Chapter Fourteen
“Hello!” I called out. “Anyone here?”
I peeked through the giant double barn doors and didn’t see anyone. “Holy shit,” I mumbled.
My feet shuffled inside, turning to close the doors behind me.
It was obvious by the gust of warm air that greeted me that this barn—if you could even classify it as that—was heated.
Said barn was also one of the coziest looking spaces I’d ever seen.
Everything was drenched in shades of brown, black, and a deep forest green.
The walls, the furniture, even most of the decor.
I didn’t really remember what the barn looked like before, but I knew a lot of work had to have been done in order to accomplish what it was now.
I looked around again, hoping to find any insight into where or if Stetson was even here. In the back left corner, I spotted a steel door labeled Studio and thought I heard some noise coming from that direction. “Seems like a good possibility,” I whispered to myself.
I walked across the room, still taking in everything around me and wondering whether Stetson had a say in the decor or if he’d just paid someone to decorate.
I assumed the latter because this felt too thought-out.
The fuzzy tan blanket draped over the caramel-colored leather couch.
The clean yet musky scent that lingered in the air.
And the collection of old vinyls that were displayed next to one of the coolest and maybe oldest-looking record players I’d ever seen. This place somehow felt like a home.
The door was heavy as I cracked it open a few inches, again coming up empty. That was, until I peered through the glass window and spotted Stetson sitting in the live room with his guitar in his lap and another large man leaning against the wall in front of him.
“I just want this album to be different, Mark.” Stetson’s voice was low and somber as he stared at the man he’d called Mark. “So much in my life has changed since my last album, and so much of what I used to write about doesn’t show my fans who I am anymore.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d slinked into the control room, keeping my presence unknown.
“I understand. I do. I just need to know what your expectations are for this album. Because if you go and make something different from all your other music, you might not get the praise you’re used to.
You know that, right? People bank on Stetson Walker to sing about girls and parties and getting drunk.
It’s who they know you to be. What they want when they listen to your music.
” Mark was a bald man, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t someone I’d want on my bad side.
“My expectations have changed along with the rest of my life. I’m not looking for the next chart topper or to break any records.
I’m just looking forward to writing songs that mean something to me, that could maybe mean something to someone else.
I want to take my fans on a ride, show them who I am and who I want to become.
Especially now, after everything that’s happened.
Show them that everyone deserves the chance to change, to grow up and realize what’s actually important.
” Stetson stared off in the distance before returning his gaze to Mark.
“Everyone, including you, thinks they know who I am, but really you have no idea, because neither do I. I’m still figuring all that shit out, but I’d love to try and figure it all out through my music.
And more than anything, I want this one to be for her. ”
Her.
The word hit my chest like a ton of bricks.
There was someone. Someone he wanted to make an entire album for, an album that seemingly meant a lot to him. Then why all of the flirting and bullshit? Was he really exactly the kind of person I thought he was?
I crossed my arms, listening intently to every word that fell from Stetson’s mouth while still camouflaging myself into the back of the control room. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but now I was here and I wasn’t leaving.
“I get that. I really do. But you know my job is to sell records, and if we don’t do that, then I’ll have a lot of people to answer to,” Mark said, a hint of frustration riddled in his tone.
“And I’m sure you’re aware that because of all of this”—he raised his hands in the air—“I already have a lot of people asking a lot of questions. You literally up and vanished overnight, running away from Nashville with no real intention of coming back anytime soon. Do you know how hard that is to deal with?”
“We’ll sell records, and if we don’t, then you won’t have to deal with me anymore. It’s a win win.” Stetson pushed back. “And as far as everyone’s questions are concerned, didn’t you just tell me that’s your job? To answer those questions?”
The feeling in the room had shifted, I could tell by the stances of both men. Mark had moved from his place on the wall, instead standing tall with his arms crossed firmly across his chest, and Stetson had put his guitar on the stand next to him before moving to his feet too.
“If I answer all of those questions honestly, I don’t think you’d be very happy with me.”
Stetson’s eyes darkened as they pierced Mark.
“I didn’t say you had to be honest, I said you had to answer them.
As long as I’m writing songs and getting this album done, you’re the only one who needs to know the real reason why I’m here and what I’m really doing.
And based on my previous experience, you’re pretty damn good at covering my ass, and for once, I think this situation warrants a cover. Am I clear?” he asked.
The toughness in his voice was something I hadn’t experienced, but whatever he was talking about clearly was very important to him.
“Crystal,” Mark responded.
I surveyed Stetson’s face, watching his jaw relax as he turned back toward his guitar.
A sigh left my chest, but only for a second before I noticed the handle turning on the door connecting the two rooms.
“Shit,” I whispered, panicking as I realized I had no other choice but to stay right where I was.
“Who are you?” Mark’s voice was just as harsh as it had been with Stetson.
“Hi. I’m so sorry. I was just looking for Stetson. I’m Scarlett Carson. I work for the Quincey Falls Tribune, I—”
“Stetson doesn’t need to be interviewed by anyone right now. Let alone the Quincey Falls Tribune, whatever the hell that is.” His snarky tone made me want to smack him across his face. “How did you even know he was here?”
“I, I—”
“She’s with me, Mark. Don’t be a dick to her just because you’re pissed off at me.” Stetson’s stern voice filled the entire control room as he walked through the door just behind Mark.
Mark chuckled, nodding his head. “Hm. Makes sense. I should’ve known the pretty girl was here for you. Some things never change, no matter how hard you try.”
“You can try to rile me up all you want. I’m not coming back to Nashville with you. I’ve made my decision, and you can either live with it and figure out how to make everyone else understand, or you can have one less artist to worry about. Your choice.”
“I’ll call you next week. You better have something for me,” Mark said as he turned and walked out of the steel door I’d come through just a few minutes ago.
Stetson lifted his hand, removing the backward trucker hat from his head and running his other hand through his thick brown hair. I realized this was the first time I’d seen his hair. Well, all of it, anyway. It was always tucked under some sort of hat.
It was wavy and shiny, parting roughly down the middle, bang-like pieces falling on either side of his forehead, kissing his eyelashes. It was messy but somehow still looked effortlessly styled. He ran his hand through one more time before fixing it back in place, this time facing forward.
“Howdy,” he said, already back to his smart-ass tone.
“Hi,” I breathed. “That was intense.”
“Nah. That was just Mark being Mark,” he said, casually strolling across the room near the couch that was perched against the back wall. “He likes to think it makes his dick bigger when he shows up and acts like that.”
In the middle of my thought, I blurted out, “What did he mean by that?”
“By what?”
“Some things never change, no matter how hard you try?” I asked, even though I didn’t think I’d earned the right to. Or even to care.
“Mark was just being Mark. He’s pissed I’m here and not in Nashville showing face and kissing ass at all the events,” he said without skipping a single beat.
Maybe it really was just that. Or maybe he made the comment because just as I’d assumed, Stetson was always looking for his next fix, even when there was a her he desperately wanted to please. Either way, it wasn’t my concern, and it absolutely wasn’t going to help me write this article.
He squatted down to reach into the minifridge that sat next to the couch. I was convinced his jeans might actually split, but I kept watching anyway.
“Want anything?” His voice refocused my thoughts.
“No, I’m good. Thank you.”
“You sure? This is the best sweet tea in the South.”
“I’m more of an unsweet tea kind of girl.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He grinned, standing and moving his way to the couch before plopping down. “So, how much of that conversation did you hear?”
Why are you asking? Oh, maybe because you mentioned some girl you’re writing a whole damn album for? Just wanted to see if I heard and find out whether you were still in the clear to continue playing mind games with me?
That was what I wished I could’ve said, but I also had to remember that I’d intruded on a personal conversation and that wasn’t right either.
“Enough to know that that man doesn’t want you to stay in Quincey Falls. Let alone write an album that strays away from what your fans are used to.”
“And what do you think?”
His question caught me off guard as I dropped my bag from off my shoulder and onto the floor.
“Me?”