Carter lets out a low whistle and takes a long swig of beer.
“Well, shit.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”
“But at least the lyrics are back,” he says, as if trying to somehow bandage over the fatal wound I just realized I’d been given.
I shrug. “I wrote a whole song today, and I barely even care. Lyrics and melodies flow through me like the blood in my veins, but they don’t matter anymore. Izzy has become my anchor note—the one everything else in me is built around.”
Carter leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I know you know this, but Kelsey and I—when we started dating—it was messy too. Not fake-dating messy, but complicated. There was timing and rivalry and a whole bunch of reasons it shouldn’t have worked. But it did. Because when someone feels like that, you don’t walk away.”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
Carter looks me dead in the eye. “Then don’t.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Listen,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, “if you leave again, Izzy will close the door and find a way to never let you back in. And, honestly, I’ll be there helping her hold the door closed. She is one of the most important things in the world to Kelsey, and on top of that, she’s my sister now. I’d do anything to protect her. I want to root for you, Jax—but not if you’re going to leave wreckage. But going to Nashville and leaving are two very different things. We all travel for work: me, Kelsey, Bryn, Jameson, Lila, and JT. All of us. So even though we spend time apart, it’s not leaving them behind. If you love her, you make it work.”
“And if she doesn’t feel the same?”
He leans back, eyes steady. “Then you let her go—but only after she knows exactly how you feel.”
We fall silent again, the fire popping and hissing beside us. I finally pick up the whiskey glass and toss back a small sip. It burns in a way that feels almost deserved.
Finally, I turn my attention back to Carter. “I know this is a shitty thing to ask, but please don’t tell Kelsey. Not yet. I need to figure out what to tell Izzy first.”
“Fine,” he says. “You have my word for now. But I don’t like keeping things from my wife, and I certainly won’t lie to her if she asks.”
“Of course.”
The fire hisses as the wind shifts, spitting sparks into the dark like warnings. Or promises. I don’t know which yet.
But I know this: when the smoke clears, I don’t want to be standing alone.
And I think I have just the plan to make it happen.
“Do you have Matthew Thatcher’s number by any chance?”
Chapter thirty-eight
Jaxon
“Hey,Iz!”Icallas I walk into Izzy’s house on Tuesday carrying my guitar and a bag of takeout.
No answer.
I pause in the entryway, listening. There’s a soft creak down the hall, then her voice floats out. “Hey, Jax.”
The way she says my name is soft, but it doesn’t have the same spark as it did Saturday night when we were sitting out at the firepit, drinking wine while I played my guitar. We text almost constantly these days, so I know she’s been stressing about work things, but it seemed like she was remaining at least mostly positive about the lack of response from her potential client.
Izzy appears from around the corner a few seconds later, barefoot and in a faded T-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans. Her hair is pulled onto the top of her head, though there are more than a few strands falling down. She looks…tired.
Gorgeous. But tired.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I say, lifting the bag like it contains the world’s best gift. “I brought dinner. And I have a surprise for you.”
“Please tell me the surprise is ice cream,” she says, walking past me toward the kitchen.
