1. Graham
One
Graham
Nine million.
I stare at the number on my phone for a solid thirty seconds before it finally sinks in.
9,000,247 downloads.
Holy.
Fuck.
Nine million people have listened to a song I wrote sitting on my grandmother's porch with an old guitar balanced across my knees.
Not bad for a freckle-faced kid everyone said would never amount to much.
My Bear puffs his chest out proudly.
Damn right.
A text pops up from my manager.
Steve
You're trending again. Festival in Nashville wants to talk. Call me.
I chuckle.
“Nah.”
My Beast grunts in agreement.
The road had been fun.
For about six months.
Then the buses, airports, hotel rooms, interviews, and fans started feeling less like freedom and more like another cage.
Winning American Voice had changed my life overnight.
One week I was playing Friday nights at Bar None—Barvale’s most popular nightspot owned by Wade Kettle, a fellow Barvale Clan Bear Shifter.
The next week, I was opening for stadium acts.
It had been everything I'd dreamed about.
Until it wasn't.
Turns out all I ever really wanted was to write songs.
Play music for a small crowd, then come home.
And Barvale? This tiny South Jersey town has always been my home.
The Clan.
The woods.
The lake.
The people.
Well...
Most of the people.
I push open the door to the local market, carrying a bag of dog food for my sister's mutt when I hear the familiar voices.
“Oh my God, Graham, is that you?”
Don't.
I turn anyway.
Cindy Beaumont.
Stephanie Collins.
Sharon McGraw.
Three Bear Sows who've been making my life miserable since second grade.
Back then it had been...
Carrot Top.
Freckles.
Rusty.
Fire Crotch.
Kids are cruel. Assholes, really.
Now? Now they're all smiles.
Cindy bats her eyelashes.
“I heard your new song.”
Stephanie slips an arm through mine before I can stop her.
“It's soooo romantic.”
Sharon grins.
“We've always known you'd make it.”
Bullshit.
All three of them laughed when I said I wanted to be a musician. Said no one would pay to see a ginger play guitar. Said I'd be lucky to make enough money to buy guitar strings.
Funny what winning a popular televised contest and selling millions of songs will do for a man's attractiveness.
Some people are so damn predictable.
Not to mention inherently shallow and dishonest.
My Bear snorts.
Not mates.
Nope.
Definitely not.
“You ladies have a good afternoon.”
I untangle myself from Stephanie's grip.
“Are you leaving already?” Cindy pouts.
“I've got somewhere to be.”
“You could take one of us to dinner,” Sharon offers.
As if.
“No.”
The word slips out before I soften it.
“No?”
Stephanie scoffs.
Like she can’t believe I turned them down.
“No,” I repeat, but this time I soften it a little. “Have a good one.”
Three offended expressions bloom simultaneously.
Good.
Maybe they'll finally leave me the hell alone.
Probably not.
It's funny how success changes people.
Back in high school I was the awkward Bear with freckles splashed across my nose, gangly limbs I hadn't grown into yet, and bright red hair every smartass in town thought was hilarious.
Their favorite insult?
Carrot Top.
Original bunch.
Every dance, every football game, every bonfire out by the lake, there they'd be, making sure I knew exactly where I ranked on the social ladder.
Now?
Now I've got a platinum record hanging on my wall, a few million dollars in the bank, and somehow I'm fascinating.
Amazing how money improves a man's personality.
Or maybe it's fame.
Either way...
I call bullshit.
My Bear snorts in agreement.
We don't forget.
Not because we're bitter.
Because Bears remember.
Loyalty.
Kindness.
Cruelty.
It all sticks.
I wasn't interested in Cindy when she laughed because I couldn't afford the senior trip.
I'm damn sure not interested now that she knows what my Spotify royalties look like.
As I round the corner, I catch sight of the newest storefront on Main Street.
Moon & Mug.
It opened a few weeks ago.
Some sort of coffee shop meets bookstore meets witchy crystal place.
Which, admittedly, makes three halves.
Whatever.
Women seem to love it.
My sister bought enough candles there to apparently ward off “negative energy.”
I told her opening her electric bill would accomplish the same thing.
She didn't laugh.
Cindy, Sharon, and Stephanie are somehow still trailing behind me, chatting like we're old friends instead of women who made my adolescence miserable.
When they notice where I'm looking, all three glance toward the storefront.
The expressions on their faces sour immediately.
Interesting.
One of them mutters loudly enough for me to hear.
“That place will be closed in a week.”
Another wrinkles her perfectly sculpted nose.
“Yeah, and that fat barista is going to regret not waiting on us.”
Something inside me snaps.
My Bear lets out a low, dangerous growl.
Not loud enough for the women to hear.
Just enough for me.
Easy.
I look toward the front window.
And I see a woman.
Blonde.
Curvy.
Human.
She has her back to the window as she flips the sign to CLOSED, completely absorbed in wiping down the counters.
The late evening sun catches in her long, wavy hair, making it glow like spun gold.
She's humming—actually humming to herself.
I can hear it through the glass. Off-key and completely endearing.
Damn.
Who does that anymore?
She moves around the little shop with an easy confidence that tells me she loves being there.
Like this isn't just a job.
Like it’s something all her own.
She pauses long enough to tuck a loose curl behind one ear before reaching for a stack of books waiting to be shelved.
Something inside my chest just stops.
My Bear, who'd been grumbling about the three Sows beside me for the last ten minutes, suddenly goes utterly silent.
Then...
He stands up.
Alert.
Interested.
Watch.
I blink.
What?
Watch her.
My pulse kicks.
She hasn't even looked this way.
Hell.
She doesn't know I exist. But I can't seem to look away.
The tug inside my chest grows stronger.
Like an invisible thread has hooked itself somewhere behind my ribs.
Pulling.
Steady.
Insistent.
What the actual hell?
I've never felt anything like it.
It isn't lust.
Hell, I haven't even seen her face yet.
It's more like…
Recognition.
Like some ancient part of me already knows something my human side hasn't figured out yet.
Watch. My Bear repeats, almost reverently this time.
“Nah.”
I shake my head.
Probably just the chocolate muffins in the display case calling my name.
My stomach rumbles as if to support the theory.
Still...
Something feels different about her.
“So, Graham,” Stephanie says, slipping closer again. “About dinner?”
I glance at the three she-Bears and can't help frowning.
Seriously?
Can they not take no for an answer?
“You know,” Cindy says sweetly, “we could celebrate your success.”
“I make a great date,” Sharon adds with a wink.
“I've got tickets to the Harvest Festival,” Stephanie offers. “Thought maybe we could go together.”
My Bear huffs.
Not them.
Never them.
“I've got to go,” I murmur.
“Graham—”
“Have a good night, ladies.”
This time I don't stop walking.
Their disappointed sighs fade behind me as I shove one hand into my pockets and head toward my car, dropping off the bag of food.
Afterwards, I head towards the tree line behind Main Street.
The woods have always been where I think best.
Where I breathe easiest.
Where the music comes.
A run will clear my head.
It usually does.
What I don't know...
What I couldn't possibly know...
Is that destiny is already waiting for me beneath those trees.