Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
Once she finished reading, Brinton made sure she uploaded the accompanying images correctly. Then, she posted it. In truth, it was anticlimactic, since no one followed her Substack page. But it was the first step.
Sammi had agreed to spread the blog link to all her media contacts, which Brinton needed for this to work. They’d been in touch over the past few weeks, and Sammi had shared updates on Emma Lou’s recovery.
Turning down Sammi’s multiple invites for Brinton to return to Iris and watch Jamie perform his new songs was a necessary evil.
It was a goodwill gesture, since Jamie had decimated her heart, but how would it feel to stand there and look at him again?
To feel every spike of emotion when they couldn’t possibly be together? The well was too poisoned.
The concert was later that night, which was an unfortunate coincidence, but it wouldn’t deter her plan. She opened a new text message to Sammi.
Brinton: Here’s the link. Let’s do this.
Sammi: Here’s to changing the narrative, honey.
An hour later, Brinton’s phone exploded with texts and calls, her email was over-run, and her social media mentions popped off.
Including a repost from none other than Kendall Chase, where she wrote: “Us girls gotta stick together.” Immediately after, Brinton earned a thousand more subscribers on Substack. Steadily, the numbers climbed.
Jamie couldn’t believe his eyes. Sammi texted him all kinds of things he was supposed to pay attention to, which, yeah, he often ignored, but the words—Brinton’s words—in that Substack post left an indelible mark, as she had.
He labored over each one as he sat on the open tailgate of his truck at the top of the hill overlooking the meadow. Their meadow.
Brinton was right—in a few short months, she’d been forced into the role of both public laughingstock and pawn for Landmark, which succeeded in its goal of making money off her pain.
And then there were the beautiful, candid photos of him that she had embedded, including one of them together, lying in the grass before sunset in this very meadow.
This emotional gut punch was probably the last thing he needed before performing the most important show he’d ever done. He needed to see her, to hold her. To tell her how stupid he’d been not to trust her, or himself.
That was out of the question now. Sammi couldn’t convince Brinton to come to the concert. As much as he wanted to go to her, he couldn’t abandon this commitment. He needed this concert to move on, like she had with her letter.
That was that.
Jamie climbed into his truck and drove home for soundcheck.
Brinton was flying high. Her usual pad Thai order, which she ate straight out of the carton, tasted even better. High School Musical 2, blaring from the TV in her mom’s living room, hit even harder. She was with her family, which made her soul hit a falsetto.
“I can’t believe what you did. That letter was ballsy as hell,” Shay said, waving a veggie spring roll like a wand. “And I couldn’t be more proud.”
“Likewise,” Athena said. She leaned closer on the couch between them and kissed Brinton on the cheek. What she’d done was ballsy, not to mention terrifying. But now she knew what it meant to have agency in her own life.
It felt fucking fantastic.
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. It had been going all day, and Troy was about to launch into “Bet On It.” Obviously, the best part of the movie.
“So, this is what people born in the nineteen-hundreds did for fun? Lip sync poorly on a golf course?” her neighbor Gael asked, brown eyes gleaming against his yellow hoodie. From the comfy armchair, which swallowed his small frame, he grinned wide through a mouth full of shrimp shumai.
For a twelve-year-old, he was a savage. But she was glad that he was there, and that, after plying him with sugar and Robux, he’d forgiven her for ghosting the book club for all those weeks.
“Um, rude,” Brinton teased. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Gael flicked his chocolate curls from his eyes and laughed. “Whew, Y2K did a number on your people, huh?”
She cracked a smile as her phone kept buzzing.
“Honey, don’t you want to get that?” Athena asked, rolling out her hamstrings with a massage ball.
“Nope.”
Shay craned her neck toward the coffee table, looked at the screen, and shrieked. “It’s from a Nashville number.”
Brinton’s heart dropped like a bowling ball. It couldn’t be Jamie. Could it? She hadn’t heard from him in a few weeks because, no doubt, he’d given up, because she had been too afraid to answer his calls.
But what if he hated the blog she posted? She’d learned in therapy how to stop catastrophizing through mindfulness, but she wasn’t close to mastering it.
“You should answer,” Athena said, pausing the movie. “I know how hard this has been, but what if he wants to talk?” She had the good sense not to say his name, like he was a sexy-ass Voldemort.
“No, I don’t think—”
Shay didn’t let her finish before she picked up and tapped the speaker button.
“Hello?” Shay purred like a cartoon villain.
“Is this Ms. Shaw?” The voice on the other end was deep and a little gruff, like he’d swallowed tumbleweed, and clipped, like he didn’t have time to waste. Brinton knew that voice anywhere.
“Hi, yeah, it’s me,” Brinton breathed, suddenly unsteady.
“This is Jamie,” the man said, then cleared his throat. “Jamie Sr., his father. Did I catch you at a good time?”
Shay dropped the phone, but Brinton scooped it at the last minute. “No, I can talk. Um, how can I help you?”
“That was a helluva blog you wrote.”
“Oh,” Brinton said, failing to temper the surprise in her voice. “Thank you.”
“I’ll cut straight to the chase. I’m calling for a favor. Not for me, but for Jamie. My son didn’t deserve what I put him through, and frankly, neither did you. I’m truly sorry for getting you involved.”
“I appreciate that,” she said.
Jamie Sr. was silent, as if searching for the words.
“And he’ll never admit it because, like his daddy, he’s as stubborn as a mule, but he’s still torn up over you.
That makes for incredible music. But it also makes for a miserable person—I would know.
You should see this horrible beard he’s grown. ”
He laughed softly. It was the first time Brinton had heard it, and it was strangely soothing.
“Listen, I know Sammi told you about his show tonight. He’s pretty nervous about it, but I thought if you could talk to him…”
Brinton waited a few seconds to think, then answered. She’d vowed never to set foot in Iris again. The wound was still too fresh to probe, so she had to protect herself.
Didn’t she?
“I’m sure he’s going to do great,” she said.
“I…think he needs you there. He needs you in his life. The show’s at eight. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour flight from New York, but you could still make it, if you leave now.”
He needed her in his life? At what point would he have told her that?
Then she remembered all his calls that she’d declined and winced.
Still, this was all too much, too sudden.
Brinton was starting to feel better, feet firmly rooted in herself.
The last thing she needed was her world, once again, upended by this earthquake of a man.
Gael silently thrust his fists in the air while Shay and Athena clasped their hands together, hopeful. The premise was absolutely insane, even though Brinton knew, deep down, she wanted to see Jamie one last time. For closure.
Was she crazy? Or was this her chance to bet on herself, like Troy Bolton, and be happy? It didn’t matter because there was no way she could pull this off.
“It’s already three. I think that’s cutting it close,” she said. “Besides, I have plans with my family tonight, so—”
“Go!” Gael, Shay, and Athena shouted emphatically. It was heartwarming, if not for the whole betrayal of it all.
Brinton chewed the fleshy inside of her cheek. “Well, I can’t afford a same-day flight. As you know from my blog, I’m unemployed. I’m sorry, Jamie, but unless you can pull off a miracle—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Why do you think I’m calling?”