14. Boone
BOONE
The driveway crunched under my tires.
I'd driven back from Dee's bar in the middle of the night and sat in my truck outside the house until the sun came up.
Couldn't make myself go inside. Couldn't make myself turn around either.
The night replayed in my head on a loop — Carly's face when I'd offered her money, the way she'd looked at me like I was a stranger, Dee blocking the door like I was some kind of threat.
By the time I finally walked through the front door, it was ten in the morning and my mother was waiting.
She stood in the front hall with her arms crossed. Savannah was beside her on the settee, perfectly arranged, legs tucked to one side like she was posing for a magazine. The morning light caught her blonde hair and made it shine like something out of a catalog.
"We need to talk," my mother said.
I kept walking toward the stairs. My shirt smelled like bar smoke and sweat. "Not now."
"Boone."
The snap in her voice stopped me three steps up. I turned around, already exhausted by whatever this was going to be. My hands ached from gripping the steering wheel all night. My eyes felt raw.
Savannah gave me a small smile, concern painted across her features in exactly the right proportions. Her hands folded in her lap, demure and patient. Like she'd been waiting here all night just for me to come home.
"Your wife left," my mother said.
The words hit me square in the chest. I'd known it already — Carly had told me to go, had looked at me like she'd finally seen through to something rotten underneath — but hearing it said out loud made it real in a way I wasn't ready for. My throat tightened.
"She didn't leave," I said. The words came out rough.
My mother's eyebrow went up. "Her car's gone. Her clothes are gone. That sounds like leaving to me."
I came back down the stairs slowly. The silver ring in my pocket pressed against my leg through the denim.
I'd found it at the studio, sitting on the mixing board like an accusation.
Simple band, both our names engraved on the inside with the date we'd promised each other everything.
I'd carried it with me to the bar last night, thinking I'd give it back to her, thinking that would mean something.
Instead I'd offered her money. Jesus, what had I been thinking?
I rubbed the back of my neck. "She just needs some space. I'll fix it."
"Fix it." My mother repeated the words like they tasted bitter, like I'd said something particularly stupid.
She walked past me into the living room, her heels clicking on the hardwood with that authoritative rhythm that meant she'd made up her mind about something and the rest of us were about to find out what.
I followed because that's what you did when Diane Hargrove decided it was time to talk. Savannah trailed behind us, her perfume — something floral and expensive — filling the hallway as she passed.
My father was already in the living room, standing by the fireplace with a glass of bourbon in his hand even though it wasn't noon yet.
Gordon Hargrove, attorney at law, bourbon in hand, judgment in his eyes.
The same look he'd given me when I'd told him I was leaving the firm to sing.
Like I was a disappointment he was trying to decide whether to write off.
Emily sat in the corner chair by the window, a book open on her lap. But she wasn't reading. Her eyes tracked all of us as we came in, and her mouth was pressed into a thin line. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
"Sit down, Boone," my mother said.
"I'd rather stand."
She sat anyway, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt with one hand. Savannah took the chair closest to her.
"We've been patient," my mother said. Her spine was straight as a rod. "We've given you time to figure out what you need. But it's been ten years, and the situation hasn't improved."
I stared at her, my jaw already clenching. "The situation."
"Your marriage." Each word came out clipped and deliberate, like she was explaining something simple to someone slow.
"It's been a distraction from the beginning.
You know that. Your career has suffered for it, and we've all watched you struggle under the weight of a relationship that was never going to work. "
My hands curled into fists. The anger sparked hot behind my ribs. "My career's fine."
"Your career could be extraordinary." She leaned forward, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
"But you've been held back by someone who doesn't understand this world.
Someone who doesn't know how to support you the way you need, someone who doesn't have the connections or the background or the slightest idea how to navigate what you're trying to build. "
Savannah shifted in her chair, and when I looked at her she was watching me with those wide blue eyes that used to make me feel like the only person in the room. Back when we were kids and everything was simple and I thought love was just about wanting someone. Now those eyes just made me tired.
"The deal with my father's label is important, Boone," Savannah said.
Her voice was soft and careful, like she was approaching a spooked horse.
"You know that. We've talked about it. The distribution, the promotion, everything you need to take your music to the next level.
But it's complicated, and it requires certain things. "
"We've talked about the music," I said.
"It's not just about the music." She stood up, smoothing her dress over her hips, and took a step closer to me.
Close enough that I could see the tiny gold flecks in her eyes.
"It's about building something together.
It's about having the right people around you, people who understand what you're trying to do.
You need someone who can stand beside you at events, someone the industry will respect. "
There it was. Not the music. She wasn't talking about the music anymore.
Standing beside me at events. The right people.
Someone the industry would respect. My mother watched me from her chair like Savannah had just said something I should have understood already.
My hands curled into fists. The anger burned behind my ribs, hot and sudden.
What the hell was she asking for? What did standing beside me at events have to do with distribution and promotion and taking my music to the next level?
"Carly understands," I said.
My mother laughed, sharp and cold as breaking ice. "Carly works in a bar."
"She's a musician."
"She's a bartender who used to sing for tips.
" My mother stood up, and the room felt smaller with her on her feet.
"And she's gone, Boone. She walked out on you.
She left. That tells you everything you need to know about her commitment to you, about what she really thinks of this marriage. When things got difficult, she ran."
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. She didn't know what she was talking about.
She didn't know Carly at all. Carly hadn't walked out because she didn't care.
She'd walked out because I'd screwed up, because I'd offered her money like that was the answer to everything, because I'd been too blind and too stupid to see what she actually needed.
Because I'd let my mother and my career and everything else get between us until there wasn't any us left.
But I couldn't say that. Not here. Not with all of them watching, waiting to see how I'd respond.
"I need you to step up," Savannah said. She was close enough now that I could feel the heat coming off her, could smell that expensive perfume.
"The label needs to see that you're serious.
That you're committed. That you're ready for what comes next, for the level we're talking about.
This isn't small-time anymore, Boone. This is the big leagues. "
"What comes next," I repeated. My throat felt tight.
"Appearances together. Events. Award shows.
A tour with proper promotion behind it, with the full weight of the label and everything my father can bring to the table.
" She reached out and put her hand on my arm, her fingers light against my sleeve.
Her touch was careful, tentative, testing to see if I'd pull away.
"You and me, Boone. The way it should have been from the start. Before everything got complicated."
I stepped back, and her hand fell away. "No."
The word came out harder than I meant it to, but I didn't take it back. My mother's expression went cold, all that careful patience evaporating.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not doing this." I looked at Savannah, then at my mother, then at my father, who still hadn't said a word but was watching me with that flat, assessing stare he always had when he was deciding how much something would cost him.
"I'm not breaking up my marriage for a record deal.
I'm not replacing my wife because you think she's not good enough. "
"You don't have to break anything up," my mother said.
Her voice had gone quiet, which was always worse than when she yelled.
Quiet meant she was past anger and into strategy.
"It's already broken. We're just asking you to move forward.
To be realistic about what your marriage has become and make the smart choice for your future. "
"With Savannah."
"With someone appropriate," she said. She took a step toward me, and I held my ground.
"Someone who can help you instead of dragging you down.
Someone who knows how this life works and what it requires and how to handle herself in the situations you're going to be in.
Your father and I have supported you through everything, Boone.
We've put money into your career, connections, opportunities you wouldn't have had otherwise.
We've opened doors. We've made introductions.
We've backed you when you had nothing but potential and a lot of foolish dreams. The deal with Merritt's label is the culmination of all of that, and it requires certain things from you. "
There it was. The threat underneath all the careful words, underneath the concern and the strategy. They'd paid for my career, and now they wanted to collect. Now they wanted me to do what they said, be who they wanted, marry who they chose.
"I'll pay you back," I said. "Every dollar. Whatever you've put in, I'll pay it back."
My father finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "It's not about the money, son."
"Isn't it?" I looked at him, and he stared back, his face giving nothing away.
"It's about building something that lasts," my mother said.
She moved to stand beside my father, the two of them united in their disappointment.
"You're not a child anymore, Boone. You can't keep pretending that love is enough, that passion and chemistry will carry you through.
You need stability. You need someone who can stand beside you in this world without embarrassing you, without making you look like you don't know what you're doing. Someone who belongs."
Carly had never embarrassed me. Not once.
Not ever. She'd stood beside me through every show, every late night in the studio, every time I'd come home wrecked from the road and too tired to be anything but myself.
She'd pulled me back together. She'd written half my songs and never asked for credit.
She'd believed in me when I had nothing but a guitar and a voice and no idea if any of it would work.
But they didn't know that. They'd never bothered to know her, never asked what she did or who she was or why I'd married her. They'd seen a girl who worked in a bar and decided that was all she was.
"If you walk away from this deal, we walk away from you," my mother said. The words fell like stones, heavy and final. "No more funding. No more connections. No more doors opened. You'll be on your own, and we both know how well that will go. You'll be lucky to book county fairs within a year."
My chest tightened, the breath catching somewhere between my lungs and my throat. They were serious. I could see it in the set of my mother's jaw, in the cold assessment in my father's eyes, in the way Savannah watched me like she'd already won.
Emily shifted in her chair, and for a second I thought she might say something. Her mouth opened slightly, her eyes meeting mine across the room. But she just looked down at her book again, her jaw tight, her knuckles white where she gripped the cover.
"I'm going to fix things with Carly," I said. My voice came out rough and raw. "I don't care what you want. I don't care about the deal or the label or any of it. I'm fixing my marriage."
"Boone—" my mother started.
"No." I was already moving toward the door, my hands shaking with the effort it took not to put my fist through the wall. "I'm done. I'm done listening to this."
"If you leave this room, the money stops," my mother said. Her voice followed me, sharp and certain. "Today. Right now. Every dollar we've put into your career, every connection, every opportunity — it ends the second you walk out that door. You'll have nothing."
I stopped in the doorway and looked back at her. She stood there with my father beside her and Savannah a step behind them, the three of them like a wall I was supposed to break myself against. Emily still hadn't moved, her eyes fixed on her lap.
The ring pressed against my leg through my pocket. Carly's ring. Simple silver band with our names inside and the date we'd promised each other everything.
"Keep it," I said.
I walked out. The door slammed behind me hard enough to rattle the frame, and I kept going, down the hall and across the hardwood and out the front door into the bright Tennessee morning.
The sun hit my face like a slap. My hands shook as I fumbled the keys into the ignition.
The engine roared to life, and I peeled out of the driveway fast enough to leave rubber on the asphalt and kick up gravel behind me.
In the rearview mirror, I saw the house receding. The wraparound porch and the big windows and the manicured lawn and the life they wanted me to live. Savannah would still be in there, I knew. She'd stay because the deal was worth more than I was.
But I wasn't coming back.
I was done with all of it. Done with their money and their deals and their plans for who I should be.
I had to find Carly. I had to get to her, had to make her listen. Had to make her see that she mattered more than any of it — more than their money, more than the deal, more than every door they could open or slam shut.
I just hoped to God I wasn't too late.