Chapter 27
WOLFE
The first thing I did when I touched down in Legacy was go to Trace’s cabin to leave him another note.
I had no doubt he’d find me in Legacy. He’d proven he could always reach me, whether I was on the top of a mountain or buried under a pile of my own fears.
But if he made it home before I did, I wanted him to know I’d been here.
When I stepped up to his door today, it was different from the other times I’d been here.
I didn’t have to steel myself to pretend I didn’t feel all the things I felt, like I had on the few occasions when I’d been here with my family.
I wasn’t swamped with heartbroken rage like I’d been in February, when I’d kissed Trace and kicked off this wild verse of our love song.
Instead, it felt like the little cabin was welcoming me to the place I belonged.
Standing on the porch, I couldn’t help but look through the window. The interior was quiet and tidy. Midday sun shone into the entry from other windows in the room, illuminating the photos on the wall.
I’d seen those photos up close a million times. There were pictures of his accomplishments. SERA and a summit climb. But there were mostly family photos.
A candid shot of Lennon, Rosie, and me doing cannonballs in the pool while Papa laughed and Dad rated us.
A framed photo of Trace with Papa, arms around each other and clinking martinis in celebration of one of Trace’s birthdays.
Trace had always made a joke about martinis being too highbrow for him, so my dads had taken him to San Francisco’s fanciest martini bar and force-fed him drinks until his nose turned pink and his eyes glassy.
There was also a photo taken at Trace’s EMT certification. Trace’s expression had been proud, but not nearly as proud as Dad’s had been.
Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves. Some of us wrote them into lyrics. But Trace’s heart was right on that wall… and it was clear every beat of it was for the Marians.
It was a visceral reminder of what he stood to lose if things between us didn’t work out. My parents were his family. We all were.
But it was also a reminder of all we stood to gain. If—when—everything was out in the open, Trace would make space on the wall for pictures of the two of us. I wouldn’t even have to ask.
I grinned to myself and thought maybe I’d ask anyway. Because getting on my knees for Trace would be extremely pleasurable for both of us.
It will work out. It will.
I knew that like I knew the opening chords of “Not Mine.” Like I knew the particular ache of an open B-flat on a cold instrument. Like the back of my hand. Like the laugh lines around Trace Bishop’s eyes.
And I was going to make fucking sure it worked out by ensuring no one could manipulate or blackmail me like Jake had tried to do.
By finally, finally being completely honest about who I was and who I loved.
By standing up and claiming the future I deserved.
I placed my note on the door, folded around the handle the same way I’d left the one in Hush, and headed to my brother’s ranch.
My family kept a car at the little Legacy airstrip, so I was counting on Lennon to help me run it back over there in case anyone else coming into town for the music festival needed it.
Once Gabe had reminded me of the event, I’d immediately called the Spring Sling event coordinator to ask for help getting my name in the lineup. While I’d been in the air over Wyoming, she’d arranged everything, assuming it was a surprise involving Papa.
She was right that it was going to surprise Papa. I had to admit, I was still a little worried about his reaction.
Would he immediately connect the dots and know part of the reason I’d kept Fletcher a secret was to avoid comparisons to Jude Marian and accusations that I was only successful because of my talented father?
Maybe, yes.
But talking with Gabe yesterday reminded me of some stuff Trace had said while we were hiking, and I now realized that in protecting Papa from one painful truth, I was denying him a chance to know me. To share the music we both loved.
Plus, I was treating him like he was too weak to handle it… just as I’d accused Trace of doing to me.
So I was changing that today.
In the most dramatic way possible.
When I got to the ranch, Lennon was just walking in the side door, covered in sweat and grime. “Well, there he is,” he said with a surprised smile. “The little lost boy returns. If I weren’t covered in cow shit right now, I’d hug the fuck out of you.”
A rush of affection filled me so full, I almost wept. “Hey. I missed you.”
Lennon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Likewise. Where the hell you been?”
I inhaled deeply, recognizing the familiar mix of cow, hay, and my brother. It smelled a little bit like home in a strange way. “You name it, feels like. But I’m here now. I want you to come with me tonight to the Spring Sling.”
He blinked but nodded. “You talked to the dads yet? They’re gonna have to meet us there. Plane’s running late.”
We moved into the mudroom while he yanked off his boots and stripped down to a tank top and his boxer briefs before tossing his clothes in the nearby washer and padding back toward his bedroom.
“Rosie here?” I asked as I followed him.
“Nah. She headed into town already to help out. Avery’s got a booth set up for her paintings, and Maddox Sullivan’s got one for his photos. Rosie’s offered to help them both. The artists’ booths open at five.”
I asked if he’d help me return the car to the airstrip before we went to the festival, and he agreed. While he disappeared into his room for a shower, I waited for him in the living room.
There were family photos here, too. Ones of us all on Lennon’s ranch. Some of us when we were little. One of Papa singing on a big stage somewhere with his long hair and bright eyes. In that one, you could barely make out Dad in the wings, waiting patiently offstage the way he always did.
I pulled that one off the shelf and sat down on a nearby chair to stare at it.
“Amazing we had such a normal childhood, considering,” Lennon said as he wandered back into the room a few minutes later, fully dressed but still running a hand towel through his wet hair.
“Normal?” I said with a laugh. “We had a private plane and vacationed with royals.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but we also played board games. Argued about whose turn it was to do the dishes. Swam on the swim team.”
“I hated swim team,” I murmured.
“Pretty sure Dad only made us do it because Papa was scared we’d drown unless we became strong swimmers.”
I glanced over at him. “You hated being in the spotlight, didn’t you? It’s why you moved here.”
Lennon frowned. “I moved here because I wanted to live on a ranch. Work with animals. Get away from the city.”
I waited for the rest of it, the resentment or regret, but he surprised me with a wave of his hand toward the big picture windows that looked out on the pinks and oranges of the incredible Montana sunset.
“I wouldn’t be living my dream if it weren’t for Papa’s music career.
I owe all of this to Jude Marian’s stardom. ”
“And your hard work,” I protested.
He nodded. “Absolutely. But all the hard work in the world wouldn’t have gotten me a cattle ranch without the trust fund I got from Papa’s record sales. And I’m grateful every day for the way his talent and hard work inspired me to do what I love.”
I looked at him blankly, while inside, I was having a mental seismic shift. Another seismic shift.
Was it possible I’d been looking at this wrong, too?
What if people pointing to my father as the reason for my success was a good thing?
Because it was absolutely true that if I’d been raised by a Jude and Derek Marian who were schoolteachers in Omaha, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would’ve developed my music talent enough to find the success I had as Fletcher Coe.
And if I hadn’t grown up hearing my dad pour his heart into his lyrics and watching him struggle to craft a perfect harmony, I wouldn’t have known that effort was just as important as raw talent.
My success was partially because of my father’s… and that was a feature and not a bug. Not something to be ashamed of, but something to be grateful for. Something to proclaim from the rooftops.
“Whoa,” I said as the world shifted around me.
“You okay, Wolfie?”
Lennon moved over and put his large hand in my hair, tilting my head back so he could squint into my face. “You look a little pale. You want a sandwich before we go?”
I laughed, the sound loose and strange in my throat. “I’m okay. Or I will be soon. But you should know… I’m in love with Trace Bishop,” I said.
He shot me a confused look. “Uh… yeah, and I own a cow or two. We sharing understatements of the year? What’s happening right now?”
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “I know, I know. I didn’t do a great job of hiding my feelings. But now…” I tested the words on my tongue. “We’re together. For real.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, fucking finally! Jesus fuck, Wolfe. That was the longest slow burn in romance history. Congratulations.” His forehead creased again. “But then… where is he?”
“Not far behind me, I hope. But there’s something I needed to do first. And I was hoping you could help.”
When I explained part of my plan, Lennon called two of his ranch hands to return the vehicle for me while he loaded me into his own truck.
On the ride into town, my brain spun like a washing machine with an unbalanced load.
By the time we pulled around back of our cousin Alex’s restaurant to find parking, my palms were sweating, but I was even more sure of my plan.
The Spring Sling would be set up right in the middle of Founder’s Row in the center of town, with a music stage at one end and artists’ booths in tidy rows along either side of the blocked-off street.
Several singers and groups would play on the music stage after the introduction and welcome speech, and the coordinator had promised me a ten-minute spot three acts into the lineup.
“I’ve never performed in front of an audience before,” I whispered as Lennon threw the truck into Park.
I hadn’t told my brother about Fletcher Coe. Not yet. I’d only told him I’d arranged to perform a couple of songs for Papa tonight.
“It’s been way too long since I’ve heard you play or sing, Wolfe, but I know you’re going to do great. And if it comes from your heart, he’s gonna love it.”
My little brother was a softie. One of the kindest men I knew.
I reached over and squeezed his arm. “Thank you. And thanks for being here. Promise to rush me off the stage if I vomit or otherwise make a fool of myself?”
His warm laughter filled the cab of the truck. “This town could use a little drama. Give us something to post to our socials besides the new flavor at the dairy barn. Spoiler alert: it’s salted caramel.”
He had no idea. Legacy’s socials were going to light the entertainment world on fire tonight. I wanted to whimper.
“You ready?” Lennon asked with a grin.
“As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”
I grabbed my guitar from the back, opened the door, and stepped out into the cool Montana night.
As we made our way through the crowds to the wings of the stage, I hid behind Lennon’s larger frame to avoid being stopped for a chat.
The only person I spared a glance at was my sister, Rosie, whose pink cheek I stopped to kiss on my way past Avery Marian’s painting booth.
“Wolfe!” Rosie squealed. “You came!”
Lennon made our excuses and continued to lead me to the stage until he introduced me to the music coordinator, a woman named Nessa.
We spoke for a couple of minutes to confirm my tech requirements, and then I was shuffled over to wait behind the band that would play before my set.
I pulled out my phone to review the new song I’d planned, trying my hardest not to hyperventilate. Papa’s breathing exercises ran through my head, forcing me to slow down and focus. Prepare. After drinking a few sips of water, I did some vocal warm-ups.
I was nervous as fuck, yes, but I could taste the freedom that waited for me on the other side of this mountain, and I wanted it badly.
Finally, it was my turn to go on. The local emcee took the stage between acts and introduced me. “Tonight, we have a special treat. An unexpected addition to our lineup. Please welcome to the stage Wolfe Marian, who’s here to perform a couple of songs for his father, Jude.”
A rumbling murmur rolled through the crowd, confusion and interest.
Nothing bad, more like surprise.
I slung my guitar across my back and jogged up the four steps before thanking the emcee and taking his place at the mic stand.
“Uh, hi, everyone.” I took a look out at the small crowd that had gathered around the music stage. Many of the festival attendees were roaming through the artists’ booths, but even more filled the rows of folding seats in front of the stage. “Thanks for letting me crash the party.”
There was a titter of laughter. “Before I sing a song for my dad, I’m going to sing a song many of you already know. It’s a song I wrote—” I cleared my throat. “A song I wrote many years ago when I had my first crush.”
The crowd had quieted down a little, and now they rewarded me with a collective “Awww.”
“Back when I wrote this, I never dreamed I’d get to play it live. That I’d want my crush to hear it and know it was for him. But that same guy reminded me recently that the truth’s more powerful than any secret.”
I took a deep breath while the crowd seemed to hold theirs.
“So, I’d like to introduce myself to all of you. While I am Wolfe Marian… you might also know me as Fletcher Coe. This song is called ‘Not Mine.’ And my crush hasn’t changed, but I recently learned it’s reciprocated. This is for Trace. I love you.”
I forced myself to look down at the frets instead of catching anyone’s eyes as I strummed the opening chords to a song whose rhythm was as familiar as the beat of my own heart.
But as my eyes swept down past the audience, they landed on several familiar faces.
There in the second row, off to the side, was the beautiful, steady, loving face of Trace Bishop.
And next to him were the shocked faces of my parents.