Chapter Nine
Jack
I ’ve been playing Aggie’s bar for a week, and I actually have money in my pocket and gas in the tank. There’s not a lot of shopping options in town, but that’s okay. There’s a feed store with a nice selection of camping equipment. I’m cool with cowboy camping, but it rained the other night and waking up questioning whether I pissed my own sleeping bag isn’t cool.
I find a cheap tent, big enough for me to sleep in and do a little guitar-playing. I pick up a few more things that will make my current living situation a little better, including a sleeping mat to keep me off the hard ground.
I head over to the grocery store, the only one in town, really. Aggie has been such a huge help to me, I want to do a little something nice for her. Her land is probably worth a fortune, but I know she doesn’t have a lot. That doesn’t keep her from sharing with me.
I’ve been in her kitchen enough times to know the stuff she usually has stocked in the fridge. I add it to the cart along with some stuff for me to keep at my camp. Protein bars, chips, jerky, and extra water.
I drive up to Aggie’s house and find her working in her garden. She’s surprised to see me.
“Hi,” I greet as I hop out of my truck. “I brought you some things.”
“You did?”
I grin and pick up the few bags from the back of the truck. “You’ve been feeding me this past week, I figure it’s time to return the favor.”
“Jack! You didn’t have to do that!” Her face lights up as she takes one of the bags from me.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to make you dinner,” I say. “I’m not a chef, but me and my brothers took turns cooking. I can make spaghetti.”
“Well, if someone is offering me a free home-cooked meal, I’m not going to turn it down.”
Aggie leads me into the kitchen, and I set to work. I chop onions and garlic while Aggie sits at the table, sipping tea and watching me with a fond smile.
“So, you’ve been here a week now. How’s it feeling?”
I pause, knife hovering over the cutting board. “Honestly? It’s amazing. I didn’t think I’d ever get to do something like this—play my music for people who actually want to hear it.”
“And the camping? You holding up okay out there?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug, tossing the onions into the pan. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s kind of nice, you know? Quiet. Peaceful. Like I’m out here figuring stuff out without anyone breathing down my neck.”
Aggie nods knowingly. “Sometimes you need that space to hear yourself think.”
“Exactly.” I stir the onions, letting them sizzle. “And...thanks. For everything. I don’t know what I’d be doing right now if you hadn’t let me stay.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. You’ve livened up the place—and my bar, too. People can’t stop talking about you.”
That makes me freeze mid-stir. “What are they saying?”
“Good things,” she assures me with a laugh. “They like your voice, your songs have really touched a lot of people.”
“Wow. That’s cool.”
“You sure you don’t want help?” she asks, leaning over and watching as I chop the fresh tomatoes.
“Nope. You’re banned from your own kitchen tonight.” I grin. “Consider it payment for letting me squat on your land.”
She laughs. “If this is the going rate, I should’ve invited more strays over the years.”
The sauce simmers on the stove. I’m careful not to let it splatter and dirty up her kitchen. I taste it, add a pinch of salt. It’s good. Not Mom-level good, but decent.
Aggie watches me. “You cook like someone taught you.”
“My mom.” I keep stirring so I don’t have to look up. “She made sure all three of us knew how. Said it was a life skill, not a ‘woman’s job.’ Dad hated that.”
Aggie snorts. “Smart woman.”
“Yeah.” The word comes out softer than I mean it to.
“And is your mama missing you right now?” she asks quietly.
“If angels can miss people, then I suppose she is.”
“Ah, so that’s the guardian angel watching over you,” Aggie says. “She brought you to me.”
“Maybe,” I murmur.
“How long has she been gone?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Almost seven years ago.”
“That’s too young for a boy to lose his mother. Do you have brothers? Sisters?”
“Two older brothers. Caleb and Michael. Caleb’s two years older than me and Michael is a year older than him.”
Dinner is ready in no time. The pasta’s better than I expected, and Aggie makes appreciative noises between bites.
“Are you having any regrets about leaving?” Aggie asks.
I shake my head. “Not a single one.”
She studies me. “Not even missing your brothers?”
That one stings a little. “I miss them . Just not the rest of it.”
Aggie nods like she understands. “Farm life’s not for everyone.”
“It’s not that. It’s that it was never my life. Just the one I got stuck with. I wanted to go to college, but my dad said that was stupid. He didn’t think it was important for any of us to waste money on a piece of paper when he was teaching us all we needed to know about farming.”
Aggie sets her fork down and looks at me. “Your dad sounds like a man who’s scared of losing what he’s built. But that doesn’t mean you have to live in his shadow, Jack. You’re carving out your own path, and that takes guts.”
“It’s just...hard, you know? Feeling like I’m betraying him by wanting something different.”
“Betrayal?” She shakes her head. “No, hon. Living your truth isn’t betrayal. It’s survival. Your dad might not understand it now, but if he loves you, he’ll come around eventually. And if he doesn’t? Well, that’s his loss.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to burn bridges with him or my brothers. They’re all I’ve got left of family.”
“And you might find more family along the way,” she says gently. “Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes it’s the people who believe in you when no one else does.”
I glance up at her, and for the first time in a long time, I feel seen. Really seen. “Thanks, Aggie. For everything.”
“Of course.”
“You remind me a lot of my mom,” I say. “She would have liked you.”
Aggie smiles. “I think we probably would have gotten along very well. She encouraged you to play?”
“She taught me,” I reply.
“Ah, I understand a bit more.”
“When I play, it’s like I’m finally doing what I’m supposed to. I can’t explain it, but it feels right. Like putting on a pair of boots that fits right or old jeans that you’ve broken in. It’s just...right.”
“I get it,” she says. “That’s how you know it’s right. It might not be easy or comfortable at first, but nothing in life worth having is easy. That’s boring.”
I laugh, scraping the last bit of sauce from my plate. “Easy is overrated, huh?”
“Exactly,” Aggie agrees, leaning back in her chair. “Now, tell me—what’s next for you? You’ve got a week under your belt here. People love you. You’re making some money. But I get the feeling this isn’t your endgame.”
I hesitate, thinking about my answer. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to keep playing. Maybe write more songs. See where this takes me. But it’s not like I have a plan or anything.”
“Plans are overrated too,” she says with a wink. “But if you’re serious about music—and it sure seems like you are—you might want to think bigger than this little town.”
“Bigger how?”
She shrugs. “Open mics in the city, maybe. Recording some of your songs. Getting your name out there. You’ve got talent, Jack. Real talent. Don’t let it rot in the woods.”
The idea both excites and terrifies me. “I don’t even know where to start with that kind of stuff.”
“You start small,” she says firmly. “You keep playing here, but you start looking for other places to perform too. Build up a following. Get comfortable on stage. Then, when you’re ready, you take the leap.”
“The leap?”
“To Nashville, or wherever the music takes you,” she says simply.
That scares me more than anything else in this world.
I get to my feet and clear the table, doing the dishes despite her insisting I don’t need to. I’m going to do it anyway.
“I’ve been thinking,” Aggie says. “The sewing room’s just collecting dust. I could clear it out, put in a bed. Give you a real roof.”
The offer surprises me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But you’re not a stray dog, Jack. You shouldn’t be living in a tent.”
I shake my head. “I like it out there. The creek, the trees, and nature in general. It’s peaceful. Inspiring, even.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Even when it rains?”
“Okay, almost peaceful.” I grin. “But seriously, don’t go through the trouble. At least not yet.”
“Yet?”
“Come winter, I’ll probably take you up on it. But for now...” I glance out the window, where the crickets are already singing their own song. “I want to enjoy it.”
Aggie doesn’t push. Just nods. “I get that. This land is special. My parents bought it back when you could still get acreage for a song. Lived in a tent themselves for the first six months while they built the house.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes go distant. “Dad used to say the trees whispered to him. Mom said he was full of it, but...” She shrugs. “I’ve always felt it too.”
I know exactly what she means. There’s something about the property. It’s peaceful in a way that makes your soul relax. A place where you can catch your breath. And no cows. Not a single cowpie to step in or smell.
“Take some leftovers,” she says, pushing a container into my hands.
“Thanks, Aggie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Enjoy your night off,” she says.
Back at my campsite, I start a small fire. I bought a fire extinguisher today just to make sure I don’t burn down this beautiful land. I sit on my usual log, staring into the flames. I know Dad would think I’m crazy being out here like this when I could be back home in my own bed. But I have never felt more alive. And happy. I wouldn’t say I’m settled. Not yet. But I feel like I’m going in the right direction.
A new melody tugs at me—something about creek water and old trees and land that remembers. I scribble lyrics, cross them out, try again. It’s there, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I stare at the fire once again. I can hear the melody in my mind; I just need to get it to come through my fingers. I grab the guitar and close my eyes, letting my fingers do the talking.
But as I play, my fingers stumble.
Because suddenly I’m not thinking about the song.
I’m thinking about Dad.
Stupid guitar. Stupid dream.
His voice in my head is so clear it’s like he’s standing behind me.
I play harder, like I can drown him out.
Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?
Not just playing music.
Proving him wrong.
The realization sits heavy in my chest.
I thought I was doing this for me. For Mom. But part of me—a big part—is doing it to shove it in Dad’s face. To show him I can make it on my own.
I’ll play every night at The Hollow Log. I’ll save every tip. I’ll get so damn good that when my name finally reaches him—through Michael or Caleb or some small-town gossip chain—he’ll have to admit I was right.
That this wasn’t a waste.
That I’m not a failure.
I’m going to prove to him I can be successful doing what I want—not what he wants me to do.