A moment later, the studio door opens, and he steps inside, moving toward me with an unhurried calm that makes the silence between us feel intentional. He studies me for a long moment, his head tilting slightly, his expression thoughtful but unreadable.
“You remember the first time we walked in here?” he reminisces, grabbing another stool and taking a seat beside me.
I nod faintly. “Yeah.”
“You couldn’t stand still,” he says. “You were vibrating. Like, if we didn’t hit record fast enough, you might explore.”
“I was fucking terrified,” I admit.
“And now?”
I chuckle dryly, the sound hollow in my own ears. “Still fucking terrified.” I stare down at the guitar restingacross my lap, my fingers tracing absent patterns along the strings, feeling the faint grooves worn into the wood from years of use. This instrument used to feel like an extension of me. Now it feels like something I picked up off a stranger’s floor for the first time. “I’m not sure this is my life anymore,” I confess quietly. The words surprise me, even though they’ve been living somewhere inside my chest for months, waiting for a place to land.
Mason leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely as he watches me with the same steady patience he’s always had. “Then what is?” he asks simply.
I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting toward the far wall, where sound panels hang in neat, perfect symmetry. “Something smaller. Simple.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me in a way that makes it impossible to hide behind vague answers. “Simple,” he repeats. I nod gently, though the word doesn’t fully capture it. Simple sounds like settling, like shrinking. And nothing about the simple life I can’t stop of thinking of is small. That life was going to be grand beyond measure.
“Something with her,” he corrects gently.
“I miss her,” I admit, the words leaving me before I can dress them up.
Mason exhales slowly beside me, like he’s been waiting for me to say it out loud. “I’ve been your friend for a long time, East.”
I nod in agreement.
“I was there the night you met Rosie,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “You remember that?”
Of course I remember.
The bar had been loud and crowded, her laugh cutting through the noise and impossible to ignore. I’d noticed her the second she walked across the room.
“I remember,” I say.
“You were unbearable.” He laughs softly. “Couldn’t shut up about her. I was there the day you met her and the day you buried her.” Mason sets his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I watched you disappear after that. Piece by piece.”
I swallow hard, remembering him being there for me at my worst.Well… my almost worst.
“And seeing you on that ranch,” he continues, “it was the first time you’ve looked alive since you lost her.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I sigh, the admission coming out rougher than I intended. I replay that night over and over in my head, unable to wipe away the unforgivable look of betrayal on her face. “I screwed that up.”
Mason leans back slightly, studying me with a frown. “What happened to the persistent guy who asked a waitress out nearly every night for two months until she finally said yes?”
A humorless breath escapes me. “He was young and dumb. He didn’t know any better.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “He just knew what he wanted.”
I don’t respond because he’s right. I spent weeks walking up to that bar, willfully taking every polite rejection Rosie handed me. Every one of them a reason to give up. Yet, every night, I showed up and tried again.
“She doesn’t want me, Mase.” I let out a heavy sigh. “She told me to leave.”
“And?” Mason shrugs one shoulder before leaning forward again, his gaze steady on mine. “You ever think maybe she told you to leave because she didn’t think you actuallywantedto stay?”
He might be right, but he didn’t see the look in her eyes. I don’t think merely showing up doesn’t fix this.
The sky is the color of tin—gray and flat—this morning. It presses low over the ranch, like it’s thinking about rain but hasn’t quite committed yet. I’m gathering items from the barn when Knox stomps in, boots loud against the packed dirt, his energy dialed up to a level I don’t have the patience for. Daisy shifts in her stall, her ears flicking toward the doorway, as I tighten her halter. It’s like she knows we’re loading up for a rodeo.
