the words start feeling forced.
I need a break.
Pushing away from my desk, I step out of my room, leaving the door open. As I walk into the lounge, Alicia glances up from her laptop, her lips quirking into a smile. “I love this song.”
Patty, sitting on the couch watching a hockey game, snorts. “Of course you do.”
I arch a brow. “Care to share with the class?”
He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s a great song.” I fold my arms. “You don’t listen to much of Nash’s stuff?”
“Not really.”
“Like you didn’t listen to mine?” I challenge, my voice sharpening.
“No.” His jaw tightens. “Not like that.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re gonna be enigmatic, just stop. I’m not interested.”
“I’m not trying to be enigmatic.”
“Right, let me guess—you’re too busy trolling Reddit forums like a music snob to listen to something as basic as Nash or me?” I throw up my hands. “But wait, that can’t work—Nash went to the same school you did. He has the same education?—”
“He does NOT have the same education.”
I blink. “How does that work? Wasn’t he there? You took classes together! Although he graduated while you dropped out, so I guess you’re right—you don’t have the same education.”
“That’s not what happened,” he says through gritted teeth.
“That’s what Wikipedia tells me.”
His expression hardens. “Have you checked your Wiki page lately? Your parents’? Wikipedia reports whatever people want it to report. It can be changed. The past can’t be.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes slam shut at his own words. My instincts prickle. “You reacted to that. Why?”
“I’m not on trial.”
“Maybe you should be!” My voice rises, frustration bubbling over. “You’re so hot and cold with me, I have no idea how to even talk to you! I don’t know where I stand with you! Do you think I don’t notice the way you look at me? Do you think I don’t hear the way your tone changes when I’m on stage, when you’re the only person in my ear? I can’t take your head games anymore!”
“ My head games?” He lets out a sharp laugh and stands up. “I’m not the one kissing someone else on stage minutes after almost—” He stops himself, his fists clenching as if he’s physically holding back his words.
My breath catches. “So it bugged you.”
“Of course it bugged me!”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly. “We both have rules, and yours couldn’t be clearer: no distractions, remember?”
“Is that all you are?”
“That ain’t for me to decide.”
“What a cop-out.”
“It’s not a cop-out. It’s the truth.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “The truth? Ha. I don’t think you two have ever met.”
His body goes rigid. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying there’s a lot more to your story than you’re sharing.” I rub my palms down my jeans. “I know that’s not something I’m owed. But I’m trying to understand you, and you’re giving me nothing to work with.”
He folds his arms, shaking his head, his hair falling into his face. “You know what? You’re right: I am a distraction. You’re supposed to be working on a new album, supposed to be playing up the Nash angle. Unless it’s real . You don’t need me around. In fact, maybe it’s time we end this bodyguard ruse so I can go back to my actual job.”
I blink, stunned by how fast he shut me out.
“Yeah,” I say, too sharp. “Maybe it is time!”
“Good. Maybe I should switch with Rafael at the next stop!”
Before I can snap back, the bus lurches. Jimmy curses. Then—BANG. My body slams forward. The unmistakable whump-whump-whump of blown tires rattles the windows, shaking the whole bus. Papers fly into the air, drinks crash to the floor, and a sudden jolt launches me forward.
My heart thuds against my chest as I collide into Patty, who falls back onto the couch with me on top of him. We’re both panting and scowling, but he’s holding me like I’m precious cargo.
Or maybe like I’m a meal ticket.
I hear Jimmy curse at the wheel as we veer sharply to the right.
I plant my hands on his firm torso, trying to push off, but his grip tightens on my hip bones, pinning me to him. And my breathing shifts, growing more and more shallow as his lips part.
“Not yet,” he warns. And even as I want to protest, the bus wobbles, and for a moment, it feels like we might tip. Alicia lets out a small yelp as a final jarring jolt sends the coffee pot to the ground, shattering as the bus lurches to a dead stop on the side of the road.
The crash snaps me out of my head, but I can’t get away from everything my mind notices. The way Patty holds me … it’s protective, but there’s something else there. Tenderness? I’m caught between wanting to escape the confusion of it all and wishing I could stay in this moment forever. Especially because he’s not letting me go.
Not even close.
“Jimmy?” he yells. “Are we safe?”
“Yeah, I managed to pull to the side of the road,” Jimmy says. “We rolled over some debris. Give me a minute to check it out.”
Patty nods, letting me roll off of him so he can peek out the window.
Alicia looks at me with wide eyes. But in spite of the chaos, she doesn’t look remotely fazed. She mouths exaggeratedly, “Patty grabbing you? HOT.”
“No,” I mouth, grateful both for her discretion and the fact that she respects her ironclad non-disclosure agreement.
But when she purses her lips to hold back a smile, I seriously consider firing her.
Patty’s back is to us. He has one arm up, scratching his head the way he does when he’s thinking, and I have a flash of deja-vu.
No, not deja-vu, exactly, but looking at him is like a latent memory resurfacing. I’ve seen him do this exact pose before, so why does it feel different now? Because of the stress? The angle? His white T-shirt stretches across his broad back, and with his arm up in the air like that, it hits me.
This is how Connor was standing on the cover of his solo album.
Did he get this from Patty or did Patty get it from Connor?
How good of friends were they?
Alicia has started cleaning up the floor, and hearing the rustle of papers snaps my attention to her. Wordlessly, I get up to grab the broom and dustpan when Patty turns on me. His arm is still up, and my eyes flash to his tattoo, and I can see the triple forte clearly now.
He drops his arm, but I don’t think he caught me noticing. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he says.
“You know I’m not actually a queen, right? I know how to do household chores.”
He gives me a tired look. “Are you capable of talking without fighting?”
“Not with you, I’m not.”
He lets out a low, exasperated breath. “Clean away.”
Jimmy comes back a moment later. “Can’t tell for sure what’s wrong beyond the blown tires. I already called for a tow truck. Alicia, can you find a car to take you three into town?”
“What town?” I ask.
“We’re right outside of Branson, Missouri. About forty minutes from Springfield,” Jimmy says.
“How long is it gonna take to get the new tires?” Patty asks.
Jimmy shrugs. “No clue. These are specialty tires. No local mechanic will have them in stock.”
Patty turns to Alicia. “The Kansas City show isn’t until Friday, right?”
Alicia nods. “Yeah. The next couple of days are recovery and promo. But we were stopping in Springfield tonight, anyway, because the Country Soul Sisters are doing a “life on the road” piece tomorrow where they tour the bus for their fans. They have like twelve million followers, so this is kind of a big one.”
“They can still do the tour,” Jimmy says. “The tow truck will be here soon, so you’ll be able to send them the address of the mechanic who fixes it up.”
Alicia nods. “I’ll call a driver and a hotel in Springfield to come get you.”
I startle. “Come get me ?”
Alicia blinks. “Uh, yeah. You and Patty.”
I look from her to Jimmy. “Aren’t you guys coming with us?”
“Are you kidding? No. I hate hotels. I’m staying in your bed tonight, and Jimmy has to be here for the bus, anyway. You guys will go to Branson, and by the time you’re there, I’ll have a hotel room for you.”
I expect Patty to protest, to offer to stay, but based on the way he’s looking out the window, he’s taking his bodyguard role very seriously.
I’m not sure whether to hug him or punch him.