Nathan stirred his coffee, eyes flicking up. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “For the mixer. I should’ve been honest. I knew you wanted to meet a little, and I thought it’d be perfect… but I had another plan too.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I wanted to get the band back together,” Nathan admitted. “Black Shadows. I miss it, man. I miss you. Your voice, your guitar. The way we used to light up a room.”
Spencer leaned back, letting the words settle. Part of him ached at the thought. He did miss it—the rush of performing, the late-night writing sessions, the way music used to feel like home. But that life was behind him now.
“As much as I’d love to sing again,” Spencer said, “I’ve got the ranch. I made a promise to my grandfather, and I’m keeping it. I can’t ever come back.”
Nathan nodded slowly, disappointment flickering in his eyes but respect too. “You don’t have to come to the mixer, you know.”
Spencer smirked. “Oh, I’m showing up. I want to meet Tom. I want to look him in the eye and tell him what an asshole he is.”
Nathan laughed, but it was quiet, almost sad. Spencer reached across the table and tapped his knuckles against Nathan’s. “I love you like a brother. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about our friendship.”
Nathan wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “We’re flying in,” he said. “Alfie and me. We’re coming to the ranch.”
Spencer smiled, heart full. “Good. It’ll be nice to have you there.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that only comes with years of history. Spencer didn’t know what the mixer would bring, but he knew one thing for sure—some bonds didn’t break. They just bent and found new ways to hold.
Before they returned, Spencer stopped at a store and purchased a few gifts for Jamie. He wanted him to feel confident and strong when they attended the mixer this evening.
Spencer pushed open the door to Nathan’s cabin, arms full of gift bags, the cold air rushing in behind him. He was still riding high from breakfast—good food, a few laughs, and a long-overdue heart-to-heart with Nathan. It felt like a piece of the past had been stitched back together. But the second he stepped inside and scanned the room, the warmth drained from his chest.
Jamie wasn’t there.
“Where’s Jamie?” he asked, setting the bags down and looking around like maybe he’d just missed him curled up on the couch or tucked into a corner with a book.
Alfie stood near the kitchen doorway, his expression tense. “He said he needed to be alone. Took a walk.”
Spencer’s stomach dropped when he saw Jamie’s backpack and suitcase near the side of the couch. “What are Jamie’s things doing here?” He pointed at them. “How did he get them?”
Alfie hesitated. “Billy came over. Gave them to Jamie.”
Spencer’s jaw clenched. “What happened between Jamie and Billy?”
“Jamie had a meltdown when Billy showed up looking for Nathan.”
Spencer’s pulse kicked up. “What did Billy say to Jamie?”
Alfie swallowed. “He told Jamie he slept with his Daddy Tom. Then he said he did it five times.”
Spencer’s hands curled into fists. “Why the hell did you let him in?”
“He pushed himself in and he wanted Nathan,” Alfie said quickly. “Then he said he had Jamie’s stuff. We didn’t know what he was gonna say.”
Spencer didn’t wait for more. “I’ll look for him.”
Spencer didn’t have to think. His gut already knew where Jamie would go. If Jamie was hurting, if he needed closure, if he needed to feel something solid beneath his feet, he’d go to the last place that had broken him. Tom’s cabin.
His heart was pounding like a drumline in his chest, each beat louder than the last. The cold slapped his face as he stepped outside, but he barely registered it. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved fast, almost slipping in his urgency, but he didn’t care. He needed to find Jamie. Now.
He threw himself into the truck, hands trembling as he jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life,and he peeled out of the driveway, headlights slicing through the falling snow. His mind was a blur of worst-case scenarios—Jamie alone, Jamie crying, Jamie back at Tom’s cabin, trying to make sense of the mess that man had left behind.
Spencer was going to be there. Not just to find Jamie, but to stand between him and any more pain. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. The thought of Jamie wandering back into that space—into the cold, clinical detachment Tom always carried—made Spencer’s blood boil.
He’d seen the way Jamie shrank under Tom’s judgment, how he second-guessed himself, how he tried so hard to be enough for someone who never bothered to meet him halfway. Spencer had watched Jamie rebuild himself in such a short period, piece by piece, and he wasn’t about to let Tom undo that with one smug look or one manipulative word.
