Page 58 of Beneath a Tennessee Sky

“You okay?” I ask softly.

“Great!” He takes a drink of his soda. “Just busy. Tour starts next month. Dad’s gonna shit when he sees me on TV. All those assholes who gave me hell in high school are going to be so jealous.”

I reach across the table, covering his jittering hand with mine. “Jack. Who cares what they think?”

His phone buzzes. He flips it over, reads the message, and exhales sharply through his nose. “I do.”

“You’re doing this for you, right?”

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t rub it in their faces,” he says. “I deserve to gloat.”

I don’t even know what to say to that.

We eat our burgers with Jack talking more about the tour and the stage setup. He tells me about a drummer they are considering using on the tour. I listen but I don’t have to say anything. He clearly doesn’t need me to be involved in the conversation. I’m just a pair of ears.

We finish our meal and step outside the restaurant. A group of young ladies spots him and freaks out. He practically pushes me into the back of the car.

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah. It’s cool, but sometimes I just don’t want to deal with it.”

I nod, but don’t say anything. I really don’t know what to say. I’m surprised by the change in him. He’s spiraling. This is a version of Jack I haven’t seen. I don’t like it.

Back at his penthouse, Jack paces like a caged animal, ranting about streaming numbers and ticket sales while I sit cross-legged on the couch.

“—and the fucking label won’t spring for pyro unless we sell out Cleveland, but Liz says—”

“Jack.”

“—if we push the socials harder, maybe do some TikTok shit—”

“Jack.”

He stops mid-step, blinking at me like he’s forgotten I’m here.

I pat the space beside me. “Come sit.”

For a blessed moment, he does. His knee bounces uncontrollably as I thread my fingers through his.

“Remember the first time we met?”

He frowns. “The bakery.”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“That guy was faced with a really difficult situation. You came through it with flying colors. What did you do when you discovered you were flat broke?”

He snorted. “I slept in the back of my truck off the side of the road.”

“Yes, and you made beautiful music,” I remind him.

He snorts. “Yeah, I was surviving on day old bread. Not exactly my finest moment.”

“That’s the Jack I know. Not this.” I gesture around the room. “This isn’t you.”

His phone rings. Liz’s name flashes across the screen.