I’ve never thought of the place that raised me asthe South. Arkansas may have country charm like Belle’s Kentucky, but it’s never felt like my identity. My brand is West Coast cool. Sunsets and iced matcha. Not… biscuits and gravy.
I set my phone down and press my fingers against my temples.
Is this really where my career is going?
Is this what I want?
I close out the email and push my laptop aside, exhaling slowly as I stretch my arms above my head. The tension in my shoulders doesn’t ease. If anything, it settles deeper.
I have too much on my plate. Too many expectations, too many people pulling me in different directions.
And that’s exactly why I left in the first place.
I wanted something different. Something better. Brighter. More…me.
But as I stand in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by remnants of the girl I used to be, I wonder: was that really why I left? Or was it just easier to run than to stay and figure out where I actually belonged?
A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to find Brooks leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a stupid smirk on his face.
"You ready?"
I clear my throat, straightening even though I feel anything but steady.
"Yeah," I say.
"Jasper’s all set up," Brooks returns, his voice quieter than usual. "He wants to know if you want to go live with him, or just help out behind the scenes."
"Does Jasper want to know, or do you?"
Brooks’ grin says it all. "I’ll take that as a no."
"I never said that," I shoot back, narrowing my eyes.
He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I know this is hard for you to believe, but all I want is for Jasper to succeed. If I wanted to be famous like you, I’d have started my own account."
His words hit harder than I expect, settling uncomfortably in my chest. I swallow, my heart a jumbled mess. "Iwanthim to succeed, too."
Brooks nods, his gaze steady. "Then let’s work together to help him."
I hesitate, my eyes drifting toward the window where I can just make out Jasper hunched over his latest project outside. He isn’t made for a nine-to-five job. He’s not the kind of person who wants to be front and center on a camera, performing for likes and follows. He likes the woods, the quiet, the simple things—campfires, collecting rocks, and hiking up the mountain just to watch the sunrise.
And somehow, Brooks—Jasper’s best friend, my childhood nuisance, the guy who’s always had something to say to get under my skin—found a way to bring my brother’s art to a platform where thousands of people see it every day.
Who does that? Who spends this much time helping someone else succeed?
I turn back to Brooks, my throat tight. "Thank you," I say, softer than I mean to.
He tilts his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "For?"
I inhale slowly, steadying myself before I meet his eyes. "For believing in him. When… you know, I wasn’t around to."
For once, Brooks doesn’t have a witty comeback, no sarcastic remark waiting on the tip of his tongue. He just holds my gaze, something indecipherable flickering there before he finally nods.
"Okay," he says simply.
I decide I’d rather just be an extra set of hands than go live myself. Jasper doesn’t need me to boost his views or help him get likes. He’s doing that all on his own. He’s talented. Far more talented than anyone I know.
Jasper hands me a pinecone. "Here you go."
