Chapter twenty-seven
Jaxon
IbeggedIzzytohang out with me tonight. I know she had a long day dress shopping with her sisters, but Ineedher. I cannot, in fact, finish this song that I promised to have to the foundation CEO by Tuesday morning without her.
So here I am, at her house once again.
Becca’s wedged into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under her, eyes locked on the TV. Izzy’s sprawled out beside her, laughing so hard she nearly drops the sparkling water she’s drinking.
“That’s clearly not a cake!” Becca yells. “Cakes don’t shine like that!”
“You can make frosting shine,” Izzy argues back. “You saw what that woman did last week. It was pure magic.”
On the screen, some man wields a large knife and cuts through the shiny cake. Both women lose it.
I laugh too, though mine feels different—weaker. Watching them together does something to me. Izzy’s at ease here, herbody loose, her smile unguarded. Becca nudges her with an elbow, muttering something I can’t hear, and Izzy tilts her head back, laughing even harder.
For a second, it stings.
Not because I don’t want Izzy to have this—she deserves amazing friends, deserves nights like this—but because a voice I’ve been ignoring for fifteen years whispers,this could’ve been you.
If I’d stayed in Wild Bluffs, maybe it would be. Maybe I’d be the one sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Izzy on that couch. Maybe I’d be the one she leaned into when she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. Maybe I’d be her best friend—Hell, maybe more.
I shove that voice down, hard. Remind myself I left for a reason. Remind myself that everything I’ve built—every song, every album, every company—exists because I walked away.
And if I’d stayed, I don’t know if I ever would’ve looked at Izzy as anything more than a friend.
I’m certainly not looking at her like that now.
Izzy catches me staring. Her cheeks are pink from laughing, her hair a little wild. “What?” she asks, like she can feel me unraveling.
“Nothing,” I blurt out, dropping my attention back to my guitar and the notebook in front of me. The words blur. My chest aches.
Because it’s not nothing. It’s a hundred moments I’ll never get back.
That dull pain of memories not made is apparently the exact feeling my brain was missing because all of a sudden, the words are flowing, the melody aligning perfectly. I rework the few lines and build out the bridge, tying together loss with momentum, change with comfort.
***
Fourteen hours later, I’ve got something great.
“Yes!” I yell as I jump up from the couch. Sure, I’m alone in my dad’s living room, but I just finished the song for the Lupus Foundation.
It’s almost like I’m back.
It might not be a song I’ll ever record—my manager likes to remind me that I have a specific sound that must be adhered to—but it’s going to be huge for the foundation. I know it will.
I pull up the video I just recorded on my phone and send it to Andre and Annie. They might gloat, but in the end, they were right: I needed to come back to Wild Bluffs.
Five minutes later, my phone rings.
“Hell yes!” Andre exclaims when I answer. “That song was…well, let’s just say Annie is taking a minute to dry her eyes in the bathroom.”
“I told you Iz brought the music back,” I say as I mindlessly strum my guitar. “It feels so good to finally be able to write again.”
“I’m sure it does, but that song—”
“I know,” I cut him off. “Henry is going to recommend I don’t record it myself. I was thinking I could convince Blake Morgan to record it for the foundation. He’s much more known for those vibes. It just feels so good to know I haven’t lost it. That this isn’t the end of my career.”
