“Alright, I’ll call your brother as soon as I’m off the phone with you.” He pauses for a moment and I hear a questioning hum.“So are you good? You seem a little less chill than usual, TJ.”
I groan and scrub my palm over my face. “Yeah. Just chaos here. Chapman and his girl are getting married today. We’re doing it at my place. Actually your dumbass little brother is catering it too.”
“Oh shit, dude.”He lets out a laugh and his usual serious demeanor disappears. “You must really like them if you're letting that many people up in your space. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll talk to Jake. Give Sutton some shit for me.”
“Will do. Let me know if Jake doesn’t get you what you need to make it happen.”
I hang up the phone and drop my head against the window, keeping my eyes focused outside. For someone that was so used to loud music and huge crowds, Slade’s right, I don't like commotion around me if I can avoid it. I grew up with that in all the homes I lived in and it's something I don’t need or like anymore.
Looking past the guesthouse, I glance up at the slopes of Jackson Hole. For late December, the snow coverage is already great. Sure, the Snake River might be too frozen for me to go fishing — my favorite quiet escape whether I’m here or in Bend most of the year — but this cold does mean prime skiing. I may not be a diehard skier like Chapman, but I do like to get out at least once a week when I’m in town.
I take another glance further up the mountains, soaking up the view of the jagged granite mountain peaks of the Tetons and enjoy this moment of peace and quiet.Thisis why I have houses in places like this, to get away from all the noise of the world. I need to be able to disconnect from everything else.
A flash of pink, orange, and purple from the corner of my vision snags my attention. I jerk my head and my whole body tenses when I seeher.
Fuck.
I lean against the window and I can see my breath fog the cold glass. She walks down the path from the driveway to the guesthouse. I haven’t seen her in seven months, but everything about her is ingrained in my mind like the lyrics to my old songs. Something I could truly never forget.
Her flowing rainbow hair. Her tall, fit frame. Those impossibly long legs that let her stride gracefully away from me. Something stirs in my chest, the same feeling I had that day on the river in Oregon. I know I shouldn’t be transfixed by her, but my body won’t listen to my mind telling me to look away.
Just before she reaches the door to the guesthouse, V swings it open, practically bursting out toward Grace. She flashes V a smile — the mischievous, infectious one that I haven’t been able to get out of my head since that morning in May.
My phone buzzes in my hand, pulling me back to the present. Is Slade already calling me back? Jake better not be giving him a hard time.
I look at the screen and feel my brow furrow when I see the message.
Miles: Got time to talk? The guys still want you back for a reunion tour this spring.
I should have just said ‘no’ seven months ago. That’s whatevery bone in my body told me to do and that’s how I like to make decisions. It’s rarely failed me in life. But for some reason that day, I was in my head too much and said I’d think about it. Now, I’ve had to avoid the weekly calls and messages because I honestly don’t think I want to get back with the band. Even if it was a one time deal, I don’t know if that’s a chapter in my life I want to revisit. There’s still a nagging voice in the back of my head though that says I owe it to them. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if I hadn’t been in the band.
“Hey, TJ.” I practically jump out of my skin and my head whips around to see Sutton, leaning in the doorway to my studio.
“Shit. Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?”
He chuckles and walks into the room. I take one last glance out toward the guesthouse hoping to see her, but she’s already inside.
“You’re forty-two. I’d hardly call you an old man.”
I lean against the black foam padded wall and fold my arms over my chest, feeling my heart that was pounding for an entirely different reason settle back into its proper place. “Yeah. We’ll see what you’re saying when you're a decade older.”
“What are you doing in here anyway? Hiding as usual?” He steps toward a stack of speakers and amplifiers and grabs one of my guitar picks.
“Actually, I was just on the phone with your brother. He wants me to buy another building in Seattle. He already has his mind made up on a new restaurant.”
Sutton palms his face in both of his hands with an exasperated sigh. He takes another step toward me and looking at his fingers, he spins my guitar pick between the tips. I can see why his knife work in the kitchen is always so precise.
“Fuck. He’s really going to burn himself out and probably drag me down with him if he keeps trying to expand like this.” He’s right. I met them and Tanner because of Gloria’s, theirrestaurant here in town. I’ve watched how Sutton busts his ass running it while Slade runs his other spots in Denver and Park City.
“So, everything going alright with the food prep?” I change the topic because I know all too well what it feels like to get burned out. That’s something I’d rather not relive.
He shrugs. “So far, so good. Besides…” He walks along the wall where my guitars are hanging and eyes my favorite acoustic one. “I’m enjoying the added bonus of trashing your kitchen today.” He mindlessly drags the pick across the strings, sending a stray note echoing across the room.
“Hey! Not that one.” I level a glare at him, watching him pull his hand away from my first guitar, the one that went from foster home to foster home with me. “You should know better than that. You get all protective when I mess with your knives at your place.”
He smirks at me, flaring an eyebrow up. “Yeah, but I’m a chef that cooks and uses my knives. You’re a rockstar that hasn’t performed in years.” He swipes his finger across the guitar again and flicks the dust from his fingertip. “Seriously, when was the last time you picked up a guitar? This place feels like a morgue.”
I grasp my chest and feign agony. “You wound me, Sutton.” I play it off well enough because he rolls his eyes. Deep down, I know he’s not wrong, he’s entirely right.
