Page 10 of The Song We Lost

The dream.

I smile thinking of the maps, blueprints, budgets and photos. I scroll slowly, my chest tightening as I take it all in. I’d tried to get Luke involved. God, I tried. I sent him sketches, voice notes, articles, and ideas. Late-night messages about apple varieties, soil quality, and how the old barns could be salvaged instead of torn down.

He never responded.

I even tried to get his manager to bring it to his attention, but Dave just brushed it off, saying,"That’s future stuff, Bailey. Focus on what’s in front of you."

What was in front of me was silence. So I stopped waiting, I told myself it was easier this way. That if I didn’t need him to choose it, I wouldn’t have to watch him walk away from it. And I created the 'Family Dream' chat for us all to collaborate on our ideas and for them to send me anything to look over when I couldn't go home and see it in person.

It really solidified with a call from Rose, Luke's mom, her voice breathless with excitement. “There’s a property,” she said. “It already has an orchard, Bailey. Old trees, but strong. And barns. You should see it. It has enough land for everything we ever talked about and maybe even more.”

I couldn't find time in my schedule to make it home to check out the property, so instead, I jumped right in and bought it. I bought it through a family trust, with every name included.

I worked with a lawyer back home in Hawthorne Ridge. Rachel helped me set up separate accounts for the event space, the cider business, the recording studio, and the part of the property for our homes. Each of us would have a home on thecompound, one for Rose and Thomas, even though they fought me on it, they wanted to pay their own way. One for Sadie and Cole, one for Noah and one for Luke and me.

Our homes were set far enough back to be private, close enough to walk to the orchard at sunset, with space to expand, if we ever needed it.

If.

I scroll through the photos now and see all the work that has been done. The orchard is cleared of debris, with new saplings planted; apples, pears, cherries. Wildflowers were seeded between the rows and in some open fields, with bee boxes set up along the edges.

A text from Thomas promises his first batch of cider will be ready for Sadie and Cole's wedding, which they plan to hold in one of the old barns on our property. I smile thinking about it, my sister deserves all the happiness this world has to offer, and Cole is perfect for her.

I continue scrolling through pictures of barn beams exposed and cleaned, old wood given new life. The ground dug out where the houses will go, and the frame of Rose and Thomas’s place that is already taking shape. I approve another invoice, adjust the budget and run numbers in my head.

How much longer do I need to work like this? Tour like this? Be this version of myself to make all of our dreams come true?

If it’s just me?

Ifourhouse ends up beingmyhouse.

The front door slams open, and I jump in my seat.

“Bailey!” Luke’s voice echoes through the house, loud and frantic. I don’t move. I stay where I am, sitting at the island, hands resting on either side of my laptop, heart pounding like it doesn’t know whether to break or mend.

His footsteps come fast, heavy and familiar. And then he’s there in front of me.

God.

He looks good, tired, but still breathtaking to me in a way I don't know if I will ever describe properly. His dark hair is wild and messy, like he's been pulling on it. His dark blue eyes are wild. He looks a little wrecked, like he ran straight here without thinking it through.

When was the last time we were in the same room? In the same city?

He drops his bags like they don’t matter and crosses the space between us quicker than I thought possible.

“Bailey,” he says again, softer now, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he says my name too loud.

I just stare at him. I am feeling too much right now, and I don't know if I trust my words.

He cups my face, forehead pressing to mine, breathing me in like oxygen. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I fucked up. I know I did. I’m here now. I’m going to fix it. I should have been there. I should have told you. I watched you do that alone.... and I.... ”

The words are far too familiar, so I pull away and get off the stool, putting it between us, my elbow bumps my laptop, Luke stops short when he sees the screen, blueprints, maps, numbers layered over images of land that doesn’t look anything like Nashville.

He squints. “What’s that?”

I don’t answer right away. Becausethis, this right here, is the part where things usually fall apart. Where I talk, and he nods, and nothing actually changes. Or I talk, and he gets frustrated, and we fight.

“Bailey?” He steps closer, glancing from the screen to my face. “What is all this?”