I send Brutal a text.

  Me: Hey asshole. You check the east pasture?

  Brotherly talk for I miss you, are you okay doing your work and mine? It takes a long fifteen minutes for him to respond.

  Brutal: Yep. East and did two rows on the southern end too.

  Translation, I’m fine. You do what you need to because I’ve got you covered.

  Me: Good work.

  I love you.

  Brutal: Head in the game, man.

  I love you too.

  I take his words and his meaning to heart. I have work to do and need to stay focused. This isn’t a done deal, for me or Jeremy. At any moment, he could decide that wining and dining me isn’t worth his time if I’m not signing that dotted line. So I’d better make sure he still wants me and all that I bring to the table.

  I sit on the couch, pulling the coffee table over and re-reading the lyrics I’ve written so far. I pick up the pen, painfully ripping my soul open to let it pour onto the page.

  Gave you everything, I was yours.

  Took your heart because you were mine.

  Standing in the tatters that you left behind,

  I still love you.

  “Holy shit, Bobby. That’s . . . Wow!” Miller breathes out with a wide smile.

  The song is slow, plucked chords resonating around notes held until my voice breaks. Until I break.

  Miller looks at Jeremy, who’s standing over him like a hawk. “We’ll do another take to be sure, but I think we got it in one.”

  Jeremy laughs, jabbing the intercom button. “Goddamn, kid. I guess what they say is true . . . a broken heart is the best inspiration! You’re going to be a big hit. You’re the real deal, Bobby.”

  “Play it back again. Let me hear it,” he tells Miller. I join them in the booth. The speakers are better in here.

  The playback starts, and I hear myself, every note full of pain and heartbreak. Jeremy shakes his head. “Damn, that’s good. I can’t believe she actually did it. She didn’t seem strong enough, figured she’d be hanging on your coattails as long as she could.”

  He laughs like he said something funny.

  “What?”

  I have no idea what Jeremy is talking about, but a stone has settled in my stomach. Something’s wrong, my instincts yell.

  “The girl . . . what was her name? Willa? Winnie? The blonde with glasses.” He makes circles with his fingers, laying them over his eyes like glasses.

  “Willow?” I growl. “When did you talk to her?”

  Jeremy must sense the danger zone he’s stumbled into because he stammers, his smile fading quickly. “Uh, that first night I heard you play. She was behind the bar, and I asked her who you were.”

  That rings false, even though I know that happened. There’s more, I can feel it in his need to back away from this conversation.

  “And then?”

  Jeremy finds his balls, tucked up somewhere in those khaki pants. “Well, you couldn’t very well expect me to let a talent like yours go without a fight. I came back out there to track your ungrateful ass down. The girl⁠—”

  “Willow,” I correct.

  He rolls his eyes dismissively, “Fine . . . Willow didn’t seem to know about your turning the deal down. She seemed to think I didn’t offer you one. I told her what you’d done and she said she’d take care of it for you. I didn’t figure she had it in her. Girl like that, and a guy like you, she had to know it was only a matter of time for you to realize you could do better.” He scoffs like that’s an obvious conclusion when it’s anything but. He even smiles like we’re good ol’ boy buddies and he’s not the asshole who fucked up my life.

  Red slashes across my vision and my fist flies through the air before I even intentionally make a fist.

  Pop!

  Jeremy’s jaw makes a loud sound as the punch lands. It’s a good thing those teeth are all cemented in or I would’ve knocked one or two out.

  I grab his shirt, twisting it in my fist and lifting him up.

  “You manipulative son of a bitch. You had no right! I made my choice and you fucked it up.” I’m yelling in Jeremy’s face, which has gone pale, spitting out the pain he caused, raging with the sharp loss again as though it’s new and fresh, not days old.

  Miller touches my arm. “Let’s all calm down here. Take a breath, man.” He’s using some soothing, chanting voice I haven’t heard from him before. He must have experience talking down crazed musicians because shockingly, it works.

  All the puzzle pieces click together in an instant.

  The most important of which is . . .

  She’s mine and I fucking lost her.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I drop Jeremy to the floor, running toward the door. I don’t stop by the hotel, don’t need any of that shit. I need to get home.

  Now.

  Hang on, Willow. I’m coming for you, sweetheart. And we’ve got some shit to get straight right the fuck now.

  Number one, you’re mine.

  Number two, I’m yours.

  Number three, nothing else matters.

  25

  BOBBY

  Idrive all night, fueled by endless energy drinks and total terror. I can only imagine what Jeremy must’ve said to her. That’s what was wrong, why she pulled away from me and told me to go to Nashville. She knew I’d turned Jeremy down for her, and for some damn reason, she thought sending me away and running back to the city was what needed to happen.

  His cocky predator’s grin, enjoying breaking her heart, flashes in my head. Her face falling in hurt shock. I create scenarios again and again of how that conversation might’ve gone and get angrier with each replay.

  How did I miss this?

  Because while Jeremy fucking Marshall deserved that punch, the person who should be getting his ass kicked is me. I was the one who fucked it up by not being honest with her. I ruined it. I didn’t protect her.

  Instead, she protected me. From myself.

  Fuck that.

  I’m going home, gonna grab her by that sweet little ass, kiss the fuck out of her, and show her what love is. For the rest of our lives, if she’ll let me.

  Don’t give up on me. Surrender to us. Nothing else matters outside the world we create.

  I finally make it back to Great Falls and Hank’s late on Thursday afternoon, my hand still aching from punching Jeremy. I’ve driven straight through and feel like hell, but I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop until I made it to Willow. The gravel in the lot crunches under my boots as I stride toward the door, my heart frozen in my chest.

  “Willow!” I yell over the door’s creak.

  Inside, my eyes adjust from the sunlight, and I see a few faces looking at me in shock from the sudden and loud entrance. The customers don’t matter to me, and I run for the bar, looking for her.

  She’s not there.

  Hank calmly and casually sets his Louisville Slugger on the bar, a quiet threat. “You’ve got a lotta nerve showing your face in here. Think you’re some big-shot deal now? Come to rub our faces in your record deal while I’ve been here cleaning up the mess you left behind you on your way to Nashville?” The slow drawl is not a sign that he’s calm and casual. It’s designed to give every barbed word accurate aim for maximum destruction. He succeeds, and my heart bleeds out into my chest, making it tight enough to choke me.

  The mess I made? I would’ve never left if she hadn’t left me!

  Fury boils up. He’s standing between me and Willow and I can’t allow that. I don’t want to hit Hank, so I do something more difficult than relaxing my clenched hands. I search for words. “She told me to go! Said she was going back home to the city! I didn’t know Jeremy had told her fuck-knows-what about the deal.”

  He eyes me, cool as a cucumber for a long second where he holds my fate in his hands.

  “Fuck!” I roar but immediately deflate, all my fight draining away until I’m nothing but an empty shell. “I didn’t know. I turned it down for her. I love her.”

  Hank releases his grip on the bat and rests his hands on the bar. He doesn’t even have a bandage on the cut from the screwdriver anymore. It’s healed over. I don’t think this gash in my heart will ever heal, though. It’s too deep, too wide.

  “All that girl ever did was love and support you,” he tells me, blue eyes narrowed as he studies me like he doesn’t get what she sees in me. “You ever see her do one single thing for herself? No,” he scoffs, “that ain’t who Willow is. She’s got the prettiest, kindest, most giving heart I’ve ever seen. She’s a damn angel, and you . . .” He gives up on that description, just growling at me instead. I’ve never felt like less of a man, less worthy of even breathing the same oxygen as Willow than I do right now.

  “I know! I don’t deserve her, but fuck, I want her. I love her,” I repeat uselessly, sagging to the closest barstool.

  Every eye in the place is watching me fall apart. I don’t give a shit. They’re gonna see way worse if I don’t get her back. This is the beginning of my end.

  Ironically, I feel like the one person I never understood. My dad. He was ugly, mean, raging at the world, and empty inside after Mom died. Now I understand all too well because I could burn everything down, myself included, and it would be a relief to stop this sharp, never-ending pain. The only cure is her or death. And if she’s not an option . . .

  I slam my fist to the bar. The thunderous sound echoes through the room, which has gone utterly still and quiet.

  Hank hollers to the people, waving a hand dismissively. “Go on about your business and leave us to ours.” Their heads drop back to their plates, but you can be damn sure they’re still peeking up to watch the show.

  Quieter, just between us, he confides slowly, “She left her whole life behind to come here and take care of my grumpy, grudge-holding ass because that’s who she is.”

  He looks at me pointedly, and moments fall into place in my cloudy mind. I realize what he’s saying by not saying it. Just as quietly, I ask, “You okay?”

  He dips his chin. “Getting there. But this ain’t about me, it’s about you. Willow told you to go, did that for you, you dumbass. She shoved a knife in her own gut, broke her heart and yours, so that you could have the dream she knew you wanted. Because that’s what she does . . . everything for everybody else. She dips into her own soul and scoops it out so everything around her is damn near glittery with her shine.”

  I nod morosely. “I know.” He makes a snorting sound of disbelief, and I find the balls to look him in the eye and repeat stronger, “I know.”

  “I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one person who would see what she does and take care of her for a change. Lord knows, I haven’t had the energy to. I’m as bad as you are—take, take, take. At least I had a respectable reason.”

  The judgement is clear. I’ve lost Hank’s respect. But I’ll earn it back the same way I’ll earn Willow back. By doing whatever it takes.

  “Where is she?” I beg.

  “Gone,” he sighs. “Went home to her parents.”

  “Tell me where. Please.”

  Following the directions my phone calls out, I turn through street after street. It’s not as big as Nashville, but there’s so much of everything. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming.

  How could she have left this when I know what it all means to her? This is the foundation of her work and what she’s always known.

  On the other hand, how could she have left Great Falls? It’s beautiful in its own quiet way. I know she sees that because it’s reflected in her photography. Oh, yeah, I’ve been creeping on her blog like an addict looking for a fix. I damn near jacked off to a picture of her ankles the other day because I could imagine my hands working their way up from those bony bits to the lush, firm muscles of her legs and the heaven between them. But I’d forced myself to keep scrolling, needing more and more of her, wanting to know where she’d been that day, what she’d done, and who she might’ve seen. And the way she captures my hometown is truly special.

  How could she leave that? And Hank? It sounds like he still needs her.

  Most of all, I fucking need her!

  “You have arrived at your destination,” the phone drones. I pull into the driveway of the single-story house in the middle of a suburban street. This is definitely Willow’s house.

  All the other ones are white, beige, bland and nondescript to the point of being interchangeable. This house is blue with pale yellow shutters, a standout in sea of blah, just like Willow. The yard is pristine, a lush green lawn and flower beds with layers of shrubbery and flowers. That must be her dad’s doing. And the house numbers are modern, skinny metal but inlaid in a mosaic tile backing. Her mom’s artistic touch?

  As soon as I can throw the truck in park, I’m out and running for the front door. She’s here, I know she is because her little Subaru is parked in the drive too.

  I bang on the door too hard, unable to hold myself back when she’s so close I can almost sense her. “Willow!” I holler through the wood door, wishing it had a glass window so I could press my nose to it and see inside. I need to see her now.

  The door swings open, and I get a quick glimpse of an older version of Willow with longer hair, but then I see her . . . my Willow. She’s standing in the living room, a mere six feet away. It’s too far by a mile.

  I lose all control, and any words I thought I was going to say float away like dandelions in the wind. I rush her, grabbing her in my arms. A sound of surprise squeaks out of her, but I don’t give her time to say no, covering her mouth with mine.

  I steal her breath, wanting it as my own. I take her lips, wanting their brand. I claim her mouth, wanting to kiss only her for the rest of my life.

  Completely forgetting where we are and not giving a shit about who else is here, I spin her and push her up against the nearest empty wall. I cup her cheeks in my palms, holding her steady so I can mold her mouth to mine.

  I’m proving to myself that she’s real and promising her that she’s still mine and I’m still hers. Nothing will change that. Not even Jeremy-Fucking-Marshall or any record deal.

  “Willow,” I murmur against her lips, a plea for her mercy.

  Behind us, a small laugh sounds out. “So you must be Bobby?”

  I don’t move to shake her mom’s hand, though I know it’s rude. I can’t take my eyes from Willow, can’t not touch her, though I do drop my hands to her waist, feeding my fingers through the beltloops of her shorts so I can brush along her soft skin. “Yes, ma’am,” I answer, my eyes searching Willow’s face for some sign of what she’s feeling.

  Those mood-ring eyes are storming, swirling, seeking something in mine. Whatever it is, it’s hers. I’ll give her any damn thing she wants unless it’s to leave again. I can’t give her that. I refuse to.

  “I’m Carrie, Willow’s mom. I can see what you like about him,” Carrie says. I can hear a smile in her voice, so hopefully, I haven’t scared her too much by bursting into her house and grabbing her daughter.

  Not that I give a fuck as long as Willow doesn’t mind.

  “Nice to meet you,” I reply, still not looking away from Willow. “You left me. You left Hank. You left Great Falls.”

  She blinks behind her lenses, and I’m acutely aware of her palms resting on my chest. I take a breath, holding it so my chest presses into her touch. I want more of it, need it desperately because it’s the only thing keeping my feet grounded right here. If she wasn’t touching me, I’d have to gather her in my arms and cover her with my body. But the slightest touch from her, one she chooses to give me, is a powerful drug I want more of. “Well, yeah, I had to come home to get my stuff.” Her brows dance up and then down in confusion. “I’m going back.”

  She makes it sound like that’s obvious, but it’s not to me.

  “I’m moving there so I can help Unc more. He wants to slow down, go fishing with Doc and Richard more often, and kinda slow-step toward eventual retirement. I want to help and spend time with him.”

  “You’re going back?” Out of everything she said, that’s what sticks. And I need to be crystal-fucking-clear that’s the case so I don’t have to keep her locked up in my room on the farm like one of those true crime late-night shows she watches. Because that thought has already occurred to me too. I never claimed to be right in the head, just that I love her.

  “Yes?” she answers. “Is that okay?”

  “Fuck yeah, it is,” I huff out, happiness letting my heart start to beat again. She’s coming back to Great Falls. “I’m going back too, and you’re coming with me.” She just said that, but I need her to hear that there’s no other option, no other way.

  “I don’t want to hold you back. I know what this deal means to you. Do what you need to. I’ll be in Great Falls when your big tour bus rolls through town.”

  She’s trying to joke, and I think she actually believes I could do that—go on the road and come through town every once in a while for a visit. That’s not remotely possible. I want her by my side every day, in my arms every night. I want to hear what goes through her mind, see what photos she takes, and taste her kiss every chance I get. That won’t happen if we’re apart, not even for a single day.

  “I don’t want it without you. I love you, Willow. Every day, every way, always. Fuck knows, I’m a complete mess without you, but I want to see every sunrise and sunset with you, give you bubble baths and doughnuts, and play music while you take pictures until your finger is numb.” Words are falling off my tongue, pouring out of my heart, coming easily for once. Thank God, because this is when they matter most. I hope they’re enough to make her see what we could have, what I’ll give her, if she’ll only give me another chance at owning her heart.

  “The deal? Your music?” she argues, still not getting it.

  “That was my dream, but I know what’s truly important. You. You’re everything, and without you, nothing else fucking matters.” I can’t stand it. I pull her into me, hugging her tightly. I wish I could climb inside her to make her feel what I feel. Then she’d never doubt that all I want is her. She’s all I dream of now. Her cheek pressed to my chest, I run my fingers through her short hair, brushing it behind her ear the way she does. I lay a kiss to the top of her head, whispering, “I can’t believe I let you do that. I’m such a fucking idiot for believing for one second that you would leave me because I know you feel this too. You’ve felt it from the beginning, just like me. I’m sorry I didn’t chase you down. I just⁠—”