“There’s not one thing in that house you want? What about a picture of your mom?”
My mom. The woman I barely remember, but who I know, without a doubt, loved me more than anything in the world. The only person who could ever make my stoic father feel any level of joy in his life.
“Have whatever company you hire to pack up the house keep anything that looks like it could be hers. Have them set it aside in a box for me. There won’t be much.”
Andre continues to study me as I awkwardly stand in my bathroom, waiting for him to leave so I can take a shower. Then a nap.
“Why aren’t you writing any of this down?” I ask him. “You always take notes.”
“It’s not that hard to remember the one thing I have to do for you this week: sell everything your father ever touched.”
“Okay…”
“You need to go to Wild Bluffs, Jaxon. I say this as your very bored employee and as your friend.”
Andre joined my team a couple of years ago, and while calling him my friend would be a stretch—I know why he’s here, and it has more to do with a paycheck than my personality—I’ve come to appreciate his humor and no-nonsense take on everything. Plus, not having real friends is a common side effect of fame.
“What does Wild Bluffs have that anywhere else in the world doesn’t?”
“The house you grew up in. Your father’s estate. Your memories of your life before all this.” Andre sweeps his hand around my large bathroom, complete with a steam shower and extra-large tub.
“Your roots,” Annie says from the other side of the door, her voice causing me to jump.
My roots. Shit. I’ve tried very hard to forget about those roots. To plant other ones somewhere new, but I can’t seem to get them to grow anywhere. I’m like one of those plants interior decorators like to use that somehow survive off just the air around them.
“If I say I’ll think about it, will you two leave me alone so I can take a shower?” I ask.
“Yes,” Annie says at the exact same time Andre says, “No.”
“Not good enough,” Andre continues.
I pull my T-shirt over my head before reaching in and turning on the shower.
“Well, it’s going to have to be good enough. Because I’m getting in.”
Andre stands, crossing his arms. “Fine. But your song for the Lupus Foundation is due in four weeks, and somehow that isn’t your biggest concern right now. I’ve fought off your label for about as long as possible. Even Henry thinks they’re going to start screaming breach of contract soon, and he’s your manager—it’s his job to pretend like everything is going well.”
“What if we went to New York instead?” I offer.
“Wild Bluffs or bust, Jax. Wild Bluffs or bust.”
“But—”
“You have to reconnect with yourself. And to do that, you have to figure out where your roots are. I know you don’t want to, and that it will likely suck, but the best music comes from pain. So, to Wild Bluffs you must go.”
“I haven’t agreed to that.”
“No, but you will.” With that, he leaves me alone, shutting the door to the bathroom as he goes.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I mumble as I climb into the shower, opting for scalding hot water pouring directly onto my head rather than the long steam I had planned.
Wild Bluffs has too many ghosts for me to outrun them all.
I turn toward the stream, the water tumbling over my face, fast and relentless—like the memories I’ve spent years trying to forget. Losing my mom. Strumming a plastic guitar in the Harpers’ basement, pretending I was already someone important—someone worth the loss of my mom. Long, dusty afternoons on the tractor under a punishing sun. Shouting matches with my dad that always ended in silence. And Izzy—always Izzy—smiling at me like I was worth something, long before I believed it myself.
Izzy.
My best friend.
